Where It All Started

The Night Stalker:

~TRIGGER WARNING SLURS USED~

~Richard Ramirez's POV~

"Fine alright. What do you want to know?" My arm is finally released from the agent's grasp. She's not traditionally what you would get, I've been in the game long enough to know this. She's got a bit of spunk in her, she catches my attention. Besides what can I say? Some playful banter with her is better than a broken arm. 

I readjust myself at the table, getting comfortable again. "Spill it." A thick accent laces her voice causing me to smirk. "You know, there's something interesting about you." I point my finger  at her as I speak. She's hiding something, I can taste it in the air. She seems to struggle balancing between two personas, variants of herself per- say. "I want to be alone with you, then I'll tell you whatever you want to know." 

"No way, I have strict orders to not leave her side-" My eyes remain glued onto Agent Blythe's eyes, as her answer is the only one I care about. "Deal." 

"Edy-" She holds her hand up to shush him,  she stands and pulls him off to the side, convincing him that she will be alright, that my abiding will be worth while in the end. Morgan leaves the room reluctantly, the petite girl taking her spot across from me. "Now tell me what I want to hear." 

"For every bit of information you want to hear from me, is something you have to tell me about you." 

"I don't like cats, spill." I laugh, she really thinks she can do whatever she wants? "No, I ask a question you answer, then you ask a question and I answer. I presume that's fair is it not?" She rolls her eyes and throws in the towel. "Fine, go for it. What do you want to know. "Where's your accent from?" 

"It's Russian." She admits bluntly, tilting her head slightly to the right. "Is there anyone who writes to you that seems a little bit too invested in you, obsessed even?" I smirk, the thought of someone being totally invested in me is exhilarating. "Oh honey, everyones obsessed with me." I shrug, "Just take a look at my court hearing, a whole bunch of whores were praising me despising knowing the things I could do to them." I lean forward proudly. She rolls her eyes, unamused, she gestures for me to take my turn." 

"How old are you?"

"Have your parent's never taught you manners?" Her eyebrow raises at my rudeness. "You're the FBI shouldn't you know that?" She gives me an unsure look with a slight shrug. "Technically I'm not with the FBI anymore."

"Why not?" She puts her finger up to hush me. "Nuh-uh it's my turn..." She ponders over something to ask, it's clear she's precise. A straight to business guy kind of girl. "Is there anyone who asks for details about the crimes you committed?" 

"There's actually someone who comes to mind..I can't quite put my finger on the name..." I tap my finger to my head, my hands still completely bounded by the cuffs. She flares her nose in annoyance. "You better start fucking remembering." I'm starting to think she isn't as tough as she pretends to be. "I can't think straight with you yelling at me." 

"I'll do a lot more than yell at you if you don't start telling me what I want to hear." I smirk, "Oh please, do tell. I'm intrigued, I love when you talk all aggressive to me" With full honesty, she kind of turns me on.  "You're a pig." I laugh hysterically. "That's no way to talk to someone who holds all the cards now is it?" 

"Whatever, just ask the next question."

"If you're Russian, why do you have such an Americanized name?" 

"I changed it when I moved to America." I raise my head in understanding. "Why did you come?" She falls silent, causing me to believe she was preparing a lie. "And I want the truth, or I won't tell you who's behind these killings."