My mind was in such confusion that I froze for a couple of seconds. I couldn't process it. Wasn't Brian supposed to be dead? Or a product of my imagination? Either way, he had no business appearing in this hospital out of nowhere.
I couldn't take my eyes off him throughout the entire session, ignoring what anyone else was saying. His eyes were etched in my memory, the same piercing blue. He still smiled with one corner of his mouth and occasionally said, "Mhm."
The doctor didn't ask Brian to share during our session; instead, he explained that Brian had recently emerged from a catatonic state and still struggled with selective mutism. Being in a group setting and hearing people talk was supposed to help him relearn how to speak, so we were all meant to be supportive.
The plump man sitting next to me immediately announced, "No problem, I can talk for both of us!"
"Sure you can," the doc smiled.
As I was escorted from the therapy room, I threw another glance at Brian, who unexpectedly was also looking right at me. For the first time, I understood the true meaning of the phrase "if looks could kill." He stared at me with such malice, as if I had massacred his entire family.
Then again, if the doctor was right and I was a killer, it would mean that I had indeed thrown him off the roof all those years ago. But he was alive! So he couldn't be mad at me for killing him, could he? Unless he had somehow survived the fall, which, if my memory serves me right, was highly unlikely given the amount of blood he had lost at the time. But if he had survived, wouldn't I have been charged with "18 murders and 1 attempted murder" instead of "19 murders"? It was a small but crucial distinction.
Despite the confusion and numerous questions, a part of me was simply relieved to see him alive. I spent the whole night pondering and trying to make sense of this mess, which resulted in waking up with a terrible headache. It took me a while to notice someone standing over my bed. At first, I wasn't startled since it wasn't unusual; I was accustomed to the nurse's nightly visits.
But seconds later, I realized it wasn't the nurse at all! I was about to exclaim in surprise when a hand covered my mouth.
"Long time no see, my friend," came a sarcastic whisper. It was then that I realized that the man in my cell was Brian. "I guess you've recognized me."
I nodded quickly, voicelessly pleading by pointing at my mouth. Brian slowly removed his hand.
Finally able to speak, I asked, "How... Why are you here?"
"Because of you, obviously," Brian sneered.
"I'm genuinely happy to see you, for what it's worth. And... I'm sorry for what I did to you," I said awkwardly, uncertain about the details of my actions and motivations. However, apologizing seemed like a good idea at this point, considering the grudge he had held for so long.
"Sorry? You?" Brian laughed. "Mhm, right. Who are you trying to fool? First, faking a mental illness, and now pretending to be a changed man? Don't make me sick!"
I had nothing to say in response. At that moment, I was certain of one thing—I didn't need to fake anything; I definitely had some form of mental illness.
"I thought you were mute," I awkwardly changed the topic.
"You're not the only one who can act."
I remained silent. Given his mood, a normal conversation seemed impossible at this point. Sadly, I reminisced about the time when I had wanted him to be my best friend. I hadn't even managed to show him that shiny red car they had in the toy shop...
My memories were abruptly interrupted by a sudden suffocating sensation. Brian was actively attempting to strangle me, his eyes nearly red with anger. Weakly, I raised my hand to touch his cheek, which was slightly wet. As I began to lose consciousness, I wondered why he could be crying.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in the same hospital room where I had awakened after my supposed fall. The familiar nurse sat beside my bed, wearing a deeply concerned expression.
"Oh dear, you're awake!" she exclaimed upon seeing me open my eyes.
"What happened?" I whispered, struggling to speak due to the pain in my throat.
"Sweetie, I'm so glad I randomly decided to visit your room! You had stopped breathing, and if I had arrived even a minute later, we wouldn't have been able to save you."
"And Brian?" I asked.
"What about him?" The nurse looked confused, indicating that Brian had somehow escaped my cell before her arrival. Maybe her presence had startled him, or perhaps he thought I was already dead and left before finishing the job. I assumed he would be quite disappointed once he discovered I was still alive.
"You've had so many accidents lately; it's really unfortunate," the nurse sighed.
I didn't say anything, but I shared the same sentiment.
The nurse leaned closer to my face, and a light kiss fell on the side of my mouth. It felt uncomfortably moist and warm. She whispered into my ear, "Well done for not telling anybody about what happened between us that night."
I nodded in response.
"Even if you had told somebody, no one would have believed you anyway," she continued whispering, while her hands slithered under my pajama shirt. "Want to know why?"
This time, I shook my head. I had grown accustomed to people not believing me, and I had long lost the desire to understand "why."
"I'll tell you anyway since you're such a sweet little thing," she said, twisting my nipple, causing unexpected pain. "There are two reasons. One, you're a notorious liar, so your word doesn't hold much weight."
"The second reason," she continued, removing her hands from under my shirt and gently straightening my hem, "is that you deserve it. You deserve whatever happens to you. And you know that."
I tried to turn my face away, but she grabbed my chin and forced me to nod.
"Good boy."
This conversation was one of the reasons I didn't mention Brian during my next one-on-one session with the doctor. The way he asked about my recent "accident" made it clear that he suspected me of trying to strangle myself. I had no better explanation to offer, so I quietly agreed with his assessment.
At the subsequent group session, I encountered Brian again. To my surprise, he didn't appear startled by my presence. Throughout the session, he maintained a facade of muteness, barely interacting with his surroundings.
A few days later, he confronted me once more. This time, he slipped into my cell while I was having lunch.
"You want some?" I gestured toward the crackers and assortment of sweets, desperately and naively hoping we could share a meal together.
But instead of an answer, Brian pulled out a gun and aimed it directly at my head.
I looked into his eyes without feeling overly nervous. I had long since realized that I was not afraid of death. Besides, for some reason, the thought of being killed by Brian filled me with inexplicable excitement.
"Do it," I said, giving him a simple smile.
"Don't think I won't," he said, swallowing audibly.
"I know you don't believe me, Brian. But I'm truly sorry for causing your fall. I don't know why I would do something so terrible. All I remember is how much I wanted to be your friend. And I missed you every day you were gone..." Tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn't recall the last time I had cried.
Brian suddenly appeared perplexed.
"What are you talking about? What fall?"
"Isn't that why you want revenge? Because I pushed you off the roof?" I returned his confused gaze.
"What nonsense are you spouting? You burned my sister alive, you monster!" His trembling hand held the gun.
"Wait a minute..." I squinted. "We were classmates, right?"
"No! You were classmates with my sister."
The story didn't add up, from beginning to end. I vividly remembered Brian and how he joined my school. Moreover, there were no fires among all the "newbie" accidents.
I managed to grab the gun that was pointed at me, pushing it away. "What was your sister's name?"
"Anny," Brian spat.
"Listen, I don't know anyone named Anny. I think you've mistaken me for someone else," I said, genuinely curious about his reaction.
Brian seemed enraged. He wrestled the gun from me and attempted to aim once more. Just in time, I rolled over, evading his target. We played a cat-and-mouse game in the tiny cell until I finally managed to pin him down. We fought for control of the gun, our strengths evenly matched, resulting in an intense struggle.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, filling the air with its deafening sound. Amidst the chaos, I couldn't determine who had pulled the trigger, but it wasn't me who was injured. It was Brian, bleeding out right before my eyes once again. Panic seizing me, I desperately covered his wound with my hands, trying to stop the bleeding, and called for help with all the strength in my voice. However, before anyone could come to our rescue, Brian vanished from beneath my grasp, as if he was never there. To my disbelief, the gun and the blood disappeared as well.
As he slowly dissipated into nothingness, Brian managed to whisper, "Mhm, that was a bit too hard, even for me."