They say there is a war on women. And I laugh. Every time I hear it I giggle. A war on women? How cute and where the fuck have you been? The war on women started in year one and goes on without end. I say we need a war on men.
I finish reading the journal selection and look towards the bed, trying to catch his reaction. Dark brown eyes seethe at me and I smile, hoping he will speak before I question him. I wait, seconds disappearing, listening to his teeth grind.
“Are you fucking nuts?” he asks, spittle stuck to his lip. “Yes.”
He strains against the bonds, flexing biceps ripping a piece of duct tape, but he can’t break the endless layers.
“What do you want from me?” he asks, finally ending his war with rope and tape.
Grabbing a file from my desk, I approach the bed holding the folder for the man to see.
“Is this your prison file?”
He nods affirmative and watches as I open the folder.
“You plead guilty to rape. Is this correct?”
My eyes find the figures and for a moment I read his case file. Closing it, I retrace my steps to the desk, in need of coffee. Adding cream and topping my cup with fresh coffee, I sip and remain next to the desk, running over the lines I’ve been practicing inside my head.
I stride towards the bed, my heels digging into the carpet.
“You served less than three years for a violent rape. Do you believe justice was served?” “No,” he answers without hesitation.
Opening the top drawer of the nightstand, I wrap my hand around my knife.
“Be careful how you answer my next question,’ I say, sitting on the bed next to him. “Do you believe your life should be forfeit for your crime?”
His eyes show no hint of emotion, “Yes.”
I pause, for I feel a bit of shock at his blunt agreement. Really, I prepared for more of an interrogation. Placing the knife against his neck, I shrug my shoulders.
“Do you have any last words before I end your time here on earth?” “I can be of use to you. Enact your agenda and perform unsavory tasks.”
This is different. I’ve never heard a man make this offer. I’m going to cut his neck and he asks for a job? The arrogance of this man intrigues me.
“Go on,” I say. “I am a man with the right skill set for you. No soul.”
I laugh and wish for something stronger than coffee, but push the thought from my mind. At present, I must decide this man’s fate.
“What is your name?” “My code name is Saul.”
Saul. A man of dark eyes, a history of violence and tactical training. What to make of you?
“Perhaps I can use your talents,” I say, leaning closer to him. “Catch you later.” I leave the room, bolting the door behind me.
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