Purple Blood and the Shrink

“Hello Mr. Brooks,” a younger man sporting an obnoxious beard smiled at me from across a different table.

This one was wood.

Dark wood.

Expensive wood.

The whole room smelled of money.

The man that was sitting adjacent to me had a rows upon rows of books lined up behind him on a matching bookshelf.

The books read off things like, Intro to Psychopathy, Your Serial Kill and You, Nature vs. Nurture, ect.

Two identical lamps were parked on either side of the desk.

Symmetrical.

The desk was nice and neat.

Just my file lay open on the surface of the dark wood.

That, and a note pad that the shrink was constantly scribbling words down upon.

Unreadable words.

Doctor’s script.

“Hello,” I replied.

This was the shrink. He has come to dig into my brain and find out what makes me “Tic”.

Your blood.

That’ll make me tic.

“How are you today?” he continued to smile at me; however, his eyes darted around in their sockets.

Was he studying my face?

Judging.

“I’m fine,” I slowly said. “You know, except for the whole being in prison thing.”

“Are they treating you well?” he asked.

My left hand instinctively went to my right wrist. The bruises of the cuffs were still fresh.

I looked down and saw the purple streaks that decorated my flesh.

I wonder what would happen if I cut them open?

Would they bleed purple?

I looked back up at the shrink, “I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that,” he smarted off.

“Because it’s the truth, what else would I tell you?” my eyebrow raised.

He chucked to himself.

“Mr. Brooks, do you know why they called me in here?” his questions were patronizing.

“Because I’m a sick fuck, and you’re the only person in fifty-kagillion miles that can cure me?” I waved my fingers around my head to insinuate sparkles. “Magic man,” I said.

He tilted his head to the right and squinted at me. That odd grin still plastered his face.

What does his chin look like?

Does he hide behind the beard?

Why?

“False,” he said. “I’m here because I’m the lucky person who got to work your case.”

“So you’re just as crazy as I am then?” I smiled.

“I’m a researcher,” he replied.

“What’s the difference?” I asked. “So, what’s your goal, doc? You dont think you could fix me. So, what are you playing at?”

I held my wrists together and raised them at eye level.

“I’m all your’s,” I grinned.

He frowned.

Finally.

“I’m obligated to listen to your story; because of my job. However, what I’m really after is your biological test results. If you’ll allow it.”

I switched eyebrows.

Allow?

Is he acknowledging my control?

I like him.

He will die.

He will bleed purple.

“What makes your think that I’ll be interested in your personal goals? What do I get out of it?” I asked. “I don’t know you, I don’t care about your pathetic ‘research project’.”
 “I understand that,” he said. “That’s why we have to record your story, for the court.”

“And I repeat: Why the hell should I tell you anything?”

“Because, the case will not proceed without me giving the green light to continue,” he said. “Now, I can go ahead and get your prosecuted now, and then you can beg for more time later to live. Or, you can play it smart and tell me your story now, and they will give you plenty of stalling time before the case is tried. And I could be a valuable witness to you, if the information I get from you is credible, interesting, or pertains to my ‘research project’.”

He stroked his beard with his left hand.

Ring!

He’s got himself a little wife-y.

I looked at him for a moment before continuing.

What is going on with this man?

What’s his motive for doing this.

He doesn’t care about me.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because, I believe the killers are evolution’s way of preening the branches of the human civilization. And I want to know how it works. The greater good can be reached through sacrifice. But I also believe it can be achieved through salvation,” he replied.

“Don’t pretend to be a humanitarian, it’s disgusting,” I said. “I’ll have to think about it for a bit before I decide to help you, help me or not.”

“That’s fine,” he said, smiling again.

His teeth glinted the light from the lamps into the rest of the room.

“How long have y’all been married?” I smiled.

He instinctively reached for his ring and twisted it around his finger.

It glinted.

Like his teeth.

Like his blood.

“Five years last month,” was his reply.

“Cute.”

“Yes she is,” he eyed me, no longer smiling.

I struck a chord.

“Does she like your beard?” I asked.

He gave a nervous chuckle, “Nope, I’m afraid not.”

Rebellion.

“I didn’t think so,” I said quietly, now too preoccupied with the bruises on my hands.

Would they really bleed purple, you think?

That would be worth a try.

I could feel my pants get slightly tighter.

Purple blood on a white canvas.

That would be beautiful.

“I’m ready to leave now,” I suddenly stood up.

He mimicked my motions.

I’m not sure if he was being polite, or scared I was going to jump him.

Smart shrink.

I turned around and walked towards the cop that was standing on the opposite side of the room.

I held my hands up to be cuffed.

“I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Brooks?” the shrink asked in a way the implied that I didn’t have a choice.

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” I turned back around to him. “I’m terribly busy this week.”

“I’d imagine you are,” was his reply.

The cop opened the door and shoved me into the hallway beyond.

“Have a nice night,” he called after me as the door slammed shut.

Whore.