THE UNEXPECTED KILLER [G!P]

Chapter 17

Becky's pov.

I felt her presence before I even saw her. The air between us was colder, fragile even.

"Hello, Miss Armstrong," Her enticement laced voice greeted me. I refused to meet her eyes. I couldn't. But somehow I did. And I regretted it immediately. A pool of dark chocolate was quick to drown me into the exorbitant depths of the colour azure.

I remembered likening her eyes to the Chocolate bars, the first time I saw her. But it wasn't the sweet kind, the kind that came with a tasty sweet favor in a chilly day. No, the chocolate I was thinking of was bitter and dark that makes you want to throw up.

I despised her. Or at least I wanted to, with every nerve in my body. But I couldn't deny what an elusive work of art, the person standing infront me was. I looked behind, making a quick glimpse at the nurse who had accompanied me into the room, then back to the front.

Slowly, I inched forward towards the desk, settling down with wariness evident. Because I have not been allowed to bring my phone inside, I'd gotten hold of a digital audio recorder. I placed it on the table, carefully, and switched it on. She sat on her bed. Her eyes, akin to a predator, traced along my every movement.

"Good evening, Ms. Chankimha," I began. "How was your day?" I spoke the monotonous, formal piece of conversation that I had mapped out prior in my mind. Everything I had discovered about Freen Chankimha, had left my head reeling at the thought of breathing in the same room as her. A brutal killer.

I couldn't even look at her, without seeing blood splashed all over her body, her face, covering the maniacal grin underneath. Deep breaths. Just take in deep breaths.

There was no answer. She just sat there merely looking, studying me, eyes sharper than I remembered. The nurse walked over to her bed, telling Freen to stand up. As she rose, I involuntarily sank back into my chair. She must have perceived the small movement, for the sound of her chuckle was soon ringing in my ears.

Taking the seat across mine, she ran her sight, one last time, along my trembling hands, before meeting my mahogany eyes. The nurse locked the cuffs in place, checking the chain once by pulling at it and then, without a single word, leaving the room. Leaving me all alone with the monster.

I cleared my throat, "Did you eat well, Freen?"

"Just get on with the questions, Miss Armstrong."

My body flinched negligibly at the sudden change of tone. "Oh, uh okay," I turned away my gaze to flicker through the pages in my binder. "When was the first time you experienced the first symptoms of...."

I cut myself off when, out of nowhere, Freen raised her bound fists, raising it to both of our eye levels.

"You know, these cuffs feel awfully loose, like I could just..." she proceeded to tug at the cuffs once, gently. "Slide right out of these."

My bottom lip quivered.

She's just trying to scare you. Mess with your mind. Stop trembling. I had to constantly remind myself of this. There was a moment of pure silence, each syllable of my name spoken slowly, sensually.

"If you're going to ask me the same questions as my fucking psychiatrist, why don't you just ask him for my evaluation records, get the fuck out of here and save yourself the trouble?"

I frowned. It would be an understatement to say that I was left disoriented.

What am I supposed to do?

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