I asked him if he wanted to talk. It was a simple question, really. His grimace dissipated and I noticed a small glimpse of a smile appear. We were strangers, yet for some reason we understood. All we did was understand each other, just for a moment. And it was enough. It made all the difference.
I had been sound asleep when I heard the front door creak open and an awkward sort of fumbling downstairs. I was too drowsy to fully comprehend what was happening, but even when the black shadow snaked across my bedroom wall, and even when I caught the foreign eyes peeking around the door at me, I wasn’t frightened. Our eyes met and I saw a helpless, lost man peering back-- not an intruder who could seriously hurt me. He paused for a moment until he remembered why he had come. I wasn’t frightened when he threw open the door, and I didn’t scream when he handcuffed me. I was immune to pain as he tore off my blankets and ripped me from my bed. It didn’t hurt when he pushed me to the floor. I have bruises all over my wrists, but I don’t remember getting them. I felt his breath on my neck as he tied me to the chair. He didn’t scare me. I heard his footsteps as he glided back and forth across the room, back and forth, back and forth. He wasn’t sure what to do next. I was different for some reason, we had connected. I felt his heart beating from across the room; I heard his sweat drip onto the floor, his thoughts played into my head. He didn’t need to say anything, I already knew it all.
I started humming a nameless tune. An upbeat melody, dododododododo. He stopped pacing for a moment, I started taping my feet. He wouldn’t look into my eyes. I wasn’t scared. I knew he wouldn’t do it.
From across the room he belted out, “You should be afraid of me.” I saw through him. He tried to sound powerful and he tried to frighten me.
“Maybe.” I told him. I never took my eyes off of him. He continued to pace, faster and faster. I tapped my feet in time with his footsteps, faster and faster.
He sighed as he spoke again. He stammered just the slightest and I knew even he didn’t believe his words, “You know I have to kill you.” He looked anywhere but at me.
“It’s alright.” I sang louder, I followed him with my eyes; he turned his back towards me.
“Even this doesn’t scare you?” he pulled out a knife. Seven inches long with a bone white handle. He was trying so hard. Trying to go through the motions, he was so used to. Trying to ignore the thoughts that were holding him back.
I caught his eye, hummed along, and leaned my head back. In one fluid motion, he leaped across the room. The knife was at my throat as he panted onto my neck. Dodododododododo.
“Please?” said he. I stopped singing, I lowered my head, and our eyes met.
“So, do you want to talk?” I asked.
He lowered the knife from my throat, walked across the room, and stopped. Slowly he turned around, his gaze met mine. He looked at me, and I knew. He threw the knife on the floor, reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a handgun and shot himself straight in the forehead. I knew he wouldn’t do it, I knew because I knew that he sensed a human being, he saw it in my eyes. He fell down and died.