Chapter Seven

November 14th 1991 9:42 am

It has been nearly three years. I have been living a nomad life. Different than what I expected it to be but I have never been happier. This new way I choose fills me with satisfaction. I now own the world. The numbness has become my anthem and religion. I have made a new philosophy and this changes everything. We all deserve to die. The police are looking for me. I have escaped them twice. There was an incident at the children's home a couple years back. I retreated to a coal mining facility in the rocky mountains. I had to terminate a couple people there before I left. I have thought very little of what I done. I am still living for myself. It's me against the world. Those miners were kind. I would have enjoyed exploring their reasons for their hospitality. The police check the site for me and I had to leave. They would call me AlfendQ. I was reading the papers now actually and I saw the police suspect that I killed the miners at the facility. This year I think I will eliminate the detective in charge of my case. Jason Polson. That way the rumors of me can finally be put to rest. I am currently in a small town near D.C. They will never look for me here.

I heard from a guy, I met at the hotel I snuck into, that there was a really nice bookstore across the street. They sell coffee there. I thought it would be interesting so I decided to go and check it out. It has been strange since the day it happened. The itch in my fingertips is rarely there. I get headaches a lot and am unsure why. The numbness has stayed. I haven't felt anything for over three years. I read about it. I am a sociopath according to my therapist I spoke to after it happened. I am also considered a genius and a narcissist. Funny. Ego has never been a thing for me but I guess he's a professional. Dr. P.N. Barter may get to consult me more during this years project. On September 22nd 1992 is when it will happen. That is the day the itch will be relieved.

I always wanted to read. When I was in school I read and read. I never read at home, but I still felt a connection with stories. Fantasy was my favorite genre. It was a calming opiate for me for many years. It would be nostalgic to visit a bookstore again. I opened the door to the coffee shop and a bell rang. The musical note was honey in my ears. I could see a counter with pots of coffee ahead. Several bookshelves as well. There were several tables as well. I could smell the beans in the air and my migraine felt better. That's when I saw her. She was sitting at a table with a book. Macbeth. She was the most beautiful person I had seen. Something about her made me feel something I couldn't identify. I don't remember this feeling from my days before the numbness. I looked at her for a while. Unsure of what to do. Something made me want to leave, but I found I couldn't. I was fixed in position just looking at her. She looked up at me and her face changed into a smile. I had never seen anything like it before. It was like rays of sunlight shining on my face.

"What book are you reading?" I asked at last. I sat down with her. She seemed a little surprised at first but then she told me.

"It's Macbeth," she said slowly. "It's a play write. A guy named Shakespeare wrote it in the fifteenth century."

"What's it about?" Curiosity filled me. I had never read this before. I usually would read whatever I could get my hands on. She looked at me. I was worried she didn't like me and wanted me to leave. I hated her. Why couldn't she accept me. Why couldn't anybody accept me. I wanted to kill her. I just wanted her to like me. Why couldn't she give me a chance. Why? WHY?

She smiled and I was shocked. "What's your name?"

I didn't know what to say. "My name is... Its... Ezekiel."

"That's a nice name," she said. She held out her hand. "My name is Jacklyn."

"Nice to meet you Jacklyn." I didn't know what else to say. She had accepted me. Suddenly the numbness didn't seem so apparent. Suddenly the itching in my fingers was gone. I couldn't believe it. A new feeling had replaced me. A new feeling had enveloped me.

"Macbeth is about a Scottish general. Some witches tell him that he is going to be the new King of Scotland. So, he killed his parents to take over the throne," Jacklyn said, "Because that's what anyone would do."

"That's interesting," I said. "Is there more than one copy here?"

"No," Jacklyn said. She handed me the book. "But I have read it many times. You can borrow it if you want."

I took the book. "Thank you," I said. I was shocked. How could anybody be like this. She was so nice and accepting. I didn't understand her. Why was she so nice to me? Did I do anything for her to feel in debt? Why did she seem so human? I felt something In my eye. Strange. I haven't felt this in years.

"Are your parents here?" Jacklyn looked around the coffee shop. Nobody but the woman working the counter could be seen.

I felt a throb return in my forehead. Blood. I massaged my temples to relieve the migraine. I am glad I killed them. I am glad that they aren't with me. I would give anything to kill them again more gruesomely than before. To attentively watch the life drain from their eyes. The agony they would feel would still never equal mine. I couldn't tell her what I did to them. I would tell no one even when I am condemned to hell. I quickly came up with something. "They let me walk here. They live in town though."

"Wow," she said. She seemed weirdly impressed. "My dad barely lets me come here everyday. I didn't know anyone else my age even lived here. It is a very small town."

"Me too," I said. "I just moved in last week. I thought it would be fun to go sightseeing."

Jacklyn laughed. "Here? There is much to sight see here other than through books." She looked around the coffee shop lovingly. "This place is a haven. A piece of heaven actually."

That's what that feeling was. I have been living in hell all my life. Suddenly, I am here. In heaven. It is like a fever dream. I emotionally go in and out of focus. I didn't understand. "Do you come here everyday?" I asked her this hoping that the answer would be exactly what it was.

"Yeah. Same time too. I just love books." Jacklyn smiled and she looked around at the bookshelves. "I think it's the atmosphere. There are many books. It's so quiet and peaceful. The air smells of coffee and cream. Being here is intoxicating in a way. It's like a second home."

I smiled at her and there was a long silence. Something about her was different than anyone I had ever met before. I remember reading the line in a book somewhere that it is seldom one meets a fellow spirit. I couldn't really see it in the facial expression where I looked so many times before. I could see it in her eyes. Jacklyn had a warmness about her. I could see intellect and kindness. I could also see sadness. A feeling that I used to know very well before the numbness. I remember it to be kind of like the feeling I had right now. I had only known her for about three minutes. Already, I felt like I was melting.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"No," I said, "I was just thinking about something."

"What?"

"You'll be here tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"Is it okay if I come tomorrow too?"

She hesitated. I was starting to wonder if all this kindness was just politeness to a stranger and nothing more. I should have hurt her for hesitating so long but something stopped me. I didn't understand this contradiction and divided feeling. I just looked at her face as it suddenly.

"Of course," she said. "I would be happy to talk to you more about books and such."

I smiled. I wasn't sure of what to say. Suddenly a sharp pain penetrated deep into my skull. That was enough of heaven for today. I simply stood up and ran. I ran out of the coffeeshop and down the street towards the hotel. I didn't understand quite what I felt. I didn't like it. The thought of a sociopath like me suddenly having feelings intrigued me. I was going to come back tomorrow. Maybe the understanding would clarify some things. I sat in my hotel room filled with curiosity. What was it about her and what was this feeling.

I returned the next day to talk to her some more. It was more of the same. I talked to her for about ten minutes and then a headache forced me to leave. We talked about Macbeth. I had read the whole thing that night. She was impressed. I was starting to get some ideas about this feeling. Maybe this was what it felt like to have a friend. I came back the next day. We talked some more and she recommended another one of Shakespeare's work. This time, Hamlet. I read it that night. It had a similar dark tone that Macbeth had. This time, instead of death, it focused more on the disgust Hamlet had with his mother. I still remember that night. The night when the numbness first consumed me. They had stolen it from me. They had stolen my empathy and my love. Jacklyn would just be more of the same. The world is cruel. It doesn't change to be anything else other than what it is.

I went back to the coffee shop again the next day. And the next day. And the next. She slowly told me things about her home life over the next few months. Her father was obsessed with her. That is the most sensitive way I could put it. He would only let her leave the house once a day. He would let her leave from 8 o'clock to 10 o'clock. The idea disgusted me. I understood exactly how she felt. My parents were sadists and her dad is obsessive and controlling. That's the only difference in our story. As soon as she opened up to me I felt closer to her than ever before. She was my first friend I had met in three years since I was in school. This time instead of dogs we talked about books. She was the most bizarre person I had ever met. She was a paradox. I lived practically the same life and I turned into an emotionless killer. She turned into a sweet literate, fascinated by the world and stories about it. She was an explorer. She told me of all the places she wished to go. She wanted to see Tokyo, Japan. She wanted to visit the ocean on the gulf of Mexico. She wanted to see Saint Basil's cathedral in Moscow, Russia. She was alive and feeling. I admired her for it. Her father had kept her from all of it. He had locked away, her, a treasure in herself, just like I was locked away. I felt a deep hatred for him. How dare he. She owed him nothing. She deserved the world. But the world is cruel. Of course people don't get what they deserve. I realized all at once that she had broken my philosophy. She didn't deserve to die. She deserved life. It took two years before at last I was able to identify the feeling that I had discovered and felt despite my numbness.

"This is by far my favorite of all of Shakespeare's works." She handed me a book with a blue and red design on it. The book read the title, Romeo and Juliet. "It's a book about two destroyed families fighting each other. And at the center of it is a man and a woman, who go against everything their families had done, and fall in love."

Love was a word I had not thought of for a long time. The last people I gave my love to are now dead. I owe them nothing. I took the book anyway. I trusted Jacklyn's judgement. I read the play write that night. Despite the actions of the Capulets and Montagues the two leads fell in love. I had never imagined something like that ever happening. I realized exactly what I had been feeling these past years. The feeling that had developed in me over the last two years was love. An emotion that involves empathy, consideration, passion, and thoughtfulness. I think that Dr. PN Barter is wrong. I am not a sociopath. I live. I breathe. I feel. At least part of me does, but from now on I was going to put all of my time in that part. Jacklyn had become my world. A light in a black hellscape of abuse and hate. The world is cruel. But that no longer matters. My dark days were over.

November 1st 1993 8:31 am

Something happened today that changed my life forever. I finished Romeo and Juliet last night and decided to tell Jacklyn today exactly how I felt. I left the hotel and ran the whole way. The feeling inside of me filled me with shakiness. I loved the feeling. So vivid. So beautiful. The adrenaline rushed over me in a wave of heat and warmth. My blood stained fingers. Irrelevant. I arrived at the bookstore almost a full hour earlier than normal to wait for her. I tapped my feet rapidly as I watched the door and looked through the windows. But she never came. I waited. At lunchtime she still didn't show. My mind wandered back to the way it used to be. Maybe she knows. Maybe she knows what I did. Maybe she has heard of the AlfendQ killings. Maybe she knows that Dr. P.N. Barter and detective Jason Polson are dead. Maybe I did something wrong. Why isn't she here?

At about 2 o'clock in the afternoon I ran out the door of our coffee shop. I ran down the street. I realized that I was wrong. Her father must have been behind this. She would never do this. He had to be holding her captive. Maybe in a cage. Maybe doing awful things too her. As he ran to where he guessed she lived he realized something. The last thing he wanted was for her to turn into him. Maybe it was already too late. Maybe he had taken too long and waited at the coffee shop for too long.

I came up on the house he had guessed. It was a small town. My probability of getting this right based off of her words alone were decent. I knocked on the door. I knocked quickly afterwards. No response. If it was the wrong house I would kill the inhabitants and leave. I kicked down the door. I had learned how to do this and was glad of it. I marched into a dark entryway. I heard a scream. She was upstairs. I ran up the stairs and ran to a door and knocked.

"Jacklyn!" I shouted.

"I am sorry I couldn't make it today!" She screamed through her sobs. What had he done to her. This couldn't be happening again. Not again. Not to her.

"Is he in the room with you!" Please be no. Please be no.

"No! He's in the living room!

I prepared to kick down this door as well. That's when I felt a rough hand on my shoulder. There he was. A quick jab to the face sent me sprawling backwards with a bloody nose against the door.

"ARE YOU THAT BOY!!!" The man screamed in my face. "THAT BOY TRYING TO STEAL MY GIRL FROM ME!!!" He kicked me in the stomach and I rolled over. I needed to incapacitate him. He was too big. I wouldn't be able to take him with force with my current hand to hand knowledge. I climbed off the ground and evaded a punch that went directly into the wall besides the door. I grabbed a picture off of a nearby wall and swung it at his skull. The glass in it shattered and the wood frame broke. He seemed barely phased by it. He punched me in the face again.

I fell back again. He was too strong. I couldn't let him do anything to her. Not to her. Not to her. Not to her. I shouted and jumped onto him. He wasn't prepared for all of my body weight at once and he fell backwards. I punched him again and again. I felt the tingle in my finger tips begin to reawaken. He shoved me backwards again. I needed something sharp. I needed something that I knew how to use. Nothing was nearby.

"SHE IS MY BABY!" He screamed. His face was red and his eyes darkened. "YOU WON'T TAKE MY BABY FROM ME!!!" He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me off the the ground. I thrashed and kicked. He then threw my body like a doll down the stairs. I hit the wall hard. Glass from pictures of Jacklyn and her father shattered around me. I felt dizzy. I could see blood and cuts on my hands and arms from the shards. A buzzing in my ears confused me. I tasted blood. Her father stalked down the stairs towards me. It's a sad history. People are so susceptible to repeating the same mistakes. Sadists and sociopaths aren't born. They are made. I see pain the eyes of Jacklyns father. Of course it means nothing to me. Such is my reality. I am sure this man had a story of his own that caused him to be like this. But that doesn't matter. I am not going to let him pass his darkness down to her. She deserves better. She would break that cycle of pain and hatred. I would help her break it.

"I see what you want," he said. "You think that she's better off with you don't you?" I could hear insanity in his voice. It's just the way he breathes. "You think that I am a monster. Such an ugly word. I hate that word. Why does it have to be this way? Can't she stay with me? I need her. I NEED HER!"

I stood up and brushed the blood from my mouth. "You're not a monster," I said. "But what you are is not important. You still deserve to die." In one swift movement I cut his throat with a shard of glass from one of the picture frames. His body collapsed in a heap onto the ground in front of the stairs. I had killed her father. The tingling in my fingers had gone. I wondered where it had come from. I grabbed a set of keys from a ring attached to his pocket. I walked slowly up the stairs. I could still hear her screaming.

"-------! -------! -------!" She screamed.

"I'm coming!" I shouted back. "Its okay!" It was not okay.

The door opened and there she was. She was on a chain that connected to a wall in her bedroom. The sight of the chains disgusted me. I ran over and embraced her.

"Thank God, you're okay." I hugged her harder. I could feel her tears on my shoulder. She didn't deserve this. Her father was dead. She should be exploring the world right now. She should be in our coffee shop. I should have been telling her that I loved her right now.

"Let's run away," she said. "Let's leave and never look back."

I nodded. "Lets go. Now."

We quickly ran down the stairs passed the body. As soon as she saw it she sobbed. I tried to comfort her as best as I could over the nights that followed. But I don't think comfort was possible. We hitch hiked up to D.C. I managed to con someone for enough money to get a room for the night. The next day we attempted to get some Jobs. She managed to lie about her age and some other things to get a Job at a fast food place. I did the same thing to a different place.

Something that I realized very quickly that shocked me was the results of being thrown down the stairs like I did. I tried as hard as I could to remember where I came from before the day I met Jacklyn. The truth is I didn't know. A whole twelve years of my life had gone missing. I asked her about it and apparently I had never told her. The tingle in my finger tips had gone away. I haven't felt it since that fateful afternoon when we left the small town with our coffee shop. The truth is, I am unsure of exactly who I am or where I came from. All I know is that me and Jacklyn made it. We made it to Washington D.C. alive and we are now surviving. We are renting a one room apartment in the downtown area. Jacklyn is having trouble coping with our new way of life. I try to get her a new book every time we can afford it. Something I have been looking into is the police force. I am applying for a scholarship to the academy. Obviously, since I don't know who I am, I will be creating an alias. I have chosen my name to be Marcus Scott. I hope Jacklyn will be pleased with my decision. We continue to live in D.C. No one knows where we came from and that's fine. I just want Jacklyn to be happy. We will be happy.