The Detective And The Monster

𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛: 𝙿𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝙼𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎

WARNINGS:
Blood
Death of character

*.*.*.*

"You know, I'm jealous of you," Danny said bitterly. "You were born with two eyes, and I was relentlessly bullied for only having one." He said, pushing the gun further into your forehead. It forced your head back, and you had no choice but to let yourself be stuck between the locked door and the insane doctor with your weapon.

"My mother was always talking about my one eye, argued with my father about it, and judged by others for having such a being as myself. Months and months of the same treatment from the people around her, and she started to lose herself." Danny explained, straight-faced, cold and unwelcoming.

"It was all my fault. Because of this eye," he brought his hand up to cover his prosthetic eye. "I hated people with two eyes." He glared at you, practically blaming you for his traumatic past.

"I studied the eyes that I could never have, and I quickly realized how different eyes are, especially in expressions."

"Like you, for example." Danny stared menacingly into your eyes. "I can tell just from your eyes that you're terrified." Your knees wobbled, and a terrorizing shiver ran up and down your spine.

There was no way out of this.

"But, out of all the different expressions, I found only one to be appealing to me. Emptiness, reflecting nothing. Cold, dead eyes that I could effortlessly fall in love with. My mother portrayed those empty eyes perfectly, and I wanted to tell her that." You could feel the gun slowly being pulled away from you.

Maybe you weren't completely hopeless.

"But before I ever could, I walked into her room to see her hanging loosely. She had died before I ever got to tell her anything." Danny said. Despite the horrible thing his mother committed, Danny didn't seem fazed in the slightest. If anything, he seemed sickening sweet. "But alas-" Danny tilted his head back, smiling-"her eyes looked even better in death." He giggled. "I wanted to see more."

"I had to see more!" His head shot forward, and was a mere few inches away from you, smiling insanely.

"That's why I became a counselor. All children and adults alike would flock to me with dead eyes, looking for someone to listen to them." This man was sick. He was insane! Mad!

The gun left your forehead. Danny hadn't noticed, but you did.

Swiftly, your arm plunged up and grasped the barrel of the gun, your elbow twisting over and slamming down on his forearm. Danny grunted, the gun forcefully leaving his hands. While he was still recovering from the shock, you kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to the floor.

But he was able to grab a hold of your ankle before you were able to pin him to the floor. He pulled at your ankle and you lost balance, falling backward. Your head hit the tile floor, and a sickening crack resounded through the operating room. Your vision blurred, and the world seemed to be spinning a thousand miles per hour. You couldn't concentrate, and black dots started clouding your vision. You couldn't let yourself blackout! If you blacked out, surely you wouldn't be waking up ever again.

"I expect nothing less from a detective such as yourself," you heard Danny say. You could see his form looming over you. He was blurry, you couldn't see his face, just the color of his clothing and hair.

"It was a smart move you pulled, but you forgot I'm not some weak doctor." You heard his hand fall to the side of your face, and you saw his blurry figure loom closer down towards you. "I make the rules. I decide when you die. I decide everything." He started giggling. "You know, you're starting to look like my patients. You know that you're going to die here, don't you, detective?"