I shift in my chair, arms crossed firmly over my chest.
Across the room, bathed in ghoulish light, sits a crooked man. His crooked hands are handcuffed tightly to the leg of the table between us. He sits crooked in his chair. He leers at me with his crooked grin.
I let no hint of an emotion slip from my body posture or expression. Doing so would go against what I've been taught about interrogating. Especially with interrogating someone like this.
However, I can’t ignore the shift in the air when he walked in. The ungodly chill that shivered through me, making me want to tremble and shrivel up in fear.
Clearing my throat, I drop my gaze to the yellow folder sitting on the table, but only for a moment; my gut tells me that removing my eyes from this man is a very bad idea. I grab at the folder, which along the top reads in bold letters:
VIRGO TOURMALINE: MASS MURDERER
Flipping open the first page, I lift my eyes back up to the man. “So, Virgo Tourmaline. Mass murderer.”
Tourmaline cocks his head at me, spine-chilling grin still stretched wide across his face, revealing perfect teeth.
Picking up the binder, I dare to drop my eyes away from the man to read. My eyes jump to key words and important phrases as I casually flip through.
Organized serial killer.
Thrill seeker: offender kills for thrill alone while trying to outsmart authorities for their own amusement. Likes to keep detailed records of their kills.
Visionary Serial killer. Believes that he is someone else, that he is receiving instructions from the devil himself. Psychotic disorder that causes delusions or hallucinations.
Mass Murderer.
How offender gained access to victims: Blitz attack, surprise attack, and ruse, depending on the victims.
Any relationships between victim and offender: targeted stranger
“We’ve been looking for you for a very long time.” I sputter out a sigh and glance up at him.
“Oh, I know.” He replies, the wide grin still planted on his face in a way that reminds me of the Joker.
“I know you know.” I reply evenly, flipping to the next page.
My stomach twists as my eyes catch the taped photograph. It’s of a woman whose clothes are soaked in blood and guts from the long deep slice across her stomach. Her arms and legs are nailed to a wooden wall, her body adjusted in a way that makes it look like she’s dancing. Flowers decorate her bloodied hair and look like they're stapled to her skin.
This is when my job gets difficult. No matter what, I know I cannot reveal any emotions. If Virgo knows how disgusted I am, there’s a big chance that he won’t open up to me. And I have questions I need to ask.
My blood boils with injustice for the poor woman in the picture. My sick stomach twists uneasily although I try my best to stuff all these emotions down. I take a deep shuddering breath, slowly placing the binder on the table and lifting my gaze to Virgo.
“I have some questions for you.” I say to his evil smile.
“And I have some for you.” He replies without missing a beat.
This makes me pause.
I cross my arms. “You have questions for me?”
Virgo nods, then lifts his gaze up to the ceiling. The ghoulish light glints in his eyes before they shut. I watch curiously as he sits there with proper posture, eyes closed.
Glancing to the one-way window, I cast a bemused look to the people I know are hiding behind our reflection. Imagining their reaction... possibly validating my confusion... I look back to Virgo and jump.
His eyes are wide open, pinned on mine like a predator that has found its prey.
Not many things scare me, but I know this man’s eyes will forever haunt my dreams. They weren’t his. There was a demonic craze that settled in them, something that pierced my heart and soul, leaving an infected wound that would never go away.
A moment too late do I scramble to hide the shock and fear stricken across my face. While I’m struggling to pull my blank mask back on, he speaks.
“Alex M. Coldstone.”
A chill shivers through me that freezes me solid. “Pardon?”
“Alex M. Coldstone.” Virgo repeats, his demonic eyes glued on mine. His elongated smile has been wiped off his face. Only a sneer flickers every once and awhile. “Twenty-five years old, has a sister named Harlow. Parents were murdered when you were only thirteen.”
My mask falls off and shatters on the cold stone floor.
Despite myself, I slowly turn my head to the one-way-mirror, bewilderment in my eyes.
Of course, I only see my reflection; me, shaken and my chest heaving with heavy breaths. And Virgo, eyes still on me, crooked hands folded on the table, and a sneer twisting his thin lips.
I need to pull myself together.
Frowning, I take a deep breath, recollecting my wits. I don’t know how this psycho knows me, but this interview is about him, not me.
“Listen, Mr. Tourmaline.” Folding my hands on the table, I scoot closer to him, my chair screeching against the floor. “This conversation is about you, not me.”
He throws his head back, his spine-chilling laugh echoing against the walls. I force myself not to jump at this sudden change in behavior, but sit rigid in my chair, a firm scowl on my face.
“Alex, Alex, Alex,” He chimes, head twisting down so that his wicked eyes peered up into mine. “You’ve got it all wrong, kid. This is all about you.”
My heart pounds against my chest as I rack my brain on what to do. Never have I ever dealt with someone like this... someone who knows me.
Deciding to stick to my original plan, I slide the binder close to me, flipping to the next page where yet more disturbing photographs are. “It seems that your victims were random. Is that true?”
Virgo’s silence pulls my eyes to him.
He stares at me for a dragging moment, as I force myself to hold his diabolical gaze. Then his thin lips curl back in a smile to reveal his perfect teeth. “I only targeted those my master told me to.”
He’s a Visionary Serial Killer. I remind myself. Meaning that he believes that he’s receiving instructions from the devil himself. Probably has some sort of psychotic disorder.
“How did you obtain your victims?” I ask right as he says, “Including you.”
Silence falls upon the dim-lit room once more. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, although I tell myself there is nothing to be afraid of—this man will be behind locked bars soon.
Despite myself, I still ask calmly, “What do you mean?”
Appearing to be delighted by my question, he sits up straighter in his chair, head cocked. “Before I allowed myself to be caught-”
“Allowed?”
“-my master gifted me with another vision... one with you in it.”
He waits for my reaction, and despite the churning unease in my stomach, I reward him none.
“Alex M. Coldstone. As I studied you, I grew fascinated.”
His voice is silky, although it trickles like poison into my ears. Sitting rigid in my chair, I try to ignore the discomfort I felt from the word “studied”
“And why is that?” I inquire, rather sarcastically.
Although I scold myself for disobeying every rule there is for interrogating a serial killer, I can’t stop. The way the air chilled when he walked in, his demonic eyes, the way his words slither its way into my heart … the fact that he knows me. It’s like no one I’ve ever met before.
And I hate to say it, but I can’t help but feel fascinated by this horrendous man.
“And I was fascinated by you, because you were fascinated by us.” He explains, as if he had read my mind.
Shocked, the next words roll off my tongue of their own accord. “What do you mean?”
His chair screeches against the floor as he leans over the table, and I glance at the handcuffs that dig into his crooked wrists. “I mean, you are not purely horrified like every other person I have met. You try to understand us, you want to understand us. And although my master wants me to gut you, slice you up, torture you until the floor is soaked with your blood and guts, I won't.”
Although his handcuffs prevent him from getting too close to me, he towers over me with frightening authority. The light on the roof halos around his head and his stark shadow falls over me like a monstrous wave.
“I want you to join me.”
His words shock me so much that I forget the fear that runs my blood cold. “What?”
He simply nods, an enthralled gleam in his eye, his teeth shining.
I pull myself higher in my chair, brow furrowing in confusion. “What in the world would make you want to make an offer like that?”
Subconsciously, I realize what an odd question this is, but Virgo is right... I want to understand why his disturbing mind works the way it does.
He falls back into his chair roughly so that the handcuffs jerk the table. “Alex, you know what the purpose of life is?”
I keep my lips sealed but raise an eyebrow inquisitively.
“Pleasure”
Thrill seeker. I think, as he continues.
He cocks his head at me, wild eyes fixated uncomfortably on mine. “I like to kill for the thrill. And outsmart the authorities for amusement while I’m at it. But of course, you already know that.”
Again, I get that unsettling feeling that Virgo read my mind... but of course, that’s impossible.
He sputters out a sigh, faking a pout. “But eventually, that gets boring. Doing the same thing over, and over, and over...” He falls silent again, watching my skeptical expression. Then his ghastly grin stretches across his face. “And what would be more thrilling—what would be more exciting than working with someone?”
I’ve heard and seen many strange things during this interview, but this baffles me the most. A serial killer, a mass murderer, a psychopath wanting to work with someone?
Seeing the confounded look on my face, Virgo persists, his voice rising with passion. “You are just the person I’d love to work with. You want to understand me, don’t you? Then why don’t you work with me? I’ll teach you everything.” He hisses.
My heart pounds fiercely against my chest, my hands gripping my shirt under the table. Struggling to keep my voice level, I say quietly, “You want me, to join you, in... killing people?”
And not just killing, I add mentally, thinking of the photograph of the poor woman stapled with flowers, propped up like some sort of trophy.
Virgo slowly nods.
Of course not, you creep. I tell him in my mind. Why would I ever want to take up a terrible offer like that?
Knowing that I will forever kick myself for this moment, I can’t ignore the curious butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
The door of the room slams open, drawing the attention of Virgo and I.
Standing at the door is my coworker—who is also my best friend. One hand clutches a binder close to her chest, the other on the doorknob. Her stern gaze flashes from Virgo to me.
“This interview is over.” She commands with harsh authority.
My chest heaves with heavy breaths as I shift my gaze to Virgo. With a start, I realize his eyes are already planted on mine.
His spine-chilling smile has reduced to a small smirk, eyes gleaming in the ghoulish light. Glancing at the binder laying open on the tabletop, my gut twists dreadfully at the photographs taped on there. Photographs of Virgo’s victims, gruesomely torn to pieces while being presented and decorated like trophies.
My blood boils for the injustice forced upon these victims, and their family and friends. My face twists into a scowl for Virgo’s audacity to even think that I’d join him.
My chair topples to the floor as I tower over him.
My eyes flash in anger. “What would make you even think that I'd take up a disgusting offer like that?”
Virgo’s face darkens dangerously as I stride towards my friend. Her sharp eyes analyze my face, and my gut twists guiltily so that I turn away from her.
A concerned crowd has gathered outside the doorway, every eye fixed on me. Uncomfortable with the attention, and feeling as though I’ve done something wrong, I turn around so that I’m looking into the room where Virgo sits.
The crooked man sits crooked in his seat, twisted as much as he can bare so that he can see me.
The light beams down at an awkward angle so that it casts eerie shadows on his face. His demonic eyes pierce my soul, slicing an infected wound into my heart that will never go away.
The door creaks loudly in the dreadful silence as my friend slowly closes it.
But right before the door shuts, I catch the knowing smile spread across Virgo Tourmaline’s wretched face.
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