The House of Fire and Bones

A Crack in the Glass

  "A psychiatrist?" The inmate strapped securely inside the straight jacket cackled. He was a slim young man with a scruffy haircut, clearly not taken care of on purpose. As he spoke, he cocked his head to the left slightly. His legs were crossed, with his left foot bouncing in agitation. The room was stuffy but the inmate found it somewhat relaxing. There was nothing inside the small cell but him and the cold metal chair he sat on.
 
    The officer guarding the cell rested his hands on his waistband with any of his weapons in reach, specifically his gun. "You did request for one." He sighed tiredly, removing one of his hands and examining the nails.
 
    "I didn't think you pigs had the heart to listen to some inmate's request." The inmate snared as he leaned forward and cursed under his breath. Giving a regurgitating sound, he threw up a little on the floor in front of him.
 
    "I really hate when you do that. You know, that doesn't do anything for you." The officer said, clicking his tongue.
  
    The inmate licked his lips and spat out what was still in his mouth, "Maybe. But I love watching you guys clean it up. After all, my arms are tied." A string of laughter followed after with the lingering scent of vomit.

  
    Three hours had passed since the declaration of the inmate getting to speak with a psychiatrist. The inmate was very agitated and tired of waiting at this point. The floors had been wiped clean, and it no longer smelled old and stuffy. That made his attitude worse.

    "Where the hell's that damn psychiatrist you were going on and on about?" The inmate asked, infuriated with the time that past. Cocking his head, he rubbed it against his shoulder as a way of scratching his cheek.

   "She should be here any minute now." The officer told him as he looked down at his clock for the third time.
  
    "Oh, so it's a she?" The inmate chirped, "This'll be Interesting~" the sole reason why the inmate was there in the asylum in the first place was because of mass murder and manslaughter. Mostly swooning women and then killing them later that night. He was caught in the act by a police officer who so happened to stumble across him stuffing a hand into an abandoned dumpster in an alleyway. He was then sentenced to 1200 years- impossible for anyone to live through- in prison, with maximum security, and 24 hour surveillance. Shockingly, he's been alive for 50 years, but he still looked in his twenties.

    "If you even think about pulling any tricks, you'll be sent straight to the pit. No exceptions." The officer responded in a monotone way.

 
    It was a while before the steel doors across the long hallway creaked open. He had been changed from his straight jacket into his personal custom handcuffs. His jacket before had been ruined because of the stunt he pulled earlier. The sound of the door locking into its hinges echoed wearily to the other side.

    Tap tap
 
    Her crimson heels tapped confidently and carefully against the cold tile floors like a predator would its prey. Her short sunflower blonde locks bounced in a rhythmic manner as her electric blue eyes stared ahead. Once she reached the other side of the hall, she greeted the officer with a small smile.
  
    "Your conversation will be recorded carefully. He's a very dangerous person, so the moment you feel threatened, please exit the room." The officer warned the woman. He then proceeded to reach for the radio on his left arm and spoke, "Open cell number 2546."
 
    The steel door in front of the psychiatrist clicked 4 times before squeaking open. On the other side, the inmate wore a frighteningly mischievous grin, his dull sky blue eyes scanned her frame up and down.
  
    "Hello, my name is Rose; I'll be your psychiatrist. Can you tell me your name?" Rose introduced herself to the inmate, patiently folding her fingers in front of her.

    The inmate entered a giggling fit, and stared at her incredulously. He was really finding his situation, with having a psychiatrist come and then being asked his name, very ironic and interesting in a funny way. Never in a million years did he think a woman would ask for his name first. He took another good look at her before responding, "Well this is interesting. I'd usually be the one asking for names. But, I guess it's your job, isn't it doll face?"
 
    Rose contained her composure, and remained calm, almost unfazed by his comment. Of course she had her limits, but she's dealt with inmates on numerous occasions, and this was just a part of it. "Yes well, I want to have a little information about you." She said simply.

     "I'm sure you got info about me before you got here, so you should at least know my name. But, for my sanity, it's Axel. And don't ask for my last name, 'cause I don't like telling people." Axel introduced. No matter what would happen, he knew he was going to try to test her. Maybe break her down if possible. But he'd have to be cautious about doing so; she could leave at any moment and he was being closely monitored for suspicious behavior.

    "Axel's a nice name. And that's fine as long as you're comfortable." Rose complemented. A chair was set up for her, so she sat down anxious to get started with the appointment.
 
    "Cut the crap, will you? I know you don't want to be here just like everyone else. So be a sweetheart and drop the act." Axel hissed, he watched the way her face churned in shock and confusion, and the way she fiddled with her satchel's shoulder strap.
  Rose cleared her throat and smirked, "Well, let's do this, and start from the beginning. What was your job before this, if you had one."
  
    "Alright, now listen up, I ain't a snob, got it? I was a bartender, and the best in town no less. Personally, I found it was the perfect job for murder. I knew my customer's routines and I knew my poisons, and what drinks went with them." Axel let a sly smirk crawl onto his face, and the yearn for more of those days itched all over. Axel looked over to her.
  
    Very intensely she listened, chin resting on top of a fist she made with her arm supported by her crossed leg. He was hesitant to fulfill that curiosity, but nevertheless he continued. "I was fairly good at keeping a pattern, something those pigs were to dumb to keep up with."
 
    Rose frequently nodded her head; quietly nodding her head and scribbling notes in her notebook. She sat up shortly. "Do you miss your job? Do you have any regrets?" Her voice varied, as if she was more interested than her job covered.
 
    Axel himself began to get a little unsteady and uncomfortable. Why was she so interested in his story anyways? He's had the opportunity to speak with a few people before, not by choice, and none of them were even really interested in being near him. And not even at his past job, did the women really talk to him for anything other than a drink, hookup, or occasional question. "Yes, I do miss brewing all sorts of drinks. And, I might have one regret..."
 
    "And what's that?" Rose perked up almost immediately. A pause placed itself between the two in an unsettling way. Rose somewhat questioned if she spoke too quickly; she swallowed hard. Axel's fingers twitched in agitation; he brought his hand up, with the other trailing behind since they were cuffed, to scratch his neck. In his mind, he had already decided that it would be better that she was dead.
 
    "My only regret was getting caught." That was the only answer he gave Rose, but of course he had many regrets. Surely, the inmate wasn't going to share them. Axel was stingy with his words for many reasons. He didn't know what she would do with all this information. Whether she'd keep her mouth shut, or tell everyone she knew, he wasn't going to take that chance.