Alternative Treatment?

A large smile spread across his pale face, small pearly teeth gleaming. His hair was short and black, small wisps that stuck up childishly. The eyes of the man were round and a magnificent hazel with golden and emerald specks. His body slouched, and even so, he was taller than me. The thin structure of his got up from a library chair and walked over to me.

"Hi, sunshine!" he laughed and gave me a hug. That was awkward. Where's the knife in the back, the poison in the skin? "Thank you so much for this opportunity!"

I broke from the hug nervously and looked around. "Um g-good morning, sir."

"I look like shit, how about I get dressed before we head out?" his perky smile continued. In the movies, the murderer or criminal guy is all secretive and wearing a dark cloak with a pentagram tattoo engraved on their arm or something. This guy was wearing a long sleeved purple shirt and dark blue jeans, complimented with purple converse.

"You l-look fine," I choked out. "Let's get going, shall we?"

He was wearing fingerless gloves with Hogwarts category symbols written on them. The left one had Griffindor on the top of his hand and Hufflepuff at his palm. The right one had Slytherin at the top and Ravenclaw at the palm. He pushed his fingers to his face dramatically. "You think I look okay?"

"Yeah. Um, you look great."

"Really?Really?Really?" he asked, jumping around. He noticed my confusion and he stopped horsing around. "I'm sorry. I'm just so excited that this day has finally come," his eyes sparkled. "I want to be good. I know I can be good."

The fedora man gave a crooked smile to me and sneered at the criminal. "Well, Frank, you've met him. Take his hideous self away from this public place." I frowned.

"We'll be going after," my patient reached at the man's head and took the fedora. "...after we reward Frankie here with a fedora."

"Number 6174, please return my item, you scoundrel!" The criminal laughed without a care in the world.

"C'mon Frankie, darling, we better get going before the old dog gets onto us!" he grabbed my hand and ran to my car. How he knew it was mine is a mystery, but he opened it with ease.

"So, your name is 6174?" I asked.

"According to this new prison policy, prisoners are numbers," he said. "Call me Gerard, that's my real name anyways."

I scooted Gerard out of the car, and he pouted. "Lemme drive, Frankie!"

"Go to the passenger seat, Gerard." I demanded.

"Hey! I'm older than you, lemme drive!" he squealed.

After a lot of arguing, Gerard settled for the passenger seat. "Frankie, I want ice cream."

Oh god. I have to live with this?

Notes