Sleighed

September 26, 2007
By
The room was cavernous, dark and depressing. Glass lined two of the four walls, but for intimidation purposes only, there was no one behind it watching. The walls were painted white but had more of a yellow tint because of the layers of dust on top of them. The concrete was cracking in places and there were holes in the ceiling. Mary Sleigh sat in an old chair at a table in the middle of the room, hands behind her back. She contemplated the conversation that occurred between her and Mr. Henry Bluebell just two months ago.


“Do you know why you are here, Miss Sleigh?” Mr. Bluebell’s voice was low and hoarse, and his face remained expressionless while he spoke.


“Yeah, actually I do,” Mary spoke with a hint of irritation in her voice, “You and your big, hairy friends kidnapped me and dragged me, blindfolded to who knows where and made me sit in this extremely icky and ugly room for a trillion hours. I’m here so you can annoy me, is that it?”


“No, Miss Sleigh that is not the reason. Do you remember when a psychologist came to your school and asked you some questions?”


Mary nodded her head slowly.


“What did she ask you?”


“She kept asking stuff like if my mother ever beat me or ignored me. Then she asked if she hugged me more than 20 times a week or if she helped me with my homework every night. Her questions were really stupid. They lasted for hours. I missed like the whole day of school because of that stupid shrink. I think she was a little cuckoo if ya ask me.”

Mary reclined in her seat, looking very comfortable. Her thick brown hair was back in a pony tail. She wore jeans that were surprisingly not ripped, and sneakers that were so dirty one couldn’t even tell what brand they were. Her hoodie was a subtle gray with a college football team’s logo inscribed on it. For the situation she was in, Mary seemed to be relaxed.

“Hmm. You see terrorist attacks, the War in Iraq, rapes, bombings, murders on the news all the time, right? Just by watching the news for ten minutes anyone can see that the people who commit those crimes are not normal. They kill and kill without a conscience. They feel no remorse for any of their actions. The people that commit these felonies are animals, wild beasts that only get more powerful the longer they are locked up. Prisons are too crowded, there’s no room for criminals anymore.” Mr. Bluebell’s voice grew louder and more intense the longer he spoke.

“So, what’s the solution?”

The large man smiled like he was waiting for her to ask that very question. He was enjoying his little speech.

“A year ago the Bush Administration started an underground and highly confidential program known as the Federal Organization For Anticipated Murder. When FOFAM was first started, it focused on ways to predict who will be a sociopath. After two months, the researchers realized that they were wasting federal dollars and that they would never find a way to predict who would be crazy. They figured it would be harder to keep adults quiet. So, they decided to target children under the age of 15. They sent psychiatrists to schools around the country and in no time over 10,000 adolescents were identified as being sociopathic. We have been very busy.”

“How do you solve the problem once you’ve identified the crazy kids?”

“We solve it quickly and painlessly. We inform the child of its condition and explain to him that he is sick and this will treat him. After all, they haven’t committed their crimes yet.”

“You can’t really be saying what I think you are saying? That’s insane! Killing people you think will kill doesn’t justify murder!”

Mary was standing now, screaming in Henry’s face.

“Miss Sleigh, I don’t think you understand. These children are not innocent. There will always be something inside of them that provokes them to kill. FOFAM researchers have extensively researched the disease. The best researchers and minds of the country have contributed to the information we have on sociopathic children. Psychiatrists can identify the sick kids.”

“If they haven’t done anything, you can’t be certain they ever will. Everybody is different. There’s no way we can predict who will kill who. Every person has a choice. This is America, the land of the free and free will!”

Mary, crying now stood up and paced about the room. Her head was turning this way and that and she couldn’t keep her hands from shaking. She couldn’t believe how calm the man in front of her still was. He had obviously done this before, but so had Mary.

“Miss Sleigh, it’s better that you just accept this. Eventually you will kill someone and their death will be on your hands. You don’t have a choice here. In the terrorist world we live in today, it’s either kill or be killed. I’m sorry but we are the bigger people here and we have made the decision.”

Suddenly Mary burst out laughing. She sat down and wiped her eyes, looking quite insane herself. She looked down at Mr. Bluebell’s shocked expression. Blood poured from where the pen entered his neck. She pulled off his lab coat while he gasped for air.

“You see sir that is where you are wrong. It doesn’t matter who is bigger. All that matters are the decisions we make and how we go about making them. In life, there are choices. One can choose to kill or not to kill. A person does not have to be a sociopath to commit murder. Crazy or not, I don’t think I’ll lose much sleep over you.”

Using all of her strength, Mary pulled his gigantic head to the retina scanner at the door. A red light blinked and the door opened. Mr. Bluebell’s limp, bloody body fell to the floor in a giant heap. Mary casually walked to the elevator. After finding her way from the desolate field where the entrance was hidden, she located a trashcan and ditched Mr. Bluebell’s lab coat. She was home free except for the police station that loomed ominously before her.

Mary shook her head and thought about where she was now. Her wrists were beginning to burn from the handcuffs. She wished they would get it over with so she could stop the agony of waiting. FOFAM had better communication than she thought. They caught on to her and sent her photo to every police station in the country. She was in a federal prison interrogation room waiting to have a needle stuck in her arm for the countless murders she committed. Mary couldn’t help but laugh.





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