Chapter Six

Cum îți așterni, așa dormi (as you make your bed so you must lie)

“Did you look at him? How could a boy that scrawny twist someone’s neck so far it looks like it’s going to fall off?”

 

“There’s no way he did it. I think-”

 

The murmur of voices reaches under the door and pulls me from unconsciousness. For a moment, I drift. My mind is a blanket. It doesn’t smother me, it comforts. I remember what it was like to smile and sleep through the nights.

 

I wake up.

 

Like blood hounds the rest of me catches up and I am only pain. Only past and future with no present. I haven’t had a vision in a week. I think I’m broken.

 

My visions have always been like Russian roulette. Hearing the empty barrels click until eventually one hits. At some point, I just learnt how to manage the bullet wound. I’ve forgotten how to heal myself again.

 

The door opens and I remember I have a body. Though I can’t move it. A jacket wraps me around a chair. I recognize it as a strait jacket so I don’t try to move. I want to tell them that I won’t do anything but my mouth is dry and my throat is raw.

 

“Fabian Lupei.” A women stands in front of me, her arms are crossed on her chest and she stares at me like an unimpressed cat. “Missing for a year, reported kidnapped, then deemed mentally unstable. Traumatized. Victim.” Her eyes flicker across my face. I feel the overwhelming need to fidget.

 

“Who are you?” My voice is so hoarse I cringe.

 

“Annalise Giroux. RCMP. I’m going to ask you questions regarding Diane Kelly, your nurse, killed yesterday evening, from cervical fracture. And about the previous investigations you were involved in.”

 

I’m a murderer. Shuddering, I curl my lips back, “Don’t be afraid of me.”

 

She stares into my eyes. I wonder how she can do it. Even looking in the mirror, I have to turn away. I see red and I see blood. Death. Like my dad always did.

 

“You’ve been diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Your testimony would have been stricken from all records had you been involved in the Weather Man’s case. As your specific concoction of neurological problems means you suffer from frequent memory loss.”

 

“Yet, here you are.”

 

She doesn’t smile. “Yes. Here I am. I do often find myself across from murderers.” She lets that sink in, “Though not usually boys under 19.” Pausing, she says, “Your kidnapper. Rippir Acheron, was killed using capital punishment.”

 

My kidnapper. Yes, I suppose in a way he was. I shrug. For Rippir, at least, I feel it was from no fault of my own.

 

“His victims received that old testimony revenge at least.” Her eyes bore into my scull harder. I search for meaning in her words and find none.

 

“Did you consider Acheron Rippir to be a friend?”

 

“No.” Impossibly, it feels like I’m swept back in time. I see Rippir’s sharp smile, electrifying eyes, full dress in extravagant clothing. Staring at Mark from the passenger side. Maybe I could’ve helped him. Talked to him more, guided him. Saved some of his victims from being splattered on his pumps.

 

The world goes black.

 

The woman in front of me is staring. She has long eyelashes and nice tan skin. I blink the black dots from my vision, a thick headache forming behind my eyes, and wink at her.

 

“It seems you’ve caught me in a strange predicament.” I flick the hair out of my eyes, smirking, “You could let me out and we could get to know each other.”

 

She stiffens, “Hello. I was told to expect you. Now, how did you feel about Diane Kelly?”

 

“Like she was my prison guard. Cute, but she was part of the reason I’m still in here.”

 

“Unfortunately, it looks like you didn’t get very far.”

 

A beat of silence, “I’m working on it.”

 

“Did you kill her?”

 

“Locked inside a room, mentally incapacitated? Of course not. I didn’t kill Diane Kelly.”

 

“Have you ever felt like Acheron had influenced you in anyway?”

 

I scoff, “Nah, he was cool, but a little too high on the psycho scale if you get what I mean. Always hanging around Mark like a horny puppy.” 

 

She narrows her lined eyes, “How did Mark die?”

 

Flashes of light blind me, I swear as pain racks through my brain. The world goes black.

Shadow figures with ripped fragments of wings, flames reaching the sky, Rippir’s teeth covered in blood, “I DON’T KNOW.” My broken voice echoes around us.

 

“What about you? Did you kill Diane Kelly, Fabian Lupei?”

 

“No- I…I don’t think so.” Breathing hard, I try to recall just a few hours ago. I never touched Diane Kelly. But, my power is not physical.

 

Giroux remains unfazed and stands, “I was begged not to inflict any mental pain. Though I’ve yet to see why you’d deserve that. Nonetheless, I’ll leave, since you’re back now. Your case will be reviewed to decide if you have violent tendencies and if you can continue to reside here. The court will base their decision on the conclusions of your doctors.”

 

When she leaves, the door swings open again to reveal the one face I didn’t want to see. Red eyed and shaking, Mrs. Berkley is escorted into the room by two Toronto police officers. I long to wipe the sweat that had accumulated on my forehead.

 

“No. Please leave. Please, I-I don’t want to talk to you.”

 

Her lip shakes as she talks, “You’ll be held here with stationed guards until you can be moved to a more appropriate area.” Her voice cracks and I look away, pain in every inch of my skin, “You won’t be arrested. There’s no proof that you did anything. But- Diane was a student, working here to pay off debt. She’ll never graduate and her family won’t see the justice they deserve.” She breathes deeply, “I thought, Fabian- I thought we were doing so well.”

 

She wipes sweat from her brow, pushing her glasses up her nose, taking a deep breath. Her dark skin is washed out. For a quick moment I wish I never met her. Like so many others, I’ve only hurt her.

 

“But, for now I’m legally your psychiatrist. I will see you get better, Fabian. You are not a lost cause.” Her pupils quiver but she looks me straight in the eye, “Coral Blackwell’s funeral is today.  I hadn’t planned to tell you, but under the circumstances I believe you should go. Maybe, just maybe, it might get through to you. Not just the guilt, but the reality of what happened. What really happened.”

 

My whole body shakes, sweating but cold, as she leaves the room.

 

In a few hours I’m in a car. It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to leave but there is no feeling of freedom. I'm still restrained. It strangely comforts me. A sort of control that never felt possible before.

 

A large church pulls up along the road, old and creepy. For the first time I wonder if Coral comes from a religious family. Her mother, maybe? The parking lot is full of puffy faces, that all turn to us as we pull up. I’m accompanied from the car by a security guard, he grabs my arm and glares at the curious, sad eyes.

 

It feel like they don't stop staring until the preacher begins to talk, loudly trying to be heard over the wailing and sobs. I feel disconnected. Floating away from all the grief that wears down my body. Until I see her. The smiling portrait of a 16 year old. Perched on an easel, happy in a way I never saw her. I slam back down and want to feel anything but this. The overwhelming sense of loss. It’s as though the emotions of everyone around me is mixing inside my heart.

 

Staring into her eyes, the tears are gradual. At the back of the crowd, I’m unnoticeable and try to look at the ground. But my sobs become too loud to ignore and the man guarding me looks away awkwardly.

 

“At 15, they say Coral Blackwell was a victim of a psychotic boy, but truly she was the victim of sin. The same sin that thrust Lucifer from heaven stalks our children. Preying on them, and killing them.”

 

The priest wanders around, slowly, like a type of torture.

 

“The Blackwell family mourns the loss of a wonderful daughter, sister and friend. Her unjust death haunts everyone who knew her. A monster took her away from us, we can only take solace in the fact that she is far from suffering now. She is with God.”

 

My legs threaten to give way, the shaking from earlier is back. Only harder. My teeth clatter and the tears have mixed with my sweat, soaking my face

 

People are starting to look back at me. Maybe some of them know me from the case, take me as the lucky one. Like I'm here to brag. I can’t stand it. I want to scream, collapse on the ground and lay beside her coffin. Allow myself to be buried with her.

 

The Priest's heavy voice stops and my cries hit the silence loudly. I try to muffle them with my hand, but they're shaking too badly. Someone grabs me and pulls me forward, I’m thrown into a shoulder. The lace from the woman's veil tickles my nose and her burnt smell is barely covered by her sweet perfume. I bury my face into her chest and allow myself to be held. Mentally apologizing for the wet spots on her black dress.

 

She leaves just as quick as she came, filling me with a better sense of where I am. The spaghetti feeling in my arms turns into numbness. The family members are placing roses on her casket. For the first time, I realize that I’m related to them. Blood relations I never knew I had. Piling flowers on the only sister I ever had. But she was new to being my sister. Not to him. The older boy with cracked edges, trying not to cry. Clenched fists. What right do I have to be sad? As he turns back to the crowd he sees me. His eyes pinch and flare with emotion. Anger.

 

I try to pull myself together as he slowly approaches me. I only shake more. My guard gives him a suspicious look, then turns away again.

 

“You’re Fabian Lupei?”

 

Nodding, I avoid his eyes. Shame builds inside me like a storm.

 

“I’m so- I’m sorry, she was good. So good.” When I do look up, his stony eyes glare, I know I have to tell him. “She…It’s my fault. I could’ve done so much more. I saw her and I left her. She did it for me. It's my fault that she died.”

 

All I see is the clenching of his fists, then the immediate pain resonating through the left side of my face. I cry out in pain and my guard looks too startled to do anything. Derek clenches his eyes shut, breathing hard, when he opens them again, they shine, “Why should any of us be here without her? Why should you?”

 

He looks at my shivering, my red eyes. Then spits at my feet. “She’s dead,” He points at the closed casket, “And you’re here.” His finger hits me in the chest, “What’s wrong with that picture?”