A First-Hand Account of Evil

Arthur Korrigan slammed his hands down on the desk in front of him.

"Why are we stalling on this? That monster is sitting four doors down the hall and we could have the truth out of him in five minutes! What are you so hesitant about, Joss? The optics? The world has shattered and yet the Police Chief still wants to play politics?"

Bradon Joss sat behind the desk across from Arthur, hands clasped casually in front of his face. He watched Arthur with the same stony disposition he always held, his bearded face betraying nothing of what might be going on in his mind. This made Arthur even angrier and he made to redouble his argument when Joss cut him off.

"I think we both know, Arthur, that I didn't play politics then, and I sure as hell don't now. I understand your frustration, I really do, and I know just as well as you that the sumbitch is guilty as sin. However, what your proposing is simply wrong. We can't rip a recount of the events straight out of his mind in lieu of other evidence. That's a clear violation of his rights. He may be a murderer but he's still a human being."

Arthur pushed himself away from the desk furiously. Joss was an excellent cop and a great leader. This community had much to thank him for in the wake of the armageddon they had endured a few months back. But damned if this man wasn't so idealistic!

"Oh to hell with your 'rights', Joss! If you had noticed, no one is going to come after us if we take what we need. There's no more Internal Affairs, no federal government, nothing. You let me do this and we get this animal off the streets. We prove he killed that girl, and we put him down quick. It's not a matter of if I can, but simply how long it takes."

Joss closed his eyes for a moment, sitting forward to rest his elbows atop the desk. A slight amount of frustration and weariness showed in his posture, the first outward emotion Arthur had seen.

"Listen, Arthur. I know being an Intuitor grants you an edge above the rest when it comes to these matters. I'm not trying to deny your aptitude. But we don't go breaking into people's homes for evidence for a good reason, and I'll be damned if we start doing so with people's memories. I'm not going to have a discussion of ethics with you today. My decision is final. I suggest you go take some time to cool off and think on it some more; come up with a different angle."

Arthur balled up one fist, the tension causing his arm to quiver. He watched Joss study him from across the desk, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. Arthur let out a big sigh and turned away from Joss, opening the door to leave.

"Don't worry, Joss. I'll get it out of him one way or another."

Arthur hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him. With a deft hand, he wove a bit of magic to keep the door jammed, barely pausing to tie off the flow before hurrying down the hall to where his suspect sat waiting. He heard Joss try to open the door as he slipped through the locked door of the interrogation room. It wouldn't take Joss long to break through the spell, but no matter. Arthur would only need a few moments.

His determination faltered as his eyes beheld the suspect, who was already staring back at him, his cold eyes betraying nothing. The man was surprisingly well dressed. His dark vest and slacks were pristinely ironed and his shoes showed no scuffing or wear, despite the rough treatment he had surely received since being brought in. His blonde hair was slicked back in a precise manner and, though they kept the room fairly warm for a bit of added discomfort, not a bead of sweat showed itself upon the man's brow.

Upon seeing Arthur pause, the well-dressed man leaned forward in his chair to clasp his hands on the metal table in front of him, one arm quietly rattling the handcuffs that kept him secured.

"Detective!" The man's smooth, drawling voice made the greeting feel both welcoming and taunting at the same time. "I had thought we would be done for the day, unless you have a further craving for my attention?"

The well-dressed man chuckled gave a small smirk and for the first time, his eyes betrayed emotion. Not mirth, but something more sinister.

"Quiet." Arthur said firmly, steeling himself. He only had mere moments and refused to waste them bantering with a lunatic. "This will only take a second and doesn't require your yapping." He quickly strode over to the man and made to grab his head with both hands.

"Ah-ah!" The man held up one finger as if admonishing a child. "What would our dear Sherrif say about this sort of insubordination?"

Arthur flinched. How could the man have- no. He pushed those thoughts away, grasping the man's head firmly in both hands. He then wove the magic required to break into the man's mind, but it wasn't needed. Instead, he felt himself being drawn in, pulled along the man's memories.

"Excellent!" the well-dressed man exclaimed. "Absolutely wonderful!" The last thing Arthur heard was the man's maniacal cackling before his vision went dark.

The darkness only lasted for a moment, however. As Arthur's vision began to clear he found himself walking through a wide, dimly lit alleyway. Startled, he meant to pause and get a good look at his surroundings, only his body refused to listen. His shoes continued to clack against the pavement and his head stayed looking forward. In his peripheral, he could see tall buildings on either side of the alley. This was not his small town of Cadence. As he walked on, Arthur began to realize that must be viewing a memory, yet this was much more vivid than anything he had experienced before. Usually, he only got bits and scraps of the memory, pieces of a puzzle he had to fit together in order to come up with a cohesive picture, but this... this was vivid. In the moment. His head bent down to check the elegant watch on his wrist. The fine shirt and vest he wore waived any doubt in Arthurs mind. He was looking through the eyes of the well-dressed man. He made to break the connection, to regroup and figure out how to deal with this unprecedented situation but found he could not. There was no connection to break, at least not one he controlled. Fear began to well up inside him, but it was quickly drowned out by something else.

Arthur became aware of other sensations that were coming from the body he was now trapped in. The chill of the air, the feel of fine fabric on his skin, a slight soreness in his leg, but it was all reduced to background noise in the face of what he felt burning inside him. A hunger, a need, so sharp and so deep that Arthur felt it had always been a part of him. It clawed at his chest, sending waves of anger and anxiety throughout his entire body. He felt the finely dressed man - or was that himself?- exerting all his will to keep his hand from trembling and his legs from giving out. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath in order to collect himself. The sound of a door closing made him whirl around to see a young woman, barely silhouetted in the moonlight. The deep hunger in him flared, and before Arthur knew it he had crossed the few meters to the woman, hands gripping her mouth and throat to keep her from making a sound. The swift violence of the action brought Arthur back into his own mind and he watched in horror as the well-dressed man attacked the woman, each movement more brutal than the last. This was the evidence he had needed, yet Arthur had thought this man a simple, if violent, murderer. But no, this man was a monster. Arthur desperately tried to break free as the well-dressed man exercised every vile evil possible on the young woman's body, not only while she lived but also after she was well dead.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of witnessing Hell, Arthur watched the man toss the woman's corpse to the ground. He could feel the man grinning in elation, the horrible hunger sated. The finely dressed man buttoned his pants, straightened his tie, smoothed out his vest, and continued walking down the alley, whistling to himself as he went. By the time he turned the corner, however, he could feel the hunger again, small, barely a flicker, yet ever-present.

Arthur then found himself, still in the man's body, in another part of the city. He was huddled outside a shit fence, obscured by bushes, looking through the window of a small home. A young woman sat inside, reading a book by the fire. Arthur heard the front door close and saw a man walking down the road. After a few moments, he lept the short fence and sprinted for the door, forcing his way into the home. He rounded the corner and sprang upon the woman, once again indulging in every sadistic act that man could invent. Arthur tried to close his eyes but, of course, he could not. Once the well-dressed man was done, Arthur found himself in another foreign place, stalking another unknown person, this time a young man. One brutal attack after another, countless, passed before him. Atrocity after atrocity, violation after violation, and yet the hunger never truly ceased. Eventually, Arthur shrunk away to a corner of his own mind, screaming to himself silently.

Eventually, the screams became real to his ears. Arthur's eyes snapped open to take in the interrogation room again. He fell back from the well-dressed man, who was still laughing wildly. Arthur clawed at his own face, trying to scrub the visions from his mind.

"No!" Arthur pleaded with no one, voice going raw from exertion. "Please! No more!" He kept clawing at his own eyes, hoping the images would go away.

The door to the interrogation room burst open and Braden Joss hurried into the room. He cursed loudly and pointed at Arthur, who now had blood flowing between his finger.

"Get him pinned down before he hurts himself." Joss commanded. Two officers hurried from behind him and attempted to restrain the screaming Arthur.

"And you!" Joss whirled towards the well-dressed man. "Hands up, now! Tell me what you did to him, or the law be damned!"

The well-dressed man slowly put his hands up, chuckling to himself.

"Oh Sherrif," he drawled, a Cheshire grin splitting his face. "I simply gave him what he asked for. That's just the kind of man I am."