Beautiful Insanity

Masks Of Sane

The darkness in the room was so familiar to her that she was unwillingly unafraid of it. This was the same darkness which had included her deepest nightmares but then again, those existed in the brightness of daylight as well. so, her hands moved on the keyboard in a steady speed. She has accepted to live with these nightmares as part of her, as part of her past and to never let them put a shadow over her present. 

Her hands moved to turn the page. The information she found on Tate wasn't much and there was even less information on his victims but after meeting him few days back, she was so very confused. She wouldn't say she was the best at what she does but she was good enough to notice few major issues with Tate's personality.

That man wasn't crazy.

He wasn't a psychopath.

Not even close.

He was the clear face of sane.

She had never seen just focused and clear eyes on a man who killed so many and she have met her fair share of crazy in her life.

Too many.

And then there was another thing, the lack of information and media coverage on Tate. His victim count wasn’t small, it was large enough to raise fear through the whole country but yet, somehow, she found small pieces of news in the newspaper and few seconds of headlines on television.

This raised a series of questions in her mind. Media loved serial killers and according to the file she found in the asylum on Tate, he has been labeled as one. Though she does beg to differ, there is no way media would leave him alone. The fact that the asylum tried to deny there even hold Tate was another factor which made it all so suspicious.

The fire behind her made a soft noise which made her look back to stare at it. In this silence her senses were way to heightened to not notice every sound around her. The soundproofing she once dreaded in this room, now she was thankful to it. 

Leaning back on the leather chair she closed her eyes, almost immediately the flashes of the past memories hit her, making her flinch but she still kept her eyes closed. It was just passing few minutes, it always just flashed and then vanished from her mind as if all she saw was deception of someone else mind. 

Maybe thinking that way made her feel better.

After few more minutes, her mind went calm. The images she saw turned into blank paper as if there was never anything. It made her drowsy but she didn't want to sleep, not yet. 

And she will never make the mistake of sleeping here again.

Never.

She heard the door open and her eyes snapped open wide, fear flashing through them unconsciously but almost as fast as it came, it was gone. She knew those footsteps, those confident, clear footsteps.

"There is a party downstairs, sweetheart."

There was a party in her head as well. All the time.

"There is always a party downstairs, dad." She replied and leaned forward to start typing again, wanting to ignore his existence fully hoping he would go away. She knew why he was there. He was as predictable as he was fourteen years ago when she met him for the first time in her life.

"Do you have to keep such pictures around yourself all the time? They will give you nightmares." Her father ignored her attempt to ignore him and took a seat right beside her. 

She unwillingly flinched away.

Sighing she looked at him, staring at those pictures of Tate's victims but she knew he didn't care for them. Considering his job, his thought for those pictures was too ignorant for him to care for them. His unflinching eyes made her question why he who wasn’t around such pictures didn’t get nightmares and looked at them so carelessly.

He didn't care for much.

Never did.

That was the insanity she recognized, the insanity she was familiar with, wearing the face of sane.

"Do you want to say something to me, dad?"

"Are you sure about moving out?" He tried to sound inconsiderate but she knew better. 

He had concerns.

Not about her but due to her.

"Yes, I am already 23 years old dad, it’s about time."

"Just because you are old doesn't mean you can't live with you father."

"Dad....we already had this conversation. I am moving next week."

She saw him sigh and put back the pictures in his hand, she could she the very controlled expressions on his face.  The passing anger which he masked with fatherly concern.

"How is the work in asylum going. I did give them a call to make sure you get all you required."

She smiled a smile which didn’t reach her eyes. This carrot stick approach of his have never changed but it had never worked because he never simply had the carrot, she wanted but she stilled was beaten by the stick. Once again, he tried to remind her that it was him opening door for her, it was him who made her who she was, who let her live a comfortable life.

When she first stepped in his threshold, she might have been genuinely grateful for even the smallest thing he did for her but she wasn't a child who would believe his promises, nor was she a fool.

And she was done being grateful. 

She has accepted that it was his job as her father that required him to do such things and she didn't have to bow her head to thank him for doing his job but she remain to play a thankful fool so said, "Yes. I had no trouble."

She saw his expressions fell again when she innocently blocked his approach to emotionally blackmail her but he quickly recovered. 

"Come down, have fun once in a while." He jumped the topic but that almost made her laugh out loud in spite. 

"Yes, dad because nobody has more fun than politicians and women in cocktail dresses." 

He only smiled in replied, the eyes behind those gold rimmed glasses were laughing at her as if calling her some innocent lamb who knew nothing of the world.

She never had a chance to such innocence unfortunately so she played the part of a fool who knew nothing, have heard nothing and have seen nothing. She knew how to play that well. 

"I have work." She continued and started typing again.

He shut down her laptop a little forcefully and stood up.

"When do you not? Come, people are asking for you." 

She clutched her knuckles tightly, wanting to punch something but found herself to be taking a deep breath, calming down. A smile which would have made herself sick to her stomach if she had seen her reflection made its way to her lips and she followed her father to stand up.

"Sure."                                                                    

To make sure she kept her word, her father dropped her to her room and went downstairs but not before sending the housekeeper to 'help her' get ready.

She couldn't breathe.

As she slipped in an olive-green cocktail dress, she found her lungs starting to lose their ability to work. Her mind already preparing itself for the upcoming mind games to come. 

The crowd downstairs was just soulless bodies wearing humane smiles and faces, playing battles with her which she usually tried to lose because winning come with such a dark cost that she couldn't afford it anymore.

Nor her mind, nor her body.

She didn't want to lose her sanity over them.

Tying her hair on her neck, she put on light makeup, dressing as her father expected her to dress like, like a pretty woman to have on a man's waist like a piece of jewelry on a woman. Silent, cold and pretty.

She would never stand beside a man to simply compliment him so every part of skin that could be touched by a man was covered up. 

She didn't want to let herself be burned.

As she walked towards the stairs leading downstairs, she could hear the loud chatter and dull waltz style music playing. Considering the loudness, it seemed like the drinks were already too far in their system for them to act polite.

Her hands were turning white due to lack of blood as she pressed her nails deeper into her palm, almost drawing blood.

Taking a deep breath, she started to walk downstairs, the chatter was getting louder and then she felt the flash of camera as someone took her picture, probably someone from the press her father hired to make sure her face was in every gossip newspaper so she could sell better to the highest bidder.

Her future husband.

As she took the last step and saw her father coming forward to receive her, she smiled a well-rehearsed smiled and faced the people wearing masks of sane which she had walked through half her life.