The doorbell rang on a Saturday afternoon. I was sitting on my sofa watching… or rather staring at the tv. When I heard the sound, I turned my head surprisingly and stood there for a few seconds. I rushed myself into the kitchen and then one minute later I was standing in front of the door. It was the first and probably the last time that I hadn’t looked at the peephole to check who was ringing the bell. Somehow, I was certain that it was him. I opened the door and there he was, standing, holding a red wine on one hand and his briefcase on the other.
“Welcome,” I said smiling.
He walked in the living room and looked around.
“Beautiful apartment.”
“Thank you very much. Take a seat and I’ll be right back. Should I open the wine?” I asked.
“Please, allow me,” he said and followed me in the kitchen. I allowed him to follow me. I was calm and casual, like all I wanted was to talk, like all I needed was his help.
He opened the bottle and poured the wine to the two glasses I had placed earlier on the table.
“Were you expecting someone?” he asked.
“Yes, you,” I answered with a smile. He smiled back but didn’t answer.
“Which one?” he asked pointed at the glasses.
“You choose,” I exclaimed calmly.
“A toast!” he said raising his glassing. “To an unforgettable night!”
I smiled with that statement. “You can count on that!” I replied.
I brought the glass near my lips but didn’t take a sip. I was watching him carefully taking a big sip of the red wine he brought, and my heart was pounding harder than ever. I followed him back to the living room and then excused myself to use the toilet.
I was gone for exactly 6 minutes. I locked myself into the bathroom and sat on the floor. It was the longest 6 minutes of my life. I was shaking all over, I could hardly breath. I had to pull myself together to go back inside. At that point I had to check if everything was going according to plan. I unlocked the door and shouted his name. Once, twice… no answer. I walked quickly into the living room, where I saw Ian lying on the coach with eyes closed. The next steps had to be fast and careful. I was surprised that everything happened so fast and so easily, but you know? Sometimes, after all you’ve been through… when you have the perfect plan going on in your head for more than 20 years, as Paulo Coelho once said, “when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”
I gave him a shot of sedative, so he can stay asleep for a bit longer. I pushed his body on the floor and handcuffed both hands on the radiator. I took off his shoes and tied up his legs with a black electrical tape – knees to feet. I washed the two glasses in the sink, both with strong sedative powder in and out. Then I took a chair and sat in a safe distance opposite to him. I took a new glass of wine and… waited.
It took him thirty-fucking minutes to wake up. If I knew that for 6’2 feet guy, it would take that long, I wouldn’t worry that much for the effects of the sedative.
“Wakey, wakey little Ian,” I said and raised my glass. “…Here’s to an unforgettable night!” I repeated his phrase and I laughed so hard that a little portion of wine came out of my noise. But it was totally worth it.
“What the fuck?” Ian looked around him. He tried to move legs and hands but in vain.
“Who the fuck are you? What do you want?”
“What do I want? Oh, poor Dr. Hurts. The night is long. If I tell you what I want from the beginning, it would spoil all the fun, wouldn’t it?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Helen Martinez. I told you that. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
He looked at me waiting for me to explain. He was a psychiatrist after all, he knew how to react in different situations, and he was certainly aware of how I felt.
“You know…” he began to say. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t expect him to be the one to talk first.
“I believed what you told me the other day and I came here today to kill you.”
“To kill me? I though you came here to help me.”
“You know everything, right? About me?”
“Yes.” I replied with confidence.
“May I ask how?”
I stood up and looked at him with pity. I was finally in charge. This question of his was just a recognition of his defeat. I left the room for a few minutes and I came back holding a big carton box full of notebooks. I took out the first one and threw it in front of him. On the cover the name JONATHAN MARTINEZ was written with big red letters.
He looked at me surprisingly, but I don’t think he remembered. Then I took the second one: Matthew Brown. Still no reaction. Only when I took Mia’s file, I saw it in his eyes.
“Fuck,” he whispered and lowered his head. He closed his eyes and then said,
“What are you going to do now?”
“I am not going to do anything. But you my friend are going to do a lot. As I said before, the night is long. You are going to narrate every single murder you committed, with every little, horrible detail. I just want the act, not the why. There is no why, when it comes to you after all. You’re a sociopath after all. Just a simple description of what happened, to what you did to all those people. And then I’m done.
“You’re done? You’re going to let me go, you mean?” he asked innocently. I smiled and pressed on, on my recorder. The night was young…
I gave him a nod and he began…
“My name is Ian Hurts, and this is how I killed Jonathan Martinez… …”
… … …
It was almost dawn when I heard the doorbell once more. Ian was asleep and opened his eyes to the sound of the door. I was wide awake of course. Jake was at the door.
“Why did you text me in the middle of the night, what…?” Jake stopped and rolled his eyes. “What the fuck…” he screamed and pulled me in the kitchen.
“What have you done? Have you completely lost your mind?”
“He is ready, you can take him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Call the police. This is his statement with all the murderers he committed. My work is done. Now it’s your turn, Jake. As we discussed.” I gave him the recorder and my eyes got wet. I don’t if it was the long night or the “I’m done” part.
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
“Because I’m not a murderer, Jake. I’m not him. We live on this planet, on this time and age. There are laws and there is justice, and they should deal with him.”
“I… I don’t get you sometimes.”
“This is why we can’t be together, my sweet love.”
He gave me a kiss, took the recorder – the copied one – and called the police.
Ian’s trials were about to begin, until up to the day that the jury announced his fate. Of course, I was there to listen…
What do you think this man’s fate must be?
E. L. Bean 