a distorted reality is now a necessity to be free

Those Who Cause Death Are Human Too

The sudden cold wind that passed over her made her body shake. Having just darted away from wiL's arms, the change from comfortable warmth to foreign chill was unsettling.

"He's in a minimum security cell because of his fancy lawyer, so you'll get the clear bullet proof door," Sheriff Dalton was informing her as they walked deeper and deeper into the confines of the prison, "there is a small slot in it that is meant for food or mail. Watch his hands in case he decides to reach through there."

"I'll be sure to," she promised.

"Are you sure Mr. Francis is ok with this?"

"wiL loves me and he knows I need this," she answered simply, trying to sound mundane. Nonetheless, the officer made a noise.

"Oh yes, I can tell," he replied, almost mockingly.

She secluded back to her mind instantly, except unlike she'd ever done before, she spoke out.

"You judge us."

Sheriff Dalton coughed a bit and stopped in front of a heavy metal door, "What do you mean by that?"

"You see it, and yet you consider it wrong in your head," Elizabeth stated, a sick feeling in her gut. She didn't like speaking to adults like she knew more than they did. Now it only seemed appropriate to make him feel the gravity of perception she held in her mind.

"I see what?"

 "You see us! You notice how he hovers over me and you have come to the conclusion that there is something more."

 "I have a daughter, Ms. Gregory," he said sternly, "I have seen her habits too. Her boyfriends are touchy feely as well, but I don't call that love."

 "Does it look like that?" She challenged, "Does it really look as if he is just wanting that?"

 The man stopped and his face contorted. Elizabeth knew she was right. She'd won.

 "His door is directly in front of you," Sheriff Dalton surrendered, "we will have cameras monitoring him in case he does something rash."

 "The sound-"

 "There are no microphones on the cameras or anywhere in that room," he said firmly.

 "Thank you, Sheriff," she responded politely. A buzzer sounded and he immediately pushed the door open.

 "Mr. Gray: visitor," he said behind her. The door shut, and she was alone.

 The room was small, his clear door leaving only a foot of space left on the far wall. Of course, far wasn't a proper word to use as it was only three feet away. It was the normal egg-shell white with concrete walls. The only thing that kept her optimistic now was that light shined in through barred windows placed as close to the ceiling as possible, at least a good ten feet up. Still, it was a bright room, and it continued her hopefulness.

 She looked into the large bullet proof glass door, but did not see him. His bed was against the farthest wall in the cell, a chair, and the toilet was visible, but he was nowhere to be seen. However, that could have been because she hadn't moved any closer to the door. Watching her feet she stepped up a square and looked back to the door.

 His brown eyes greeted her and she jumped.

 "I didn't see you," she said instantly, a reflex response. Suddenly she realized her nerves and all the determination drained. This man staring at her was responsible for the death of her parents, and yet she couldn't feel any of the anger she had before. All that was left was fear.

 "You're her, aren't you?" he asked, his voice rough. Yet in Elizabeth's mind, she imagined hearing it elsewhere and thought it would have been a most pleasant sound.

 My subconscious is making him human. She fretted over this reflection, and directly went into her former mode of purpose.

 "If by her you mean the daughter of those wonderful people you brutally slaughtered, than yes," Elizabeth replied smoothly. His eyes went to the floor.

 "It wasn't me," he said quietly.

 "Let's not talk about that now," she said at once, "I didn't come in here to argue about you persistence in lying. I wanted to know who you were before all this happened."

 He squinted his eyes, "Why?"

 She sighed and moved to lean against the wall to her left, "I have no idea." Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him smile.

 "You say your parents were wonderful?" he questioned. A flame rose on her neck. He couldn't be mocking her.

 "Yes," she answered out of curiosity, "they were more than magnificent."

 "Maybe they wanted you to meet me," he pondered, leaning against the door, bravely looking at her, "so that you could know the truth."

 "We'll get to that later," she said, "for now, tell me about you yourself."

 He titled his head back for a moment, eying her with a smirk on his face. "Ok then, I will humor you," he replied, and turned to lean against his glass door. "I was born-"

 "Face me, if you would," she said immediately. His head turned, no doubt wanting to ask why again so she beat him to it, "I want to memorize your face."

 "As you wish, my lady," he said and turned onto his side. Her anger at being patronized was boiling, but she tried to simmer within herself.

 "I was born," he began again, "not far from Seattle. I grew up in a very normal family. There isn't much about my home life in the beginning that will benefit you to know, except this one thing..." he paused and completely faced her, "My parents were murdered when I was seventeen years old."

 Cold air rushed into her lungs as she breathed in quickly through her nose. She'd meant to hold in a gasp, but it hadn't worked as well as she may have liked. His smirk faded as he continued.

 "I will go further into that afterwards, as you said we'd discuss my innocence later," he teased, "Anyways, after that I became the father of my younger sister. I knew we'd get separated by the system, so I ran away. I'd been cut so on my way out of the house I was bleeding quite a bit. I remembered something I'd read a while back: if there's blood on the floor and no body, the cops will assume there's a body to be found. So I stopped and cut my sister's arm as little as I could, but enough to get blood on the floor. Sure enough, when the house was discovered it was two days later and the cops started looking for us. By the end on the first month, without our parents to fight for us, they deemed us both dead and ended the search parties and Amber Alerts."

 "Where did you go?" She asked, unintentionally deep into his story, "Why haven't the cops realized you are who you are?"

 "The questions you ask have the same answer," Zachary smiled lightly, looking at Elizabeth. His eyes swirled with the control he had over her at that moment, a pool of deep brown ready to engulf her, "Barnaby Williams was his name, or at least that's what everyone called him. He had been a friend of my father's when I was still in elementary. He was an older gentleman. I recalled, that day I ran away and was sitting out by an old boxcar near the train station, that he and my dad had fallen out. My dad's job clashed consistently with Mr. Williams' profession."

 "What was that?"

 "My father had been a local detective. Mr. Williams changed who you were."

 "He was a criminal," she nodded, "He changed identities."

 "He called himself Witness Protection, of course," Zachary nodded with her, "but when my dad found out, you can imagine how annoyed he was with his best friend. He cast him out, not really wanting to turn him in. Then things started changing. People were disappearing. Not disappearing, but just being wiped off the face of the earth. My dad knew Barnaby was allowing people to start over, and he wanted to find him. They spent ten years playing cat and mouse with each other, but more Tom and Jerry style: they played each other, not one side dominating."

 He paused, leaving Elizabeth gripping her own arm in anticipation. If Zachary was telling the truth, he knew her pain. And though he claimed it would prove his innocence, somewhere she wondered if it had warped his mind to want to make others share the pain she was.

 "When my parents were murdered, I went to Barnaby and my sister and I officially disappeared. He knew who I was when I came up the stairs. He said I needed a boy's name or else I would never get anywhere. He called me Zachary Gray and my sister Hayden Gray. The story was that I had messed up and gotten a girl pregnant. The mother died and now Hayden was legally by all means my daughter."

 "That must have been hard," Elizabeth found herself commenting.

 "No more challenging than your friend wiL's dispute of calling you his daughter except our reasons were different."

 He stared at her intently and turned back around. "He loves you more than a father is allowed. I loved my sister in the appropriate ways. She grew up thinking I was her father, and I took the position as best I could. I made a humble living for a long time. I became a photographer a few years ago, and when Hayden turned 18 she left for college. She's still there, even though she's asked to come see me. I haven't told her about her past. I wish I could.

 "Our paths cross during a particular photography session, and this is where I defend my innocence."

 Elizabeth nodded and began her words. "You killed my parents after this happened to you," she said, "how could you?"

 "I did mention it wasn't me. I have proof that everything I've said has happened."

 "So by proving your parents were actually killed, that will prove your innocence,"

 "No but a few photographs will tie me into this case and provide an alibi at the same time."

 He stopped again and pressed both hands against the glass, his face inches away from it, "If you knew who killed your parents, what would you do?"

 "I thought I did know," she breathed, stepping a bit closer to the door.

 "You have proof," he expanded, "you know it was him. Would you want them to pay for what they've done?"

 She stepped closer, "Yes, I would."

 "You feel the pain I have felt all these years," his eyes softened into dark warm chocolate and she felt entranced. He hadn't done it and she knew it then as he continued, "it is so wonderful to have someone who understands, but I could never be the cause of such suffering."

 Calculatedly, she looked down and slipped her hand through his food slot. He looked into her wet eyes and gently took her hand.

 "I want the true cause to pay for what they've done," she said, "I want you to get out of here."

 "Well then you must know who killed my parents and who killed your parents."

 "Who killed yours?" She asked, "Who killed mine?"

 "The questions you ask," Zachary said, pressing his forehead against the glass, "have the same answer."

**AND THE BIGGEST TWIST EVER IS NEXT! OFF TO WORK NOW!**