"I have all the characteristics of a human being: flesh, blood, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me, and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflowed into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity… is about to slip."

-Patrick Bateman- "American Psycho"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Justin…

Legs crossed, foreheads touching, we wait.

"Your mom misses you. She really wants to see you."

"Brian called her. He told her I was fine," I say, my wrist throbbing as it protests the angle at which my arm is resting. I move it.

"It's not the same, Justin," Daphne says, her eyes soft and warm as they melt into me. I shift my eyes away from hers and stare down at my ring.

"Nothing ever is," I say cryptically.

Back when I was a child,

Before life removed all the innocence…

"I got one, I got one," I yell happily as my feet move swiftly over the muddy bank of the lake, rocks and shells littering the surface. I stop abruptly, standing at my father's feet, our toes nearly touching as I smile up at him.

"That's great buddy," he says as he looks down at me, abandoning his task. "Let's see it."

I grab his hand and pull him, without effort, toward my spot at the edge of the lake. "It's right over here," I say, duplicating my own footprints and smearing the originals.

My father laughs as we reach the edge, full and genuine. I wonder for a brief second what could be causing it when I see my fishing pole, floating five feet from the shore. "My fish," I say disappointedly.

"You've gotta pull the fish in and pull him off the hook if you want to have anything left to eat," my father says, the dry remnants of his laughter peppering his words, as he looks out at my pole and then down at me. "At least you caught one. And on your very first trip; took me five times."

I smile proudly as he hugs me close to him.

"But I lost the fishing pole," I say as I look out on the lake, the pole bobbing silently in the open water.

"Well, we'll just have to go and get it," my father says as he takes off his clothes, stripping down to his swim trunks. He doesn't hesitate as he walks towards the water, sinking below the surface.

I step closer. I never really liked the water.

"Dad?" I call, as I look down, making sure my feet have not crossed into the clear liquid. I see no movement, hear no sound, not even my own as my feet are pulled from under me and I am dragged into the darkness.

My head pops up and I gasp for air, clinging tightly to my father's forearm as we bob in the water, the pole pushed out farther from our movements. His laughter returns, loud and boisterous as he watches me wipe frantically at the water trickling down my face.

It's so cold.

"You okay?" he asks. I nod my head frantically as my feet kick at nothing. "Scared ya, huh?" he asks with a laugh.

"No," I say, my teeth chattering as my blood rushes to try and keep me warm. "No," I repeat, more to hear the sound of words than to answer his question.

"Let's get that fishing pole," he says as he begins to move away, my grip on his arm relentless as I'm pulled along.

He stops abruptly turning to push me away from him. "This is as good a time as any for you to learn how to swim." He holds onto my hands as he pushes me away. His grip is tight, safe. "I'm gonna let you go. Just keep kicking."

"Okay," I stutter as I hold onto him, my chin resting just above the surface of the water. I dare not look down into the darkness below me.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes...s."

"Are you sure?"

I nod.

"Remember, just keep kicking and move your arms," he says, his eyes locked on mine. "I'll be here. I'll always be here. I'm not gonna move. You'll be okay." He let go.

He let go and I wasn't ready.

Nobody said it was easy

It's such a shame for us to part

Nobody said it was easy

No one ever said it would be this hard

"You were always the strongest person I knew," Daphne says to me, her breath warm as it tickles my throat. I take in a deep breath but I say nothing. "You were," she solidifies.

"Yeah," I sigh, moving back slightly and looking into her eyes. I rest my arms on my legs and fix my gaze on the details in the hardwood.

"Somehow I find that hard to believe. I can hardly stand the sound of my own breathing. Brian touches me and I want to scrub the spot until I bleed. I don't think that's a sign of strength." She takes in a deep breath, her arms folding around her body as she looks at me.

"Some people wouldn't have been able to get this far, Justin," Daphne says sadly as I look back up at her, a hesitant smile dusting her features. "I think that says a lot."

"What's worse," I say, pushing past her words, as I stand up from the floor and face the sink, "is that I'm conscious of everything. I lay awake at night thinking of what he could be doing. I wonder, even though it scares me beyond belief, I wonder. I'm afraid to be afraid and yet… I can't breathe unless I am."

She is trying, so hard, to understand. "Justin," she says hesitating, as she places a cup in the sink, her hands needing to do something. "Maybe you should, you know, talk to…."

I move away from her. "Did Brian tell you when he'd be back?" I ask, pushing the conversation away. She shakes her head slowly from side to side as she starts to wash the dishes.

"No," she says, "he didn't. I'm sure he'll be here…."

I nod my head as my right foot reaches the bottom stair. "I'm gonna lay down for a little while," I say, cutting her off. I don't pause as she calls my name. I can't. I don't sleep. I lay away, staring at the ceiling and wondering when it would cave in and crush me.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Brian…

I slide the loft door open and step into silence. "Brian," Daphne says bluntly as she comes toward me, worry on her face. "He went in there hours ago," she says as she motions towards the bedroom.

I can see him on the bed, in the same place, in the same position. I smile at Daphne as I unzip my coat. "He's been doing that a lot lately," I say as I toss my coat onto the sofa. "He'll be fine."

She looks at me, pleads, for me to be telling the truth. "Are you sure?" she asks as she grabs her things and heads for the door, giving one last glance toward the bedroom.

"He'll be fine, mom," I say with a smile as I pull the door open. Daphne hesitates, startled as she stands face to face with two men, the taller one's hand poised to knock.

"Tell, Justin, I'll call him later," she says as she moves past the men and down the stairs, not wanting to pause for the lift. I nod as she disappears around the curve of the stairwell.

"Mr. Kinney," the shorter man says; his voice clear and precise. "I'm Detective…."

"I know who you are," I say with ease, my voice steady and unmoving. We stand at the door, the line clearly drawn. This is my house, my territory. The atmosphere behind me is swelling in silence, the minutes ticking by.

He concedes to the rules. We play by my terms.

"We'd actually like to speak to you and your husband. If you don't mind," Detective Ramirez says as he gestures into the loft, aiming at nothing in particular. "Would you mind if we came in for a minute?" he asks.

"Not at all," I say moving aside and allowing them to enter. "I'm always glad to do my part to help further the efforts of the justice system," I say as they move past, coming to a stop in the middle of the loft, the eyes taking in every inch.

"I'm happy to hear that," Ramirez says as his taller partner stays silent. I don't move. I don't speak. "We'd like to talk to your husband. Is he around?"

I turn away from the detectives, making my way into the kitchen. I grab a glass and a fresh bottle of Beam.  "I thought this was a social call," I say as I gesture a mock salute and down the burning liquid. "He's around; doesn't mean he'll talk to you. Excuse me detectives," I say as I steady my nerves and walk toward the bedroom. "Feel free to make yourselves comfortable."

I know they won't.

"Justin," I say as I step into the bedroom. He frowns slightly, his right hand resting on his leg. "Justin." I reach over and nudge him slightly.

"Go away," he moans, never opening his eyes.

"The police are here," I state. His eyes open wide as he scans the bedroom, sitting up quickly.

"Why? What the fuck for?" he asks as he starts to stand, his body moving on pure adrenaline. He gets to his feet with nowhere to go, nowhere to run, hide…escape. I grip his arms and steady his movements.

"They just want to talk to you, Justin. I'll be right there," I tell him as I hold onto him. "I'll be right there." He closes his eyes and swallows, adjusting further to his wakened state as his mind grips around my words.

He nods, releasing a long breath.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Detective Jorge Ramirez…

We stay where we are, waiting for them to emerge from the bedroom.

Josh clears his throat as they appear at the top of the stairs. "Mr. Taylor," I say as I take a step forward. He braces himself for the movement and smiles. "We were wondering if we could talk to you for a couple of minutes," I say, easing over the awkward moment.

"Yeah," he says as he moves toward the sofa. We follow, sitting opposite him. He folds his feet under his body and makes himself as small as possible. I smile sadly at his childlike need to mask his vulnerability. Brian sits down next to him, his long limbs stretching forward as he leans back into the sofa.

"Actually, we think we might have found a lead and we were hoping that you'd be willing to help us," I say as I look at the both of them. My eyes linger on Brian as he watches me.

The game has new rules, he's passed the torch.

I shift my eyes back to Justin. "What do you need?" he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers pulling idly on the Velcro strap of his brace. I smile, hopeful, as Josh hands me the manila folder.

"I know you've been through a lot, but I need you to look through these pictures of the crime scene and tell me if you notice anything out of the ordinary. Anything misplaced," I say. I watch him for an indication of whether or not I should proceed. Brian's arm moves, finding a resting place behind Justin, lending support.

Justin closes his eyes and nods, his fingers pressing down on the thick packet as he takes it from the detective. No words are exchanged, none are needed. We all wait as he takes a deep breath, opens the flap and slides the photos out into his lap.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Jordan…

"

Jordan," he says reading my name tag. My hand pauses over his carton of orange juice. I look down at my name tag, already knowing what it says.

I look up at him, embarrassed smile on my face.

"It's really Jordianna, but everyone calls me Jordan anyway, so," I say nervously. He watches me closely, a look of amused calm painted on his face. I smile once more as I turn away and finish ringing up his groceries.

"It's a very pretty name," he says as I total his items and hand him the last bag.

"I never really liked it," I say as I read him his total and take his money. I shift on my feet, the pressure of standing up all day wearing on me. He leans over the counter and straightens my name tag, halting all of my movements.

"I think it suits you," he says as he smiles at me. "Keep the change." I stare after him as he walks away and out of the store. I look down at my name tag, feeling cold and uneasy. I shake off the feeling as a woman steps in front of me, blocking my path of vision.

"How are you today, young lady?" The older woman asks; her hair graying and dry. I force my eyes from the door and give her my attention.

"I'm fine, and how are you?"

Drywall, open and exposed, continuous cloud of dust and debris.

"Hey," I say as I walk up to Dean, talking animatedly to one of the workers. He stops short when he sees me, a smile spreading over his face.

"Hey babe," he says kissing me. "Conner was just telling me that the kitchen should be finished by the time I come back from my trip. I press my lips to his once more.

"Mm, that's good news," I say as I pull away. "I wish you didn't have to go." He holds my hand as he leads me into the house, our house; our new house. God that feels good to say.

"I know," he says as we step over the many tools that litter the hallway. "But if we want to keep this house, and pay for the renovations, I don't have a choice."

"I know," I tell him. I pull the ponytail holder from my hair and toss my apron onto the kitchen table, my name tag hitting against the wood.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ronnie Jr. …

I stop my car, four houses down, and kill the engine.

Seventeen years old…

"Ronnie?" Ryan says scared, his back pressed firmly against the side of the house. I pause, my knife held carefully between my lips. "Ronnie, what are you gonna do with that knife?" he whispers into the darkness.

"Don't worry about what I'm gonna do. You just do what I tell you to do and stand there, understand?" He nods quickly, sealing his lips. I jump through the kitchen window and stop, listening for any movements, before climbing down off of the sink and making my way across the kitchen floor.

Holly Kelsen lives in this house. She turned me down when I asked her out. Her parents are out of town. "Fuck," I exhale into the air as my sneaker rests on the bottom step, emitting a loud creak of protest from the stair.

Stilling my heart I press on, my knife held tightly in my right hand. I move up the steps, my mind clear and open. I don't stop to listen. I don't stop to prepare. I move only on emotion, pure and pulsating.

I look down at my hands, covered in blood and semen. I pray for the courage to move, but I can't.

"FUCK… FUCK… SHIT!" my father screams. Ryan is on the bed, moaning, crying and bleeding. I want to move. I want to look away. I want to call someone. I want to do all the right things, but I don't. I stand where I am as my father's screams fill the house and die out.

I can hear the blood as it quickly fills his throat and chokes him, his screams halted by the grip death has on his soul.

I stand there. I stand there… with the biggest fucking smile on my face.

The room seems to expand around me, swallowing me.

I close my eyes, heat pulsating through my veins. "Ronnie?" I hear and the walls snap back into place. "Ronnie, I heard lots of noises," I hear Ryan say, his voice shaking and distant.

"Go back outside," I whisper, my voice audible only to me. "Go back outside," I repeat, loud enough for him to hear me. I pull up my jeans. I don't remember pulling them down.

"What the fuck makes you think you're so goddamn special?" My father screams at me, his breath tainted and warm as it washes over my face. I turn my face to the side as he prods his finger into my chest. "You think you're not like me. You're exactly like me. You can't escape the cycle, boy. Just you wait and see."

His footsteps retreat as the air rushes back into my lungs, metallic and hot, the smell of death.

I never felt more alive.

I watch them walk away, into the house, the door closing behind them. I rip my hand away from my own erection, my cock hard and wanting. I start the engine and pull away from the curb.

Patience is a virtue.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

What does this guy do?

He covets.

How do we first start to covet?

We covet what we see… everyday.

"The Silence of the Lambs"

*

"Dance With My Father" by Luther Vandross

"The Scientist" by Coldplay