As I sat in the empty, plain interrogation room, I couldn’t believe the results of the verdict that was announced a couple of moments ago. Despite my diligence in not confessing, my heartache testimony to win over the jury, and my best friends counter arguments; I was found guilty of killing my wife. I can still see the faces of those who were present in the courtroom. The disappointment on my best friend’s face, the wide eyed surprised expression on my lifelong friends, and the cold facial appearances of the countless strangers in the courtroom that made me think I was scum. As I rested my head on the cold, steel table; my heart ached when I replayed the image of shock on my 2 children’s faces. I closed my eyes trying to get the terrible image out of my head, but much like an annoying itch that you can’t help but scratch; the image wouldn’t stop haunting me. I raised my head and looked around the empty room. The interrogation room was dull and lifeless. The dust coated, grey walls gave the impression that nobody cared to give the room any color or character. Inside this lifeless room, there was nothing but silence in this room. I’m sitting in a dull, lifeless, and dead room. Soon I will be transported to an even duller, lifeless room that I will spend the rest of my life in until my “second trial”, and I fear that I will be damned in that trial as I have been damned for killing my wife. At that realization, I started to cry wanted to be put out of my misery like a gravely injured animal. My mind was racing at the point; I could barely tell what was real or what wasn’t. My mind was playing tricks on me, as if I was being foiled by an illusionist.

“Did I truly kill my wife?” I thought to myself. “Maybe I did and I couldn’t bare the truth so I tried to hide it.”

I shook my head.

“No of course I couldn’t have killed my wife.” I told myself. “Why would I kill my wife who I’ve loved since I was a child and had two children with?”

The image of my children’s shocked faces didn’t help with keeping my mind sane. Tears started to pour out of my eyes, my strength no longer to keep the tears held back. At that point, my mind finally broke down.

“This is all wrong!” I roared while slamming my fists on the steel table “I love my wife, why would I kill her?”

Upon me finishing my outburst, there was a tapping coming from the only door out the interrogation room.

“Keep it down in there!” A voice said.

I ignored the voice’s advice.

“I’m not a murder!” I roared again. “I did not kill my wife”

Again there was a tapping coming from the door, except this time there was more force being applied to the door.

“I said to be quiet!” The voice roared back. “I don’t want one more outburst from you for the rest of the day.”

Clearly my outbursts were causing someone behind the door to become annoyed, but that didn’t bother me one bit.

“You got to believe me.” I yelled, pleading with the voice behind the door. “I’m no murderer, I don’t have a thrust for blood; I’m a good husband and father, please you’ve got to…”

But before I could finish my sentence the door swung open with great force. A man can running from the door, grabbed me by the neck, and threw me against the wall. If I had known that this man was behind the door, I would have kept my mouth shut. Despite the fact that I was about 6’4, the man was clearly taller than me by at least a foot. Add in the fact that his shoulders were massive and he had a deep chest, he was a very intimidating man to be close to. His police uniform looked quite small on him, almost to the point that if he attempted to flex or use a sudden burst of force; his shirt might rip off. He had no hair on the top of his face, only a small black soul patch that looked slightly larger on the left side then the right. His shirt’s arm sleeves were rolled up, revealing a massive amount of arm hair that gave me the impression that he was half man and half wolf. His hands surprisingly were quite small compared to the rest of his body, making me at first think that his arms were quite week. This was just an illusion however, as he easily squeezed my neck to the point that I felt like I was going to suffocate to death. I momentarily looked eyes with him, but I looked away after that as I saw nothing but anger and rage in those eyes. The type of eyes that enjoying seeing a person suffer and bleed. At that point I remember something that my cell mate told me before I went off to court.

“I should warn you.” He said with concern. “If you find yourself inside an interrogation room, there is one cop that you should hope isn’t working today.”

“Who is that?” I asked.

“His name is Officer Nasser.” He said. “But around the prison we call him Nashorn.”

“Why is he called Nashorn?” I asked.

He stood up, got out of the bed, and looked me in the eyes.

“This is a warning Markus.” He said in a serious tone. “When that man gets provoked or annoyed by anything an inmate does; he becomes an animal who will beat you to an inch of your life.”

He started to walk close to me. I tried to back up and get away from him, but he pinned me on one side of the wall so I couldn’t escape.

“There are some people in this world Markus who are good hearted men who are punished for only being good.” He said in a disgruntled tone. “There are also some men in this world who while evil, are decent people who committed their crimes for a just and noble reason.”

He backed up by about 2 steps.

“Finally there are men who commit crimes just because they can and they want to.”

He raised his pointer finger up in the air.

“These men are no different than the very beasts that God sought to keep men from becoming. This is a man who would spill unnecessary blood, just because they want to. This is a man who would kill his own family and friends because he finds that they are not important to him. This is a man who is does not have a soul, because if he did have one; their existence would invalidate the idea and notion that a soul is pure.”

He suddenly grabbed me by the neck, but he didn’t clench down as to make my breathing difficult.

“This is the type of man Nashorn is.” I said. “And you better hope that he is not working today, or else.”

“Or else what?” I asked.

He crudely smiled.

“Because unlike me, he would squeeze your neck until it breaks.”

He was right. As I tried desperately to get much need oxygen, I felt the grip around my neck begin to tighten even more. Clearly Nashorn was going to choke me to death, unless someone grabs his attention. But the other cop in the room was disinterested in my blight; in fact he looked as thou he was enjoying my suffering. Finally the enraged beast spoke.

“I told you.” He roared as countless blobs of spit bombarded my face. “I told you to keep quite; but you had to keep on running your mouth and ignoring my advice.”

His grip tightened even more.

“Now it’s time for you to suffer.”

But before he could finish off the wounded animal that is me, I heard a familiar voice yell from a distance.

“What is going on here?”

Nashorn, the other cop, and I turned around to see who the stranger was. I was delighted to see Andrew standing in the doorway. Andrew stepped into the room and took a deep breath in the dense filled air. He looked annoyed and angry for some reason, but I guess any man would be if he saw his best friend being strangled to death. He dropped his suitcase on the floor and spoke up.

“Well?” he barked. “I asked you a question, what is going on here?”

Nashorn looked like he was about to explode. He grudgingly realized his grip around my neck and started toward Andrew.

“The prisoner was becoming out of control.” He replied, clearly lying to Andrew “So I was attempting to subdue the prisoner.”

Andrew gave Nashorn a puzzled look.

“By choking the life out of him? He replied.

The other cop in the room chuckled a bit, but Nashorn’s angry, animal-like stare silenced the other cop.

“Leave us alone.” Andrew continued. “I must speak with my client.”

“Not going to happen.” Nashorn replied in a stressful tone. “The prisoner was acting up, so one of us is going to have to be present to make sure the prisoner doesn’t go crazy again.”

Nashorn looked over at his partner, gave him a disgusted look, and the other cop proceeded to leave the room. Andrew let the other cop walk out the room. There was a lot of tension in the air, that gave you the feeling that a war was about to start. Andrew and Nashorn kept their eyes on each other, ignoring the fact that I was trying to gasp for air.

“That won’t be necessary.” Andrew replied. “I’m well versed in self-defense that I can take care of myself if the prisoner starts to act up a bit.”

He glanced over to me and gave me a slight cocky smile.

“Besides.” He continued. “I’m sure the prisoner knows better not to act up again. Isn’t that right Markus?”

Nashorn looked over his shoulder and tried to intimidate me. Luckily for me, my lack of oxygen and gasping for air kept me from answering a question that could set a bomb off. Nashorn snarled, stomped his foot on the ground, and left the room without saying a word. The room despite it having only a metal table and 2 metal chairs looked completely trashed. Andrew picked up his suitcase, dropped it off on the table, and proceeded to help me up.

“You alright?” He asked.

I nodded, still trying to get some air in me. I sat down in the chair I was sitting in before and Andrew proceeded to sit down in the chair opposite of me.

“Well I talked to your kids before heading over here.” Andrew said as he opened his suitcase. “They are doing fine, I told May to bring them to our house, if that is okay with you?”

“Yes that is fine.” I replied, even thou speaking was a pain to do. “I want you and May to look after my kids for the time being.”

Andrew paused for a bit, slightly shocked that I would say that. He then continued to play with some papers in his suitcase.

“Just take care of them until I’m granted bail for the re-trial.”

Andrew paused again, closed his suitcase, and looked down. Clearly something I said upset him.

“Markus.” He said. “There isn’t going to be a re-trial.”

I was stunned.

“What do you mean no re-trial” I asked raising my voice just slightly so that Nashorn doesn’t come charging in the room. “Those 3 witnesses that the prosecuted had are lying.”

I rubbed my forehead, trying to keep myself calm.

“I’ve never seen any of those witnesses before in my life; clearly something dirty is going on here.”

Andrew sunk his head further down.

“It doesn’t matter Markus.” He replied. “The judge said that without clear evidence that the witnesses were lying, we have no case for a re-trial.”

I was in disbelief.

“You mean to tell me that I’m going to be sent to jail for killing my wife, despite the fact that 3 of the witnesses were lying under oath.” I replied.

Andrew nodded his head.

“I’m sorry Markus.” He said, grabbing his suitcase as if he was about to leave. “I tried my best, but I’m afraid there is nothing more than I can do.”

As Andrew attempted to get up and walk out, I grabbed him by the collar of his suit, causing some of the buttons to rip off.

“You mean to tell me, that there is nothing more than you can do?” I replied. “I love my wife Andrew, I didn’t kill her; what else can I do to convince people that…”

But before I could finish my sentence, I saw something around Andrew’s neck that caught my attention. It sparkled in the bright light inside the interrogation room. It was a piece of jewelry; but this looked familiar to me. It was connected on a thin, white string that looked almost transparent against Andrew’s skin. The piece that was showing had 3 emerald pieces showing in a design that was familiar.

“What is that?” I asked.

Andrew looked puzzled, looked down, and kept his head down. As I grabbed the top part of the jewelry and started to pull it upward; a cold chill ran down my spine. I couldn’t believe it, I was speechless. I looked up to Andrew and asked.

“Is this what I think it is?” I asked, barely able to get the words out.

Andrew kept his head down and didn’t reply. I ripped the piece of jewelry off his neck and flash it in his face.

“Why are you wearing my wife’s cross?” I yelled in a whiney tone.

The cross was a gift I gave my wife before we were engaged. I spotted this cross for sale at an Irish Festival years ago. At that time I was in the phase of the relationship where I wanted to buy my wife stuff that was equally was beautiful as her. Usually she didn’t like most of my gifts and brought them back to the store I bought them in, but this cross she didn’t take back. She never did tell me the reason why, but I believe that when I showed her the cross and told her how much the emeralds shined just like her green eyes; she felt so in love with my little poetic sentence. It had 3 emeralds on each endpoint of the cross and a larger emerald in the middle. There were some black tribal stripes that connected all the emeralds together in a very attractive design. My wife kept it around her neck at all times, never taking it off unless she was going to bed or taking a shower. But when she was murdered, the cross was nowhere to be found on her. The police said that most likely the killer took it with him as it most likely had gotten his fingerprints on it. But what was Andrew doing with my wife’s cross.

“Andrew!” I roared. “What are you doing with my wife’s cross?”

“Markus, are you really this stupid?” He coldly replied without looking at me. “What do you think it means?”

I was shocked by the response. His response was not the Andrew I grew up with and knew. He was hiding something from me, and it had something to do with my wife’s cross.

“I don’t understand.” I remarked.  “This is my wife’s cross; this was taken off her by her kill.”

Once I finished my sentence. Andrew looked up and smiled. It was a smile so sinister and evil that it would even frighten the devil himself. His eyes were wide open and had an evil, almost insane kind of glare to them. His once slept back brown hair now dangled in front of his face as if they were trying to prevent me from looking upon his insane, Medusa-like glare. He was no longer the friend I knew; he was now something foreign and a complete stranger.

“It’s simple Markus.” He replied, trying to keep himself from laughing.

Before he could finish his comment, he pushed back down into the chair. He then looked straight into my eyes and replied.

“I killed your wife!”

Those 4 words caused my blood to boil with anger and shook me to my core. My best friend since I knew since kindergarten killed my wife. I couldn’t believe it. This was the man who was my best man at our wedding. He welcomed my family into their house when our house was burned down. He prosecuted the man who burned our house to the ground and nearly killed my newborn daughter. He was my defense attorney who tried to the best of his ability to keep me from going to jail. And moments ago when Nashorn nearly strangled me to death, he saved me. How and why could he kill my wife? I hunched over in my chair, put my hands over my eyes; attempting to block out the sight of my demonically possessed friend. I must be going crazy; no way could this be Andrew. I pulled my left arm down, which was still holding my wife’s cross. I rubbed the large emerald gem, thinking about the past memories of my wife. Clearly this was my wife’s cross, but I refused to accept that notion or idea that Andrew killed her. Then I came to shocking realization. I had asked Andrew to take care of my kids. I gave permission for the man who killed my wife to take care of my kids. If Andrew did kill my wife, then most likely he would kill my children as well. I slicked back the front part of my hair and tried to rip them out of my skull. I had to do something to protect my children. I failed to protect my wife from Andrew, I wasn’t about to let my kids get killed.

“You killed my wife?!” I coldly replied.

Andrew fixed his collar, grabbed the chair that was knocked back when I grabbed him, and proceeded to sit down. His sinister smile was now a slight grin that still gave off a fiendish appearance. He brushed back his front bangs and let out a small sigh.

“Yes, I did.” He replied.

He let out a small, sardonic sigh.

“It was such a shame that I had to kill her.” He continued, trying to act like he was sorry. “It wasn’t planned.”

Puzzled, I leaned over my chair.

“What do you mean planned?” I asked.

Andrew let out another sigh, this time longer. He got up in his chair and faced the door. I thought he was going to leave the room, but he just stood there. He didn’t say anything; instead he relied on the tense, dense air to weaken my patience. Most likely he was hoping that I would become enraged and try to attack him; but I knew better as Nashorn was most likely waiting for something to happen so he could charge in and spill some blood. I didn’t know which was more frightening, Nashorn or Andrew. While Nashorn was the more brutish of the two and he would most likely enjoy watching me be tortured; Andrew was clearly damaging me psychologically. Andrew always did like toying with people who he didn’t like, since he had a talent at it. The tense air was starting to corrupt me, I had to make a choice. Should I attempt to force Andrew to confess and run the risk of getting killed by Nashorn, or do I just sit here and let the Andrew chip away at my sanity. Just then, I remember back to what my cellmate told me about the difference between those two types of “murder” as he liked to put it. One day in the prison cafeteria, after I had gotten beaten by one of the local prison gangs; I had just gotten my meal. I sat down across from Dante; he looked up and said…

“Got your ass beaten again?”

I didn’t say anything; my mouth was too busy trying to keep blood from pouring out. Dante slammed on the table to get my attention.

“Hey I’m talking to you.” He roared. “Got your ass beaten again?”

I looked up and nodded my head. It hurt a lot just to nod my head. Dante leaned back and stuffed his face with a spoon-full of mash potatoes. He looked around the cafeteria, looking to see if anyone was paying attention. After seeing that nobody was, he swallowed his food, and leaned forward.

“Are you in pain?” He whispered.

I nodded my head again. It felt like my brain was about to fall out of my skull.

“Can you speak?” He asked.

I swallowed some of my blood-glazed saliva.

“Yes, I can speak.” I quietly replied.

Dante smiled.

“That’s good.” He replied with a grin. “Because if you could no longer speak, I’m afraid I might request a new cellmate. “

I let out a small chuckle. He always was a joker.

“Listen.” He continued, looking straight into my eyes. “What your feeling right now, isn’t as bad as it could be.”

I raised my left eyebrow in confusion.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Dante’s grin grew wider and more intimidating.

“Markus, did you know that there are two ways to kill people?” He replied.

I was puzzled.

“What do you mean two ways to kill people?” I asked.

“Well, most people know that you can injure someone physically, wouldn’t you agree?” He replied. “But you can also injure someone psychologically that they might end up killing themselves.”

My puzzlement was reaching new heights.

“I’m still confused, what do you mean injure someone psychologically that they would kill themselves?” I asked.

Dante took a sip from his drink.

“Well, let us suppose that someone takes someone hostage.” He replied. “Now let us suppose that the kidnapper needs information that the hostage knows; what would the kidnapper do to get the hostage to talk?”

I took a sip of my drink, my blood adding some flavor to warm, bland liquid.

“Well.” I replied. “If I was the kidnapper, I would beat the hostage till he told me what I wanted.”

Dante smiled.

“But how would you know that what the hostage is telling you is the information you want to hear or what the hostage wants you to hear?”

I was again confused by what Dante was saying.

“I’m confused.” I replied. “What is the difference between the two?”

Dante’s smile grew wider.

“What I’m saying Markus, is that if you proceed to beat the hostage physically, whatever he says might not be the truth.” He replied. “He is just telling you what you want to hear.”

“I’m still confused.” I replied, becoming slightly annoyed by Dante’s riddles. “If the hostage is going to tell me what I want to hear, then I’ve accomplished my goal.”

“Correct.” Dante replied. “But the hostage knows this, so by telling you what you want to hear; he can attempt to escape or lead you into a trap.”

“I guess that is true.” I said, still confused at his reasoning.

“Now, what do you suppose would happen if the hostage gets psychologically tortured.” Dante continued. “What do you think would happen?”

I paused for a moment to reflect on Dante’s words.

“I guess we would have to define what psychological torture is.”

Dante’s smile shrunk a bit. Clearly he wasn’t thrilled with having to keep explaining to me what he means.

“Psychological torture is just how it sounds Markus, it is the torturing of someone’s psyche, mind, or sanity in the hope that the person will tell you want you want to know. But unlike physical torture, psychological torture has the chance of making the person actually believe what the torturer tells you.”

Dante paused for a second to drink a sip of water.

“Suppose that the torturer in our little scenario decides to instead of physically torture the hostage; he decides to psychologically torture him by repeatedly calling him scum. The torturer tells the hostage he is scum night after day, and when the torturer goes to bed at night; he has a radio play the same words on a loud speaker so that the hostage doesn’t get any sleep. Would you agree that this is a good way to get your information that you desperately want?”

“I guess that would be a good way, but I still don’t understand…”

But before I could finish my sentence, Dante grabbed my arm and impaled something into my hand. It felt like a dagger or knife, but we were in prison where we were not allowed to have any of those things. I let out a huge scream, causing the guards and other inmates to look at us. While most of the inmates went back to eating their food; the guards quickly reacted to what just happened. Two guards grabbed Dante, rip his hand off my arm, and pulled Dante away from me. Another guard got on the radio and proceeded to talk to the person on the other end, most likely the warden or his supervision. I then saw that the thing that Dante impaled in my hand was a hand-made shank. I had difficultly taking a look at the blade as my blood obscured it from being seen. The handle was small and dark, looking like it was a piece of a tree that was burned or a rock that was chiseled down ferociously. The part connecting the blade and handle together was slightly brighter than the handle. Most likely it was gum, tape, or fecal matter. I hoped that it wasn’t the latter. I looked over a Dante, still having that sarcastic, madman smile across his face. The guard who was on the radio a moment ago came over to Dante and other two guards; looking disinterested in my pain and suffering.

“Take him to the box.” He told the guards before turning over to Dante. “You just bought yourself 3 weeks in there.”

The two guards dragged Dante away. Still smiling as he disappeared behind the cafeteria doors. The guard then turned his attention to me.

“Head over to the infirmary to get that shank out of your hand.” He ordered.

Like a dog obeying his master, I got up and walked down to the infirmary. I grabbed my hand to cover the blood as it left a dotted trail on the dirty, grey floor as a left the cafeteria.  About 3 weeks later Dante came back from the box. He looked weakened, dispirited, and frail. His smile was gone, only to be replaced by a small frown. He had huge bags over his eyes; looking as thou he didn’t get any sleep for almost a week. He didn’t say a word to me while the guards were at the cell door; he only laid down on his part of the bed and stared at the wall. Once the guards had left us alone, Dante finally spoke up in a soft, weak-toned voice.

“Now do you understand?”

I realized what happened at the point. Being alone inside of a small box with no sleep damaged Dante psychologically. He wasn’t the same person I used to know. This is what Dante was talking about when he said how to damage someone psychologically. Now I was being damaged the same way by Andrew.

“Do you know what it’s like Markus, to fall down into an bottomless pit?” Andrew said, awakening me from my hypnotized trance.

“What does this have to do with killing my wife?” I replied, puzzled by what Andrew was talking about.

Andrew turned around to face me and walked over to his chair. He had a gloomy, small smile on his face for some reason.

“Think about it Markus”. He said as he sat down in his chair. “You’re falling into an bottomless pit, where you keep falling and will never reach the ground; what does that sound like.”

I didn’t want to think about his question, I was to determine to figure out why he killed my wife.

“I don’t know, you’re the one who seems to have all the answers.” I coldly remarked.

Andrew leaned back in his chair and let out a deep sigh.

“You could call it a paradox if you will. You are falling down into a pit that has no bottom, so you keep falling. You never know if the pit has a bottom, you just keep falling down into the empty void and you will call your grave. But you never do reach the bottom, you just keep falling. Eventually you hope that death will come and save you from this endless horror. But like any parent who abandons child, Death never comes.”

Andrew chuckled for a moment. I wasn’t sure why he was laughing.

“Ironic isn’t it?” he continued. “Death’s best way of killing someone, is for him to keep him from dying. This feeling lasts for a while until you come to the ultimate realization.”

“What is that?” I replied as I leaned over the table.

Andrew’s sinister smile reappeared like a ghost phasing back into existence.

“You have achieved immortality.” He replied, laughing madly after saying those words. “Think about it Markus, you keep falling into a bottomless pit where you know that once you reach the bottom you’ll die. But since the pit has no bottom, you won’t die!”

His words sent a chill up my spine.

“You’re quite the insane philosopher Andrew.” I coldly replied.

Andrew continued to laugh for a while, but he stopped after a while.

“You see Markus; I’ve made a good living by putting innocent people in jail. You would be amazed as to how much people will be willing to do for something they selfishly want. I’m sure you know who I’m talking about.”

I thought about it for a moment, then I came to a startling conclusion.

“You were the one who put those 3 witnesses to testify against me, the ones who I knew didn’t belong on the stand.”

Andrew leaned forward in his chair slightly, his smile growing ever wider and fiendish.

“Right on the money, they all wanted something so badly that when I tempted them like Lucifer tempted Eve; they gladly accepted my terms. Love, Money, Life; all of those things they wanted, only for what I gave them to backfire on them.”

My blood was starting to boil and my muscles tightening. His words were like bullets, piercing through the armor that was my patience, sanity, and control.

“But all of this could have been avoided, if that stupid woman of yours didn’t have to become Nancy Drew and find out about my little secret.”

My blood was starting to burn. I was about to lose control of my emotions soon. Just then Andrew packed up his suitcase and proceeded to head out the door, before turning around to me.

“Have a good life in prison Markus, I’ll make sure I tell your children that you said hello.”

After hearing those words, I couldn’t remember what happened. Andrew had poked the bear too much, and now I was ready to maul him. I jumped out of my seat, sending the chair flying backwards. I threw the table to my left side as it made a shearing sound as it scrapped against the floor. I charged at Andrew, threw him to the floor and pinned him down by placing my left hand around his neck. I proceeded to smash Andrew’s face, but his harden exterior kept him from getting seriously injured. Andrew kept laughing and smiling as I smash his face with all the strength I had. Eventually I got a good blow near his mouth that he started to bleed. At that point, Andrew grabbed my left arm with his right arm and grabbed my neck with his other. He had a sinister and bloody smile on his face that had a hint of frustration and anger. He easily managed to repel me off of him.

“Guards help me, the prisoner is attacking me.” He roared as blood spat out of his mouth.

Just then the door swung open with violent force. Two cops rushed into the room, grabbed me, and pinned me against the wall opposite of where the table was thrown to. One of the cops was new and I’ve never seen before, while the other one was the one that was present during Nashorn’s rampage. Andrew got up, grabbed his suitcase, and walked out the room. Nashorn was waiting for Andrew by the door, taking pleasure of the situation he was now in. Andrew and Nashorn talked for a moment, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying. Just then, they both looked at me. Andrew’s face showed of confidence and pleasure; clearly he was going to be happy with what will happen next. Nashorn’s on the other hand was more animalistic and fiendish. He had a huge sinister smile on his face and his dagger-like teeth showing made it even more intimidating. I tried to fight back against the other two cops, but to no avail. They had me easily pinned and I was unable to move or fight back.

“Have fun!” Andrew said, either talking to me sarcastically or to Nashorn.

Nashorn then entered the room, took out his baton; which had dried blood stains on it. Nashorn then slowly closed the door, sealing me inside the cage with the beast. Once the door was shut, Nashorn head-butted me in the stomach, to the point that I nearly vomited. He then smacked me on the head with his baton, to the point that it felt like I got blindsided by a small car. Nashorn did this a couple of times until my face was a red as a tomato. The other two cops at that point pushed me down to the ground and took out there batons as well. I tried to get up, but I was weak and frail. I had no strength left inside me. I could look up at the ceiling and the one and only lamp inside the room. It was so much like me. It too had no other lamps with it, all alone hanging on the ceiling. It was trapped inside a room it most likely didn’t want to be in. It probably felt alone, scared, and miserable.  Just then a large shadow glided across me. Before I knew it, I was looking directly at Nashorn’s smiling face. His eyes were slightly squinted, but concentrated; similar to how a lion keeps an eye on his prey. His muscles around his nose, made it appear twice as large. Every dagger that was inside his mouth looked as thou they were ready to sink there razor sharp edges into me, like a shark devouring its food. Never before have had I felt so scared. I started to cry. I wanted to go home. I wanted to escape this nightmare, but I couldn’t. I wanted to hug my children who were most likely crying and missing me, but I couldn’t. I wanted to visit my wife’s grave, just so I could be with her or what was left of her; but I couldn’t. The only thing I could do was look at Nashorn’s fiendish face.

“This is going to be fun.” Nashorn snarled. “Beat some respect into him boys!”

Meanwhile outside the door, Andrew cleaned off some of the blood in his mouth with his suit’s sleeve. He then adjusted his collar and proceeded to fix his ruin appearance; attempt to remove any evidence that what happened moments ago, never happened. As he did so, he realized that he still had the cross on him. He looked down at the little piece of jewelry and just stared at it. Wondering how did he still have it on him after what happened moments ago in the room? He then caught a glimpse of a nearby trashcan near the door. He looked down at the cross, then at the trashcan, and then finally back at the cross; debating if he should discard the useless piece of silver and emerald jewelry. The sound of the commotion inside the room distracted him for a little bit, but he then again fixated at the cross. He motioned his arm and placed the cross inside his pocket. He fixed his collar again and glanced over at the door.

“Goodbye, Markus.” He whispered, barely making the words out as he did.

He looked down the crowd-less, empty hallway and his sinister smiled reappeared as if it was an evil little flower expanding its petals as the first light of sun bombards it. He let out a small chuckle of amusement and started to walk down the hallway; the sound of his footsteps synchronizing and echoing to the rhythm of the police batons striking down upon my helpless body.

•    "The type of eyes that enjoying..." should be enjoy, not enjoying.
• "...thou he was enjoying my suffering..." it should be as though, not as thou
  
• " “I told you.” He roared", there should be a comma after you, not a period.
  
• " ...to tell me, that there is...", there is no need for a comma in between me and that.
• "off her by her kill.” ", should be by her killer, not by her kill.
• "...tried desperately to get much need oxygen,..." should be to get much needed oxygen