“Thank you.” Preston rubbed his hands together, positively gleeful. “I just need to talk man-to-man with you.”
“Okay.” Pat’s brain was buzzing and he was subtly trying to seek out signs that Justice was nearby. Unfortunately, she had disappeared again.
“As a schizophrenic, do you deal with intrusive thoughts?” Preston now had a pen and paper in hand ready to take notes.
“Of course.”
“Good, good.”
“It isn’t good.”
“Well, it is a relief to know that is part of your experience. I have them too, but I don’t hallucinate so I doubt I’m schizophrenic.” Pat was silent. “You see, I truly am the most isolated man. I have been seeking someone like me for some time and just can’t find them.”
“Why are you trying to find people like you?”
“Everybody is being affirmed. Where is my affirmation? Where is my 8-part mini-series?” Preston seemed like a perfectly normal man, but as he was talking about this, a manic gleam came into his eyes which transformed his entire face. “I thought for a long time that I was too different. People I opened up to said I shouldn’t be allowed to live. If they can say that about me, why can’t I say that about them?”
“Well, that’s not nice of them to say.” Pat said, his mind distracted by plans of escape. Maybe if he ran towards the window screaming it would provide enough of a distraction and momentum that he could get through.
“It really isn’t, but they like to pretend that it is acceptable just because I told them my fantasies.” Preston tapped the desk. “I get the greatest satisfaction out of watching people die by my hand.”
“I think that is a sickness that needs to be treated.”
“I thought at least you would understand.” Preston said sadly.
Pat then made the mistake of glancing behind him. Justice stood there mouthing the words “run”. He whipped back around and Preston’s eyes flashed with anger.
“I haven’t finished talking.”
“I’m sorry.” Pat wasn’t sorry, but he was more sorry that he got caught seeking escape.
“Your hallucinations can wait until I tell you the best part.” Preston straightened the collar on his shirt as he spoke, which was even more unsettling. He was acting as though they were having a simple coffee chat. “My Father died when I was young. Most people know that. What they don’t know is that I killed him.” Preston paused to let the revelation settle into the silence.
“That’s sick.”
“Your reaction disappoints me. I can’t be the only one that feels this way. I’m convinced others have impulses to kill and maim, but they are just afraid to express themselves. I want to free these people from repression and societal norms.”
“That isn’t normal.”
“Oh, it is. I argue that it is much more widespread.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“There is a strong likelihood you won’t make it through the testing we are about to do and I want to feel like I shared my story with somebody. I assumed you would be more empathetic, but I was wrong.” Preston shrugged again.
“I do not empathize with homicidal maniacs.” Pat said through gritted teeth.
Preston opened his mouth in mock offense. “Really? That’s low. Aren’t you also suspected of murdering that girl Janice?”
“I didn’t murder her.” Pat said. She was simply an unfortunate casualty in his search for Justice. “I think you’ll find that there are less sickos like you in the world than you think. What then?”
Preston trained his eyes on the ceiling and said slowly, “If my hypothesis is disproved, that won’t deter me. As the saying goes…do what makes you happy. Discovering new and creative ways to torture people makes me happy.” Preston smiled his unsettling smile again and Pat’s skin crawled.
Pat had always thought himself to be a severely flawed genius who did his best to treat people nicely. His flaws always made him feel like he could be trying so much harder to be better. When he was officially diagnosed with schizophrenia his world caved in and he felt like he could never measure up. He didn’t feel like he fit in. When Justice came into his life, she made him feel like the dark parts could be okay and that he ultimately was good. Preston viewed the world in a way that made no sense to Pat. He seemed to believe that no matter what, he was flawless the way he was and that hurting others was okay as long as it met his needs.
“That’s not what that phrase means.”
“Oh, what does it mean?”
“It’s to motivate people to pursue a career they love or express themselves in healthy ways. Things that build people up and not tear down. Things that contribute to society!” Pat was certain he had never raised his voice at anybody like this before. He was on his feet, hands firmly planted on the desk.
Preston continued to examine him like he was an interesting animal at the zoo. “I am making contributions to society.”
“What you’re doing is wrong!”
“According to who? To God? His opinion doesn’t matter.”
Pat didn’t answer immediately because he didn't want to admit that the question stumped him. Unfortunately, his silence was the wrong response because Preston then stood up.
“As exciting as this is, we’re wasting time.” He pulled open a different desk drawer and brought out a spool of fishing twine.
Pat’s torso straightened and he began to back up. He tripped over one of the legs of the chair he had been sitting in and stumbled into a bookcase on the wall behind him. The muscles in his back fired pain signals to his brain and he winced. Preston wasn’t in a hurry, but he was striding around the desk now and coming towards Pat. Pat scrambled to the right and reached a hand out to try the handle on the door again. It was still locked.
“I’m not in the mood to chase you.” Preston said simply.
Pat continued moving to the right and quickly bypassed the corner of the desk until he was behind it and Preston was by the door. Preston’s entertained smile faded and he now looked more determined. Pat’s eyes darted around looking for something heavy or sharp to throw through the window. There was nothing on the desk or under. Nothing on the bookshelves. In a moment of panic, he pulled out one of the desk drawers onto the floor and the items inside went flying everywhere. One item that stayed was a pair of scissors. Pat grasped them tightly and waved them threateningly.
“Don’t step any closer.”
