“Every day, way before I could remember, I would have to take a series of shots.” Mark begin to explain. “I thought everyone did. It was something I did right after brushing my teeth. I was always happy.”
Mark is laying back in one of those Psychologist chairs. The room was calm with bookshelves and paintings along the wall.
A man with a deep voice was sitting in a chair next to Mark. He was well dressed and scribbled notes on a notepad that was in his hands.
“What do you think your moment of realization that this wasn’t normal?” The Man said with his deep voice. He had adjusted the glasses before they hit the tip of his nose.
Mark brushed his short brown hair off his face and folded his hands on his chest.
“I remember my brothers crying when we fought over toys. I didn’t know why. I just assumed that they would take the blue vile that day. Mom always had me take the yellow one.” Mark said as his eyes stayed fix on the ceiling.
Scribbling could be heard.
“Mmm hmm,” The man said. “Interesting.” Then the man flips the page.
“Then one day there was a terrorist attack in some foreign country and left millions dead.” Mark begin. He stared off to the floor. “Everyone was sad. Everyone except for me. I was happy. I was instructed to take a shot at times like this. You know when going to a funeral or something like that. I didn’t see anyone else get up to insert needles, so I just sat there with a stupid grin on my face. People thought I was some asshole.”
Mark sat up and turned toward the doctor. He grips the edge of his seat.
“Then a kid’s movie came out, and it changed everything. It was about a kid’s emotions that were directly in her head. I thought it was a strange concept, but then it hit me. All my friends talked about how accurate that movie was. I didn’t quite catch on why but I just nod and agreed since I was just too happy to disagree.”
“So that day of the accident. Are we ready to talk about that?” The doctor asked as he flipped another page in his notepad. He laid one leg the other and sat back.
“I wasn’t totally sure what the shots would do me,” Mark said. “You know?”
Mark puts his head in his heads as he tries to remember everything.
“I was told to refer them to blue moments. Or Yellow moments. There were even red moments.” Mark said. “I never had a red moment before.”
“So you are saying that you had a red moment?” The man asked. Mark picks up and continues.
“I didn’t know what a red moment was,” Mark said. “I knew that blue was for funerals and made me cry. I thought red was for like hearts or something and would get girls into me. Friends at my age all had girlfriends and always talked about having kids or getting married. I thought I had something special with Anna.”
The room stood silent for several minutes.
“Is that why you killed her?” The man asked. “Is that why you killed all of them?”
“I took two shots that day,” Mark said as he laid his arms on his legs, holding his composure. “I expected double the impact for love and stuff. I knew Anna practically my whole life. She was my best friend’s sister. I saw every heartbreak she went through and just wanted to let her know that it would be alright. She loved how happy and upbeat I was.”
“How you become involved with her?” The man asked. “I mean how did you get her alone with you?”
“I took her brother home late one night. I stood outside as he struggles to open the door with his keys. Then his sister lets him in. Anna saw me and ran down the stairs. She wanted to talk to me. So we took a walk. She told me that she liked me. It was weird when she suggested a movie. I never knew how to react. She grabbed my hand, and I walked her back home. When we approached her house again, she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. The next night we went to that movie.”
“Do you miss her?” The man asked.
“I think about her,” Mark responded. “I guess the best way to describe it is, ‘I don’t notice that she is gone.’”
“Do you regret anything?”
“I wish I didn’t do it.”
“I think you are suffering from schizophrenia.”
“That pretty much means that your emotions are flat and catatonia.”
“I don’t think that is it,” Mark said. “I believe that you should look at these files.”
Mark pulled up his pants legs. There were track marks up and down his legs almost like he was some Junkie.
“Does the prison know that you do drugs?” The man asked. “What is it? Heroin?”
“The drugs that a doctor prescribed to me. The medications that we keep talking about.” Mark said calmly.
“I understand that you are in a vulnerable state.” The man said. He stood up and closed his little notebook. “How do you feel now?”
“Feel?” Mark was puzzled. “I feel the couch.”
“This is exactly the issue.” The man said. “I guess that will be another conversation for another day.”
Two officers walked into the room and picked Mark off the chair. It reveals his prison number that is imprint on the back of his shirt.
“Come on, Mark.” One of the officers said.
“Um, you guys are not putting handcuffs on him?” The man asked the officers.
“I have been watching him for months.” The police responded. “He has never caused me any issues.”
“Well, I am diagnosing him with Schizophrenia.” The man said. “I will recommend you cuff him anytime you do not have the cuffs on him. Oh, and he might be dealing with some pretty heavy drugs in there.”