Letters from the Dead

The teenager was tall and gangly. He had jet-black hair that fell messily over his shoulders, a stark contrast with his pale skin. His face was freckled. His lips were dry and red, his pink tongue slipping out frequently, bringing out a trail of saliva to moisten them.

Crystal beads of perspiration burst forth from the acne-covered skin on his forehead, giving it a rather greasy appearance. By the bucketfuls of sweat the teenager was releasing, it was obvious that he was going to be dehydrated soon.

They hadn’t given him any water, hoping that the teenager would ultimately cave in to the duress. It was a psychological trade secret… discomfort was the way to go.

After all, humans are all spoilt creatures.

The teenager shifted apprehensively in his seat. His glasses slid forward and he pushed them up awkwardly, his mouth agape as he let out a shaky breath.

He was nervous.

Another sign that whatever barriers he had up was slowly being shredded away.

Gerard surveyed the jumpy, gawking teenager in front of him. Ten years of experience had trained him well. His face betrayed nothing, but he was bemused by the situation. Gerard had an excellent memory. Still, he couldn’t help but take another look at the brown tattered file that held all the information about the teenager in front of him.

Adam Monroe. Gerard’s hazel eyes zoomed in on Adam’s birthday.

Born 14 March 1997.

Gerard’s mind did the maths again and his stomach flipped.

15.

Holy shit.

He really was 15. Adam was only fucking 15 years old.

This was the man… no, the boy, who raped and brutally murdered sweet and innocent sixteen year old Rachel Phillips?

Gerard felt his stomach clench as he recalled the crime scene. Rachel’s body had been abandoned in the neighborhood park. He would never forget the way Rachel Phillips had been murdered.

In his ten years of experience at the bureau, he had seen much… too much. He wasn’t conceited enough to believe that he had seen everything, but it was enough for him. Pedophiles, incest, cold-blooded murders, violent deaths, crimes of passion… Every time he looked down at a dead body, he felt weary. Another withered flower of life.

But the way Rachel was murdered… Gerard knew. It wasn’t one of those case-closed-and-forget-about-it-or-occasionally-think-about-it cases. It was one of those I-will-haunt-you-for-the-rest-of-your-life cases. Gerard was sure of it.

Rachel was practically burnt into his mind.

Reddish hair splayed out from her cold, white face, a pool of thick blood around her head. Her hair was deeply matted with blood. Red against red, Gerard almost couldn’t tell her hair from her blood. Her face. Even in death, her deathly-pale face was beautiful. Smooth and pure, like snow. Her eyes were open, her green orbs slowly becoming cloudy-white, locked forever in a timeless stare. Her mouth was open, showing her teeth. Dried blood oozed out from between her teeth, staining the extraordinarily white a dirty brownish crimson. The thin lips were delicate, like a doll’s, a trail of blood at the edges.

The thin blue cotton blanket that had first surrounded her body had been uncovered, revealing her naked and battered body. Gerard had felt, at that instant, that the killer had a tinge of compassion. Or, at least he had regretted the act, for he had covered her up, conserving her last shred of dignity. She had a thin and delicate figure that had once been beautiful. Untouched and innocent. Her frail body had probably not stood a chance against the violent act. Purple-black flowers blossomed along her arms, around her neck, and between her legs. Deep bruising.

Rape.

Rachel’s hand was firmly clenched, and placed over her heart, as though in her last, dying moments, she had been feeling her fading heartbeat.

As Gerard stood over her, he had thought…

“What were you thinking in your final moments? Were you panicking? Were you looking into the eyes of your killer, and praying that it was all just a bad dream?”

Gerard lifted his head from the file, taking a sip from his iced water. The Styrofoam cup made a slight, scratchy sound as his fingers clutched the white foam material. He swallowed, the cool water soothing his dry throat as he drank.

“Dangle the carrot in front of the rabbit to make it jump.”

The thought crossed his mind as he was aware of Adam watching him. In the silence of the room, he could hear Adam swallow loudly as he watched Gerard drink.

He wasn’t afraid of taking his time to speak, or do anything else with Adam. In fact, the deafening silence gave the interrogators an additional intimidating edge. Fear, after all, builds up over time. Another psychological trick he had picked up from his mentors.

He snapped out of his reverie. Gerard finally looked frigidly back at Adam. Adam’s gaze hardened; his crystal-blue eyes growing stony. Gerard continued to stare at him, engaged in an intense mental battle with the teenager. The boy was destined to lose from the start. He thought he felt Adam crack slightly when Adam’s gaze faltered; though momentarily. The frosty demeanor slipped, and Gerard caught a look of fear peeking slightly through Adam’s mask. Then Adam looked away, his blue eyes troubled, darting swiftly to the nondescript table.

“Guilty conscience,” Gerard thought.

Gerard shut the folder, his fingers automatically smoothing out the dog-ears at the edges. His mind felt that ever-familiar, sharp edge of irritation.

He had always felt uncomfortable with things being out of place. It was a terrible habit, but very convenient for an FBI agent. He had to make sure that things were right in place, right where they belonged. They had to fit. It was ironic, really. He was a crime-fighter, working twenty-four seven against evil and bringing criminals to justice… yet he couldn’t stand things being “not right” when he was usually right smack dab in the middle of it. But that habit helped, at times. It gave him a never-ending thirst to get to the bottom of things.

His mind searched for the correct word, as he tried to describe his condition.

Paradox.

The word popped into his mind as though someone had whispered it into his ear.

He thought about it.

Yes, a paradox. He had always liked the way the word sounded, his voice caressing the “x” at the end, dragging it out. It sounded smooth, and sexy. Smart and masculine too.

Gerard tugged uselessly at the dog ears, trying to flatten them but they flipped automatically backwards. He tsk-ed mentally at the stubborn edges. Casting the file aside, he turned towards his partner, exchanging a knowing gaze with Agent Raymond Toro. A gaze that said, “I’ll let you do the honors.”

Agent Toro nodded, before he cleared his throat swiftly, pressing his fingers to his Adam’s apple. Adam looked up from his fingers; eyeing Ray’s afro with perceptible disdain. He had earlier been lacing and unlacing his long lanky fingers rather agitatedly together as he waited for the cross-examination to commence. Gerard hid a grin as he recognized the ascetic expression on Toro’s face; Adam had offended his partner with his non-too subtle distaste of his hairstyle.

“My name is Agent Toro, and this is Agent Way. Before we begin…” Agent Toro pronounced the words rather stiffly, his fingers hovering carelessly over the laptop. Adam’s statement would be typed out into the device by Ray while Agent Way would conduct the interrogation. It had always been their practice, an unspoken agreement between them since they started out as partners.

Agent Way observed Ray as he continued to speak. Agent Toro was a tall, striking man. He was extremely righteous, very smart, and intuitive, a quality that came in handy on the job. He had a likeable, friendly face. He had a personality that fit with his face too – he was a gentle, understanding man. Gerard trusted the man with his life; Agent Toro was a loyal and reliable friend, willing to go to great lengths for his friends. However, Agent Toro was no pushover – he was the best shooter in the team, not to mention the only one who had obtained marksmanship. He was so good that he could shoot the bull’s eye blindfolded.

Gerard wondered why the higher-ups had decided to put them together. They were polar opposites. He had heard himself being described as “cold, dark and menacing” by his colleagues. He had even earned himself the moniker, Lucifer, after the fallen angel. Maybe it was because they were so unlike, that they complemented each other, he considered. Whatever the rationale, it had been an excellent one, for the two had gone on to crack many a tough case for the unit.

Agent Way had a knack for developing criminal profiles just from analyzing the crime scene and its victims. He visualized, he dug deep into cases, he understood, and he saw the reasons behind it all. He could imagine himself hunting down the victims, he could see himself enjoying the feeling that came with the kill… the exhilaration, the pure ecstasy and the thrill… and the sense of accomplishment… so much so that he was the criminal himself… He saw it all. He was so good that he had ninety percent accuracy – he seldom failed in eyeballing the fugitives’ motives. He was well-known in the unit, especially for analyzing the villains behind crimes of passion.

He was good at it… for a reason that only he himself knew.

Gerard pursed his lips. His jaw muscles tightened automatically and his teeth clenched. He felt his teeth grind together in response to the caustic taste in his throat, and he grimaced. He wondered how his fellow Agents would react if they knew the reason why he was so good at his job. Would they have faces twisted in pure disgust and revulsion? Shock? Hate? Anger? Pity?

Maybe Lucifer was an apt name for him after all… for he had long fallen from the graces of heaven. He had no doubt that Heaven wasn’t what was in store for him in the afterlife.

“Wait.” Adam interrupted Agent Toro in mid-sentence. Agent Way glanced at Adam, and then his hazel eyes flickered to Ray. Agent Toro had been gesturing with his fingers as he spoke, and they now hung, suspended in mid-air. The look of astonishment was palpable on Ray’s countenance as Ray eyed the bespectacled adolescent rather suspiciously in front of him. It was comical the way his hands were perched over his laptop, as though he was about to reach out and seize Adam by his collar.

“Grab, shake and throttle.” Agent Way reflected wryly.

Adam huffed, his chest rising as he sighed. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, opening his lips as though to speak, and then closing them again. His hand was thoroughly wet with sweat when he pulled it out from the tangled mess. His blue eyes were solemn and accepting.

“I confess.” His parched lips moved slowly.

“I am responsible for the rape and murder of Rachel Phillips.”

Gerard could hardly stop himself before his jaw sunk open in utter incredulity.

The two agents exchanged glances.

“That was quick,” Agent Way thought.

Notes

Breaking Benjamin - Had Enough

You had to have it all, well, have you had enough?
You greedy little bastard, you will get what you deserve
When all is said and done, I will be the one
To leave you in your misery and hate what you've become

Heaven help you
Heaven help you