115 Empty Inside (2/2)

”Like me, of course. One look in his eye and you will know that he is a good man. But he's empty, too. Just like me.”

Empty. Carol turned to me. ”I see it in you too. The emptiness. Are you the one he was speaking of?” she asked, her tilted to the side.

”I don't know the man you are speaking about,” I admitted. It intrigued me, though. He had given her to someone just like him. And this man was just like this little girl?

So, he had an urge to kill. I mulled it over in my head.

”And how did he know you were just like him?” I asked, my eyes trained on her.

”I was allowed to bring over a few friends for a sleepover a couple of months ago,” she admitted conspiratorially. I raised my brow. ”Of course, no one came to find my mother and we were playing in the living area for a long time at night.”

Playing. ”The girls wanted to see who was most strong so we ended up wrestling.” She smirked at the memory. ”I had seen some of the men choke my mother so I tried it on a girl.” She started to giggle, frightening the psychiatrist. ”It was so much fun. Her face became so red and she was struggling to breathe. The others didn't pull me off so I watched for a while.” She was staring at her open palm in fascination. ”He walked in on this happening and pulled me off the girl.” She rolled her eyes.

”He saw you?” I confirmed.

”Yeah, he brought it aside and asked me what I was doing. So I told him.” Silence.

”What did he say?”

”He smiled. He said he was proud of me for finally realizing my potential. So he taught me how to strangle someone. He knew I enjoyed watching them struggle and seeing the light in their eyes slowly fade, so he told me how I could do that.”

I felt my body freeze. A man who was proficient in the art of murder had helped another budding killer to hone her art and realize her fantasy. What kind of wretched story was this?

”Did he also teach you how to cut?” the psychiatrist asked. She shook her head.

”No, he didn't like that one bit. He said that I had ruined his plan by doing it.” She stared at the two of us. ”Why did he say that? He said that me doing it gave you all a clue to who I was.” She frowned.

”Did you not want to be found?” I asked. She had made it abundantly clear that she was playing the cat and mouse game. She wanted people to know how she was living, but at the same time, she knew that it would not help her situation. Therefore, confusion arose.

”No,” she said. ”I never consulted him about where I would strangle them or who it would be. He told me to follow my heart and create the art that I wanted to.”

Create art.

”And your heart followed you there.” She nodded vehemently.

”But don't be frustrated. It is not my mother's fault that I am this way. I had always been like this,” she smiled. ”It is thanks to her that I found out how much I like it.”

She wished to thank her mother.

”You have no resentment for her?” I asked, incredulous.

”No, I don't. And if you had any sense in you. You wouldn't resent yourself or your circumstances either. You keep those urges bottled up too much. No wonder he passed me on to you.” She rolled her eyes and scooted away from me.

What did this mean? And how was I supposed to read the meaning between the lines?