Arthur

A few minutes earlier...

After Ray made his dramatic exit from the room, the bald man leisurely makes his way over to me. "So, you're the kid who murdered Ray's wife eh?" he asks. His voice is bitter nor cold, but more curious and possibly amused.

"You have no proof," I spit back immediately. He chuckles lightly.

"You aren't gettin' anywhere with that attitude of yours lad." I frown.

"I have an attitude?" I ask.

"Don't play dumb with me boy." I sigh.

"I'm growing weary of this conversation so would you please just escort me to my cell so I can be alone," I say a bit harsher than I wanted to. He raises an eyebrow. Unlike Ray who would have gotten even more furious at me, Wesley looked more amused.

A few moments pass as we sit there in silence. Suddenly Wesley jumps up and motions for me to follow him. I rise unsteadily to my feet and hobble to the door. He opens the door and starts walking, obviously expecting me to follow. I step out into the halls and a light breeze from the windows brushes by me. I gaze longingly out the windows and see the welcoming sunshine and the busy streets.

I glance down the hallways. Wesley is at the other end of the hall to my right fidgeting with the lock with his back turned. The left side looks so inviting; the door slightly ajar and nobody in sight that could catch me. I move my foot an inch to the left, but I don't move any more than that. What's wrong with me? This is my chance for freedom and I am wasting it. My head is telling me "go Arthur, make a run for it. It may be your only chance." However, as I pick up my left foot to start running, guilt washes over me.

And make sure he doesn't get away. Ray's voice rings in my ears. I close my eyes and shake my head. After a few seconds, I force myself to turn the corner and follow Wesley.

I follow him in silence as we make our way down a set of stair cases that I'm all too familiar with. We come to an uninviting door with only a small window that has rusty bars across it. Wesley unlocks the door and motions for me to step inside.

"Do you like jail?" He asks from behind me. I turn around. I open my mouth, but I am shocked by his question. It takes me a few moments to be able to answer him.

"Not particularly," I say slowly while glancing at him suspiciously. Wesley sighs.

"Shame," he says as he slams the door. The sound echoes through the room. I soon hear the clicking sound indicating that the door is now locked. I see his face appear on the other side of the bars. "Too bad you don't like jail 'cause you might be spending your life in it." With that, his face disappears from my sight and I can hear the last of his footsteps fade away.

Present...

I stare up at the dirt and grime above me in the filthy holding cell I am in. I grimace. Over the past few days I have gotten used to the horrid smell of these prison cells, but just staring at the disheveled appearance of the whole place just makes me appalled at the entire situation. There is absolutely nothing in sight if one should enter this place; no bed, no chair; no table. I stood until my legs felt like they were going to collapse when I finally forced myself to lie down. Unfortunately, the floor, like the rest of the place, was doubtlessly filthy.

I should feel disgusted in this cell; I should even feel offended by the Detective. After all, I had just been accused of murder. However, I am not feeling any of those at the moment. I am more confused than anything.

I run a hand through my hair and close my eyes to think. The musty smell of the room reaches my nose. I scrunch up my face. My mind is swirling with millions of thoughts, but a memory keeps returning and I cannot push it away.

I shut my eyes. The image of the daunting, gloomy night returns into my imagination; taunting me as seconds pass; minutes pass. The fog resting delicately on the ground forming a layer of white vapor fills my memory and I feel like I’m there once again. I can still feel the damp, frigid cobblestones beneath my feet as I run through the streets with only the light of a dim lantern.

Once again I see the bloody dagger rising above ready to strike; I see the woman’s weak limp body sprawled feebly on the floor. I hear echoes of the blood chilling, helpless scream escaping just escaping before the blade comes down and plunges into her skin.

The scene replays in my mind. No, stop this please. I beg of myself, but my mind won’t cooperate. Her screams flood my ears repeatedly. I see flashes of the gory blade with dark, crimson dribbling from upon the glossy surface that just keep returning to my mind over and over again.

Her ghostly face appears in my head; image that I’ll never forget. Her dead eyes with her pale skin spattered with her own dark, red blood. Her face will forever haunt me; her scream still taunts me

The one who murdered my wife. Ray's voice repeats in my mind. It still catches me off guard, even in my memories. I feel so alone; that no one is on my side; no one believes me.

I hear a light tapping sound in my mind; it echoing off the walls and returning to me, driving me more insane. The clicking continues as the scene is speeding up in my head. I see the more blood spilling; I hear demonic laughter that soon fills my ears.

The repetitive beat continues and crescendos. I cover my ears.

“No! Stop it! Stop torturing me!” I scream. My voice repels back to me and I hear my words repeated.

“Arthur?” I scream. Perhaps because I was closing my eyes tightly or that I was completely insane at the moment, but I somehow didn’t notice a young woman standing outside the rusty bars of the cell.