Happiness & Homicide: The Claw
I'm sat painting in the corner of my cell when the door swings open. I don't even need him to say anything before I know it's him. I turn around, paintbrush still clenched between two fingers. "Afternoon, Phil." He sets his briefcase down and walks over to me. He's grown comfortable with me. He knows that I'm not a threat to him. It gives me a warm feeling, though I'm not wholly sure why. Is this the budding of a friendship, maybe even one like the one I have with Nick? Should I think about this or keep this locked in the boxes under the staircase? "Wil?" I snap back into the moment. "What was that?" "Where'd you go, buddy? I asked you what you were painting." I turn back to the easel. "Just Liam Gallagher as a warlord." "I thought he was a sort of peace icon?" I laugh hysterically. "Yes, the man is known for his outbursts and drunken rages. A peace icon!" I chuckle and dab some more light brown to add highlights to his hair. I pull back, not wholly satisfied. "What's the problem?" "It's missing something, but I can't I put my paintbrush on it."
"Do you find painting therapeutic?" "Yeah. It's another way for me to express myself. Also, it's a killer investment." Phil sits down at his normal spot across from me. "What's this now?" "It's a killer opportunity for some money-making. Excuse the pun there." "You're in prison! What could you possibly need money for? You're not getting out, ever." I roll my eyes and light a cigarette. "For a shrink, your viewpoints are rather limited. I sent money to Nick, my sister Peach and the lads who were there before, during and after my trial. I never forget those who are important to me." "You never cease to be interesting." "People love buying serial killer shit. Artwork, signed panties, you name it, they'll be buying it. Humans are drawn to darkness. It's just a fact. It's a question of how far you'll go to indulge the darkness. Some embrace it, some fear it but find it interesting. Those are the kinds of people that buy my work." "Are you going to be selling that painting?" "What?" I blow smoke at him. "Fuck no, that one is for me!"
"However, I did just sell a painting of a victim for a tidy sum of 200,000 quid." Phil chokes on his coffee and coughs it all over the table. With coffee dripping down his nose, he coughs out, "Excuse me?" "I told you, lucrative. That one fetched more because it was an oil painting of Joan of Arc eating the heart out of a knight who betrayed her." "That...that is gruesome. And imaginative." He looks almost thoughtful. "And you're allowed to just sit and paint in here? Sell it and become even richer? You might just be the richest man in prison." "Tell that to Harvey Winestein." "You're not even in the same class as him." "I know. I'm a murderer, not a Hollywood scumbag. I'm above him on the food chain." "Well, you certainly think highly of yourself." "If I don't, then no one else will."
"Wil, I have a few questions for you." "Don't you always?" I sit back in my seat, waiting for him to make his next move. He rustles his papers. "It's kind of my job, Wil." "Professional question asker. Gee, I wish that was my work experience." Phil presses his mouth into a hard line. "You know that my job is much more than that." I shrug. "All you ever seem to do is ask me questions and drink Diet Coke with me." "That is quite untrue!" "What else do we do then?" Phil opens his mouth then closes it. I smirk. "See what I mean?" "I can't think of anything right now, but when I do, I will be sure to tell you." He opens the first file on his stack and slides a photo across the table at me. I take a long drag as I take in the image before me. "And?" I exhale the smoke in his direction. "Did you do this?" I shrug. "Dunno. Maybe." Phil's upper lip disappears. "I need a yes or no answer, not a shrug and an 'I dunno mate, maybe."
I roll my eyes. "Probably, I can't remember all of them. There's been so many." "Why don't you take a closer look at the photo?" He scoots it a little closer to me in case I need glasses. I take in the mangled face before me and it all starts flooding back to me. FUCKING HER. THAT FUCKING BITCH. "Earth to William!" He waves his hand in front of my face. I come back into the moment to see my cigarette has gone out and my hands are clenched. "Sorry, I was thinking about it." "So?" "You're goddamn right I did it! And I'd do it again if I had the chance! I'm not even remotely sorry! In fact, I think I didn't take it far enough!" "You put a claw hammer in her skull, cut out her eyes, raped the sockets, with quite some difficulty I imagine and cut her labia off which ended with you stuffing them into her mouth." "I should have smashed all her fucking teeth out first! I should have killed her family in front of her and tortured her with fucking jumper cables first!" I flip over the table and scream like an animal in heat. Phil panics and crawls into a corner of my cell while his files and papers rain down on his head.
My guttural screams alert the guards who make a beeline for my cell, ready to shoot me with a sedative dart. This is my moment, do I take the dart now or wait for Phil to give me drugs later. Well, he would suggest to the medical staff here, seeing as he's now some sort of doctor. But still a fuckhead non the less.
"What the hell would possess you to do that?!" Phil exclaims, his cheeks pink.
"Wil, I have a few questions for you." "Don't you always?" I sit back in my seat, waiting for him to make his next move. He rustles his papers. "It's kind of my job, Wil." "Professional question asker. Gee, I wish that was my work experience." Phil presses his mouth into a hard line. "You know that my job is much more than that." I shrug. "All you ever seem to do is ask me questions and drink Diet Coke with me." "That is quite untrue!" "What else do we do then?" Phil opens his mouth then closes it. I smirk. "See what I mean?" "I can't think of anything right now, but when I do, I will be sure to tell you." He opens the first file on his stack and slides a photo across the table at me. I take a long drag as I take in the image before me. "And?" I exhale the smoke in his direction. "Did you do this?" I shrug. "Dunno. Maybe." Phil's upper lip disappears. "I need a yes or no answer, not a shrug and an 'I dunno mate, maybe."
I roll my eyes. "Probably, I can't remember all of them. There's been so many." "Why don't you take a closer look at the photo?" He scoots it a little closer to me in case I need glasses. I take in the mangled face before me and it all starts flooding back to me. FUCKING HER. THAT FUCKING BITCH. "Earth to William!" He waves his hand in front of my face. I come back into the moment to see my cigarette has gone out and my hands are clenched. "Sorry, I was thinking about it." "So?" "You're goddamn right I did it! And I'd do it again if I had the chance! I'm not even remotely sorry! In fact, I think I didn't take it far enough!" "You put a claw hammer in her skull, cut out her eyes, raped the sockets, with quite some difficulty I imagine and cut her labia off which ended with you stuffing them into her mouth." "I should have smashed all her fucking teeth out first! I should have killed her family in front of her and tortured her with fucking jumper cables first!" I flip over the table and scream like an animal in heat. Phil panics and crawls into a corner of my cell while his files and papers rain down on his head.
My guttural screams alert the guards who make a beeline for my cell, ready to shoot me with a sedative dart. This is my moment, do I take the dart now or wait for Phil to give me drugs later. Well, he would suggest to the medical staff here, seeing as he's now some sort of doctor. But still a fuckhead non the less.
"What the hell would possess you to do that?!" Phil exclaims, his cheeks pink.
I shrug and light a cigarette. "Eh, because she's a big pussied bitch." Phil nearly falls out of his chair. "Excuse me?" "A big pussied bitch." He needs to grasp the table for support. "I don't know where you come up with these remarks or reasons, Wil, but some of them are pretty out there." I smile at him. "Being normal is so overrated, Phil." I help him pick up all his papers while the guards watch carefully through the plexiglass of my cell. I give them a cheery wave when we're finished cleaning up, a signal that everything is all good. They relax and resume their usual chit chat with one another. "I'm sorry about that, she just really pisses me off." "I thought your mother was the only one who could get on your nerves that bad," I smirk at him. "Aw, Phil is this your attempt at a joke?" He shrugs, half unsure of what to say. I laugh. "It was a good remark, I'll give you that." We resume our places at the table, the photos laid out in front of us. "Are you going to be okay to continue talking about this?" "Yes. I've composed myself."
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