The broken glass on the wall looked like drops of condensation that swelled up and had split their own seams. I’ve walked from window to window across this room so many times that the pattern on the wood floors as I step seem to have aligned themselves with the breaths that I took in my gate. I used to wake up every morning and press my face against the pane so much in the past that I could probably tell you the months of the season by the temperature I felt along side my cheek. The familiar things, those spaces of comfort that I would crawl into and attempt to stitch together what was then left of my day.
“Ava, are you there?” asked Dr. Wynn. “Yes, you’ll have to excuse me Doctor I tend to lose myself looking out across the lights of the city around this time of the eve. I can see them flickering off and on, almost like they are sending messages to me in code or something. Go ahead”.
“For these sessions to work Ava, I need you to focus and remain in the right place. It’s important to think as clearly as you can. We both want you to find the best solutions”. Ava removed her palm that she had placed alongside the window frame, “Jacob, it’s like someone had taken wire coat hangers and tied my hands together. So tight that even trying to writhe my wrists in any direction was too difficult. It’s like a twisting feeling, of metal on bone. When it gets so tight I focus, I focus really well. So well that my heart spins. Except not in the way you would think. It’s not a flutter, it’s more like an unwinding if that makes any sense.”
Dr. Wynn watched as Ava began to walk higher on the arches of her bare feet. He swore he could see the red flow of the blood begin to fill into her fisted knuckles. “So you are saying you are not really yourself during these episodes? Do you remember anything at all?”
“That’s just it, I remember everything.” She slowly uttered. “I can hear a fingernail slide seamlessly across a countertop. It’s like a movie in slow motion, replaying over and over. It’s just in my head. It’s the temperature of the air across my neck. It’s the smell of someones cologne as they walk by. Things begin to rush really really fast until I swear I can feel the center of my chest begin to cave in”.
“And then?” Wynn asked. “The killing?”
Ava took in a strong breath and almost held it for too long. She again glanced at what was left of the glass of wine she threw against the wall earlier. It even seemed to have painted a picture, like a large burgundy shaped ink blot photo. “And then it happens Doctor. Like a well oiled mechanism. Everything in my head that they had said to me in what I would call a ‘love troubled past’, the good and the bad. It begins to broadcast in streams of stereo. So that when I’m done with them, and even more so actually during, it becomes more like art. It’s beautiful Doctor Wynn, It gives me an understanding. I get to see it from the back side of the mirror. You know, that side of the mirror that we are not supposed to look at. But as in anything that happens in life, there is always that law of duality. To understand that fully, and begin to compose that piece of closure that I believe I truly deserve – these people have got to die.”
Dr. Wynn sat mostly still in the confines of his leather chair. Ava’s tall, thin, feline-like stature cast what looked to be more than one persons shadow alongside the backdrop of her Brooklyn penthouse apartment wall. Maybe it was his mind playing head games with him, or maybe it was the thoughts going on under her brow. The thoughts that were screaming the stories and ultimately giving her the current scowl. Who would know, but Dr. Wynn did know this, it would certainly be more than a three treatment session. Had he not known Ava for 17 years, he would have never progressed this far, had he not cared so much about her, he would never attempt to find the reason in such harsh acts. He wanted to understand not just the physics of the acts of the alleged crimes, but find out why these things were happening. She was a monster. But in some darkening eye, what Ava may have done almost seemed to be right. And the fact that a well schooled psychiatrist was beginning to believe that, is again, another murder itself.
Draft excerpt 2013 from the book “Bad Girlfriend Red”