[Part IV] Pushing me away

Behind every scene, there's a backstage. Those are the facts behind any drama. They are also the fact behind every movie. Even every person has their past - its just a matter of finding out.

There's an office space in a government office that not many employees visit. It's underground and its a very shady area. The halls are brightly lit, but the walkways are narrow. The doors are separated 10 meters apart and it looks like place where you would like to hide your most prized possessions. But at the end of that corridor, that only corridor, there is a room. That room belongs to the in-house psychiatrist. Today, she was seeing one of her most dangerous clients.

"Good morning."

"Good night."

"Where should we start today?"

*Chuckles darkly*

"Have you been up to anything interesting?"

"I walked in here today."

"Yes. A planned visit. Very interesting indeed."

"Yes. Most of what i do isn't planned, don't you agree, doctor?"

*Nods*

This was a stereotype conversation that went on with this dangerous client. The "dangerous" was actually a label that the CIA and FBI put on him. But in this room where there was only one table, two chairs and a dim light above, he was completely placid, if not a little intimidating. But the doctor knew well enough about how he came to be labeled dangerous. This very twisted form of an assassin killed people for a living. At least, that was what he currently did. He had those dark eyes and a very curious snarl. It was characteristic of a murderer, not someone you would put on a loose leash to finish off top priority jobs. But somehow, this disaster of society seemed to have an extremely calm and controlled inner-self. Although his actions portrayed anything but that, the sessions she had with him seemed very nostalgic in nature. He spoke little, but when he did, there was this tone of wisdom and hurt.

It seemed sad that he had a philosophy which mankind could only learn from pain and suffering because this man that sat before her seemed to have a message to send out. If only he had the proper means to do it. More appropriately said, if only he had the acceptable means to send his message. He was an outcast for his actions. The FBI and CIA never warranted such actions, but times called for drastic measures. He didn't do jobs perfectly, but he finished them. His precision was delicate, but only in the toying of his victims. He never reported a completed assignment. His supervisors only had to wait for the morning news to report some gruesome murder or murders from the doing of a madman.

The doctor's role in therapy was to make sure this individual was stable. The first time he walked in, she sensed no need for that at all. Instead, this man should be the one giving her therapy for stability. He had the most concrete values system, although twisted, she had ever encountered. She could never shake him, but she could be a listening ear. She could be his historian. Somehow he liked that and let watch him through that little window that he allowed her. She often thought to herself,"Sometimes, society does crap...crap like this. They just love to make monsters out of people. Just by...pushing them away....sad."



"Should we continue with the session next time?"

"I think, you should know about Sarah."

Now this was a new revelation. "Who is Sarah?"

"She is my daughter. And, I know this session is being taped, if not by you, by them. If any harm comes to her...."

"I..."

"Hush..." he smiled softly, it was like sun had broken through the rain clouds. "Don't speak of her. Ever again."

He stood up and walked towards the door. "It only hurts the more you think about it." He slightly turned his head to face her, making sure she saw that twisted grin on his face before let the door shut behind him.

She could hear his footsteps as he paced away from the room. It dawned upon her, that he could be human after all.

"Incredible..."