To Live without Fear [Jeff the KillerxReader]

19

It seemed like Jeff had received the 'Silence of the Lambs:Hannibal Lecter' treatment. After his arrest, he'd been transferred from armored car to armored car, carried all the way across the country and deposited in a small underground cell below the nation's most secure insane asylum. His cell walls were grey cinderblock, which were undoudtedly layered over a steel reinforcing wall. There was a bulletproof glass window in the heavy steel door. Underneath that was a slot which they used to pass him trays of food, and retrieve the empty tray when he was finished. There was a camera in all four corners of his cell, one centered in the ceiling, and one in the hall that looked directly at his window. Jeff figured he was at least 3 stories underground as well.

The food was slop and the cream colored, pocketless clothing they'd given him were not nearly enough to keep him warm in the cell (the thin bedsheets wouldn't help much either, if they could come off of the bed, which they couldn't). However Jeff couldn't care less about his living conditions at the moment. As he paced back and forth across the small cell, he thought only of you. What did they do to you after you drove away in that ambulance? What was happening to you right now? You getting caught had not been a factor he'd considered before turning himself in. He needed to save you, but in order to do that, he needed to save himself.

But how? The safety measures in this place were practically airtight. There was no way he could call BEN, or break down the door. They even made sure to only give him finger foods so he couldn't get a hold of any utensils. Jeff puzzled over this for countless hours before opportunity came knocking on his door.

The speaker embedded in the wall by the window let out a loud beep, which caught Jeff's attention. A man with round glasses, thinning blonde hair and a tweed jacket stood in the window, looking at him with fascination akin to a little boy at the Zoo.

"Mr. Woods." The man spoke into the microphone. His voice quivered with suppressed excitement. "I'm Dr. Hilton. I'm the criminal psychologist assigned to... your case."

Jeff crossed his arms and turned to face the man. "Wassup, doc?" He asked, despite being wholeheartedly uninterested in anything Hilton had to say.

"I'm here to analyze your mental state." Dr.Hilton adjusted his glasses. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Hmm, what was that? I couldn't hear you, hold on." Jeff said, acting as though he hadn't heard the Doctor clearly. He then looked at the blank wall to his left, and angrily hissed at nobody, "SHUT UP. This guy is tryin' ta say something, loudmouth."

Dr. Hilton looked at Jeff with wide-eyed fascination, like he'd just had some kind of breakthrough. "Of course, schizophrenia could've caused it..." He muttered, as if Jeff wasn't there anymore.

Jeff laughed spitefully. "I was faking it, dumbass." He smirked, satisfied with his little prank.

Dr. Hilton looked flustered and adjusted his glasses again. "Yes- yes of course. But there are several types of schizophrenia, so there's a possibility you have it even if you don't experience any illusions. Tell me, do you often feel paranoid?"

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, all the time. I'm paranoid right now actually." He answered sarcastically.

The Doctor made a note and moved on to the next question. "Do you ever have thoughts or feelings that feel intrusive or foreign, like they're not yours?"

"Constantly." Jeff replied, "But that's just the Illuminati lizard people beaming stuff into my brain. Did you know they rigged the last Superbowl?"

Dr. Hilton sighed. "Perhaps you would prefer a written examination, Mr. Woods."

"Depends. How much does it count towards my final grade? Can I do corrections?"