He smells her scent through the thick mattress.
Robyn’s sweet, organic scent. Without touching her, he feels her velvet skin and her feathery hair. He tastes her with his tongue and lips. His senses are alive. He listens to her as she sleeps, unaware of what lies beneath her, under her mattress, waiting for her. He relives the past. The events that got him here. Home, to his little kittens.
The date is May 13, 2015. And he’s not Skinner, so much as he is a patient at the Mid-Hudson Psychiatric Center for the Criminally Insane. He remembers being seated in a metal chair bolted to a concrete floor. He’s dressed in baggy white pajama pants and a matching pullover shirt over psychiatric center-issued underwear. On his feet, he wears white tube socks under blue slippers. His face is covered
