3 Dead, Prologue

Prologue



ABYSSAL DARKNESS.
         Then a small light in my brain as the memory of her laying on the floor with a slit in her throat seared itself into my mind. I distinctly remember the tan carpeting turning a deep crimson red from her pooling blood. Her blonde lush hair dying into a vivid shade of red.
Never wanted to see her dead, and my brian knew that, tormenting me over and over as it replayed again and again. I felt the guilt and pain of it suffocating and crushing me.
         Then the memory faded and —



Abyssal darkness, again.
         Laughter, childish giggling…
         Who was that?
         Then another light in my brain as I saw myself, oddly in third person view. I was running thru the woods, cackling like a maniac. In one hand, I held a firecracker, rope, and a lighter; in the other hand, a squirrel. It was unnerving watching my 12-year-old self tie this squirrel to the firecracker and launch it to its death. Not that it bothered me to see it perish, but to witness a memory in third person. Then the memory faded and —



Abyssal darkness a third time.
         At this point I wasn't sure if I was in a coma or having near-death experiences, or just dead. I pondered if my punishment in hell was to watch all the cruel and terrible things I had done throughout my life; watching them from a bone-chilling viewpoint and perspective.
         This time a light in my brain lit up, but very dim and hard to make out any details; but I saw a face, with third degree burns and flesh peeling off, making a face of pure agony. Though I couldn't tell from the dim light, I knew it was Jay. Which is really odd, as I never watched him die; I could have never been able to see the face he made as he perished.
         As Jay's face disappeared, another emerged into the dim light; one with an expression of choking across his face — my father.



Then, abyssal darkness again.



Another light. This time though, it was from outside my mind; it was a real light. I felt my eyes wanting to open but they were stuck closed. I then felt a splash of cold liquid dousing my face, and my eyes fluttered open. I looked up and found myself looking in the eyes of two interrogation officers, both with their arms crossed, looking down at me with condescending expressions.
         Fuck…

— — — — — — —

The officers glared down at me, eyes seemingly to smolder. As for someone who was afraid of next to nothing, these two men greatly intimidated me. For one, they both were super buff and muscular, as though they hit the gym every day. They looked as though they could bench press twice my body weight.
         The officer on the left was an average height, pale man. He had short blonde hair, blue eyes, and was wearing a basic gray polo with an officer badge, and a neat pair of blue jeans.
         The officer on the right was a tall, dark-toned man. Maybe some sort of hispanic background. His brown hair was a mullet. I always hated mullets; so disgusting. He wore a reflective pair of shades that rested at the tip of his nose, like an old man reading a newspaper might do. He wore a black pair of cargo pants, and a black leather jacket that covered all but the collar of his white shirt. On this leather jacket was a small emblem claiming him to be a part of the FBI.
         A soft white lightbulb hung above the middle of the table, barely illuminating the corners of the room. This table is the only thing that stood between myself and the two officers.
         “Glad you’re awake. May I offer you some water?” asked the blonde policeman.
         I knew the water was a way to collect my DNA, and I wasn’t about to allow that, no matter how dry my mouth was at the moment. “No, I’ll pass.”
         The man shrugged. “Suit yourself. I am Officer David Burgess; this man here —” he jerked his thumb toward the brown-haired FBI agent “— is Agent Elijah Ferran. Agent Ferran is here to serve as witness to this interrogation. You do have your basic rights at your disposal, of course, including the right to remain silent, the right to a lawyer, and the right to know potential charges you’re facing. Let’s begin the interrogation.”
         “Start asking,” I replied.
         “Would you like to call in a lawyer first?”
         I thought back to my last victim, her telling me to own up to everything. With that, there was no need for a lawyer. She was right; I have already lived a full life, I could serve whatever time I was given. Besides, with my wit, I was sure I’d have no problem negotiating.
         “No,” I stated. “I do not wish to call in a lawyer. However, I present to you a counter-offer to the interrogation process.” I paused as I watched their faces shuffle between confusion to pure shock and back to confusion. “Let me write out my story, and I will inform you of every nitty and gritty detail that I am sure I’m being detained for. I will not speak further on anything, but I will write if you’ll allow it.”
         He seemed to think a moment before responding; I could see the gears turning. I carefully crafted my words in such a way that my writing would be the only way they’d be able to pry information from me.
         “Very well,” David said at last. He nodded toward Agent Ferran, who then left the room momentarily and returned with a notebook and pen.
         Agent Ferran plopped the items onto the table before me and commanded, “Write.”
         Here we go. I pulled the notebook closer to myself, opened it, and picked up the pen. I uncapped the pen and touched it to the paper, scribing the first word onto the paper:

Hello.