The Color of Catharsis

There is something so alluring about the color red. It is bold enough to invoke opposite emotions in people. Are you endowed in passion to the point of love or hate? Is your strength cruel like fire or gentle like a rose? Is it the sweet flavor of a cherry or the staunch scent of blood? That must be why the words "crime of passion" remind me of a thick sticky crimson. Oozing and dripping. Like the crimson slipping down my knife. Such a contrast to the cool silver sharp edge. Although my crimes may be passionate, they are never brewed from the depths of anger. They are picture perfect, all strokes come down with a purpose.

Even this guy, strapped to a piece of crap chair, has been given to me for a reason. I have to think of his name for a moment because they all blur past me sometimes. Keep it focused. "Thomas." The name slips past my teeth and I know I hit the nail on the head when I see him squirm in sheer terror. He doesn't even try to communicate through his gag. It means he probably knows who I am and realizes there is a zero to none chance of his escape from this little meeting. "Oh Thomas. What did you do?" I groan in fake unknowingness as I sit backwards in a rusting chair. I want to watch him and see how he behaves. It is my job to torture any poor soul who crosses my father, but only because I like it. Playing cat and mouse isn't so bad, as long as you're the cat. "Tell me, is there someone you look up to?" I feel up for a conversation but only because I feel safe sharing secrets with dead people. He blinks and nods his head slowly, caught off guard by the light topic. "I'm going to remove your gag but first I want you know that it's no use in screaming. The only other people out here are people like me. And trust me, they are far worse then me. They will eat you alive." It's a bluff, there is only us and the alligators but I like to keep people compliant. Thomas trembles as I remove the gag, like I might take his life right then and there. "Who do you look up to Thomas?" I want an answer because it is a key part to our conversation. "Is it your boss? Your mother? Your father?" 

"My father." Thomas manages to say, eyeing me like a venomous snake that has him cornered. I suspect he is trying to understand my motive behind the topic.

"So what then, did you do? Because you value your father so much." The chair groans beneath me, cold rusted joints considering giving out. 

A smile flicks to his lips in contrast to his frightened gaze. "I wanted to be just like him." The memory must have been a good one. I wish I could smile about my father like that. On the brink of death, his presence would be enough to make my blood curdle.

"Let me ask you something else." I observe the predicament "Is your father apart of this gang you've had trouble with?" I couldn't imagine anyone would follow their father into such a weak link as the King's, but I have heard stranger stories.

"Ahh, no." He paused, "What does that have to do with this?" Thomas wants to know if he can relax or if he is spilling beans he should have kept.

A chuckle lingers in the air "Nothing." The short answer comes first. "The reason why you die here to today has nothing to do with your father but humor me. If you wanted to be just like your father, who is not apart of a deadly gang, then how did you find yourself here?”

The confusion continued to stir on his face, giving Thomas an awful look. As if distress looked good in the first place. “A-a loan. I needed a loan to start a business but I couldn’t pay it off. My father expected me to take care of the family business but I messed everything up.” 

The answer matched up with the things that I knew about that gang and what I have learned about this man. “And look where it got you.” I wanted to say more, only Thomas cut me off with his muttering.

“You’re going to kill me.” He finally spoke loud enough for comprehension. Thomas acted like this revelation was new, but what had he expected after getting kidnapped and delivered to the mafia’s ‘kill for fun’ son. I have never been known to let someone go, and it was time to step up to the plate as Thomas’ new fear ran rampant. He squirmed in his chair and wrestled with his bindings, hoping that freedom was the answer to saving his life but it was only promising a sooner death. The knife slid out of my pocket with ease. It was all muscle memory at this point, I could probably do it with grace in my sleep. I didn’t want to kill him yet, there was still more to discuss. "Yes, I am." I sighed, flipping the blade around in my hand only to bring it down into Thomas' thigh. I left it there, admiring how it protruded like a broken bone while Thomas wailed. It stopped his fruitless struggles though. He had knocked the chair over at this point and lay on the cement floor so I had to squat to speak at his level. "I'm trying to talk to you, so stop trying to escape." Annoyance burned in my blue eyes but I continued on as if we had shared nothing more than a light dispute. "I, too, once admired my father. He is a great man, probably not comparable to yours. He has everything: money, power, and fear. I thought one day I would be just like him. That if I did the things he did, I would be just as great; things don't always go the way we want them too. You gave me the perfect example of that." I eased the knife out slowly and watched as the blood began to pool on the floor while Thomas whimpered; a combination of tears, sweat, and snot secreting form his face. "Everyone expects that from me." I smirked, just like everyone expected me to kill just because I could get away with it. I'm not claiming to have a low body count, but I certainly don't take innocent lives. All of these desperate wannabes have done unmentionable things, I'm just helping the devil. 

The chair teetered and groaned as I stood it back up to an upright position, blood making a trail to wherever I drug Thomas. My tall muscled stature made this job quite easy for me, as it is, I am the spitting image of my father. All similarities end there though. “As you may know, I am like the crown prince in this place but I don’t look forward to ruling this kingdom like my father.” I place myself in front of the man again, leaning over to stare into his dark eyes. “Maybe if you had decided to walk your own path, you could be at home with your family Thomas. Tucked away safely and without a slice of knowledge of the darkness in this world.” The silver tongued snake in my hand traced along Thomas’ jaw, slicing through his stubble and nipping at his flesh. 

Thomas, my fathers right hand man, was only a pawn in the game I was playing. Many days I had wondered what father saw in him, this pathetic excuse of a man who came running when he was in trouble, using a bigger dog to chase off the ones after his head. Father took him in rent free, taught him about the ways of the wicked and gave him a high position. Then it was like Thomas never left his mind. Either Thomas was doing something important, or making breakthroughs, or was going to be a great right hand to me. The only thing is that I didn't need Thomas and I definitely didn't want him. 

"But I'm not going to do what you did. I will not merely let things fall into place. They see that old man in me. The one who is kind and caring yet willing to turn a blind eye to the cruel things that happen in the shadows. It will be unexpected for I have lost the trail my father tread. I am making my own way to the top. Starting with you." I dug the knife deeper and watched the man's eyes bulge with pain. Sucking air through my teeth, I watched as crimson danced down the silver bridge to hold my hand, like an old friend inviting me in again.