Finding the serial killer

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Jake's POV,

I opened my eyes to loud knocks and mom’s voice calling my name. my body jolted up and my heart sink in, Robby is dead. That was my first reaction. He’s dead. I look at the time and it’s just past twelve. I didn’t sleep long.

I get out of bed and opened the door. Dad and mom and Emily standing at my door.

Emily had the same red eyes I saw in that dream, I don’t know if that was from crying. I don’t dare to ask, there are two detectives standing with her.

“What is going on?” I ask to no one in particular. I'm too busy seeing the expressions of, was it fear or disappointment. “What’s going on?” no one say anything.

“Put your hands behind your head.” Emily said making her way to me. “Jake Wilson, you are under arrest for the murder of Nicole Kahn.” She jailed my hands in the metal pieces she said she hated to cuff the criminals with. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

Before I knew what was going on, I was kicked inside the police vehicle and escorted to jail.

* *

It’s so dark, all I could see is my hands gripping to the cold-cold rails of the cell that can only isolate me, my feelings were all over the place, my thoughts were seeping from the parts of me I never knew existed. It won't do justice to say that I've been crying, it’s the most unworthy statement to showcase my emotions, I'm lonely and scared, no petrified because I know everyone already had their convictions on me. that’s how it works, I'll be the joker of the circus, I'll be the target for the glob-al anger. Dad and mom and Emily, they think I am capable to really hurt someone as if they don’t know me at all. They think I can kill innocence in cold-blood, they think I can survive the smell of blood on my hands. All I could hear is my heart trying to beat out of my chest, he still thinks there is a chance to run away from behind these iron bars and concrete wall.

I try to close my eyes, but every time I do I feel more tears seeping the walls of my eyes. I try to sit on the narrow wooden bench I've been given to keep my emotions floating over the surface, I sit on it, I close my eyes trying to remember something that can take away the pain of this heart but when I have to look for the happy lanes in my memory, how can it make me happy? Any happy memory, any kindness, any wishes and they all have vanished into one thick fog of the cruel reality, my reality and the nightmare I've seen all my life on rewatch.

Somehow this darkness blends into the darkness I witness in those recurring nightmares. The night get more and more blurry and memories from that dream began to take over. I find myself on the floor, I'm walking around the basement. I was a child back then, I'm a grown up in my dream. I can’t even stand up straight without my head reaching to the ceiling. I don’t know this is so vivid, so real, like I'm in a virtual reality, the only difference I am seeing myself, my whole-self moving right in front of me. This is the first time that I felt this dream close to real, it’s crawling on my skin, and I see myself as an adult. Everything else still seems the same. There is a pile of used clothing in a corner; shirts, trousers, jackets, underwear. Beneath, there is a pool of some liquid. It’s so dark to differentiate what the liquid is, but it’s thick, it remained on only a part of floor, it won't run and it smells. I'm familiar to the smell, it pungent, one that makes you want to give up breathing and you try to control your breath.

I see another pile against the farthest wall of the room. I know what the pile is, I know, I can see it. it’s metal, it’s screws, it’s chains and ropes and plastic bag and teddy bears, all stacked on each other and each of them also seep a dark, viscous liquid from itself and I fear the familiar smell from it could be blood. It’s the first tie I'm seeing this detail. It’s the first time I have something to associate this smell with. It could be blood. Maybe it’s this dream, the reason of my hemophobia.

“Jake?” I feel a tug on my shoulder and I'm sucked out of the horrible nightmare to a worse reality. At least there was something familiar to the dream. “What mess did you make this time?” she’s disappointed. She’s never been this disappointed and decisive to hate me. I'm not going to explain myself. If she thinks I did it, so be it. I'm done trying to prove myself, I'm done figuring out who is really on my team, maybe I'm meant to be a solo player.

I walked away to sit on the floor, anything is more attractive than this conversation. Death? Sounds good.

It’s still hard to separate nightmare from reality. Smell of fresh blood from the smell of dried. In this darkness everything feels just the same, every dark emotion retained its shape.