"What are you doing?" I heard Mr. Butler ask. I craned my neck and saw him standing at the door, staring at .
"Just trying to see how the victim must have felt," I told him with confidence. It had taken quite so ti to feel the panic ebb away and my heart to settle. But Mr. Butler had been suspiciously walking around the apartnt, not coming in to bother .
"I advice you not to understand the perspective of the victim." His brow was arched as he said this. "Neither do I want you to picture yourself as the killer," he raised his finger to silence .
"It is easy to slip into one of those roles, especially if you connect to them. But a soone viewing the scene, you need to be objective. The purpose of this visit is not only to collect evidence, but also to assess the motivation and psychological condition of the murderer during the ti he was on his spree. This information can't always be taken from the criminal as they have a skewed perception of their self and the circumstances surrounding the serial murders." He paused for a bit to make sure that I had followed what he was saying.
"By identifying with the victim, you are demonizing the murderer"
"But he is a monsterhe killed people." I interrupted him.
"Yes, he is a murderer. But when you are reading a book you recognize the nuances of each character and why they do the things they do. Here, your role is to be the audience. You can only obverse. Your role is to understand the cri and the consequences of it. You are not responsible for what happened and you are not responsible for punishing anyone who is harming others." His rant was over.
"Even if I can help?"
"Of course, you can help, but jumping into a situation without understanding how grave it could turn, how dangerous it could be for you is also important. You are simply one person out of the many who are fit to provide help. And it is not your job to save everyone. It is not my job to save everyone. We can do only as much as we are given permission to."
"I want to leave," I told him curtly.
He did not reply. He simply followed out.
I cringed in disgust as I removed the plastic footwear and gloves. I brushed my arm and saw residue from the table had clung on to my clothes, producing a grueso picture. I grabbed at it and tried to eliminate it.
'Out!'
The furious scrubbing gave way to gentle brushes on the fabric.
"I need to take a shower." I heard Mr. Butler hum in agreent.
"I am not dirty. I just don't like the place."
'That's all.'
He didn't pester or call out on the sars on my clothes when I got into the car. He didn't even glance at as I leaned into the seat and took a shuddering breath.
He knew everything that had transpired, but he had not said a single word in anger. He had not reprimanded for losing myself in the market. He had not reprimanded for behaving so peculiarly. He must have seen through .
He must have.
"Why do I need permission to save soone?" I was looking out of the window as the words escaped my lips. I had not ant to say them out loud, but I felt at peace when I unburdened it.
"Because this permission cos with an acknowledgnt of how well you can assess situations. It cos with years of training and understanding of the criminal. You need permission because without it you would do no one any good. Not those people who need your help or yourself. All you will do is kick yourself for not being able to do what you have intended to."
"And I can let it inspire to improve," I fought.
"No, it will turn you incapable of seeing reality. It would make you fault yourself for not doing the right thing. You will hurt."
'I don't want to hurt.'
"You are not the problem, Evie," he said suddenly after a long mont of silence. "You are simply in a problem and you need help getting out of it." He glanced at to see if I was listening to him.
'But I am the problem.'
"You are not the problem," he repeated, reading my mind. "I will drop you ho."
I sat silently by his side, wondering how much he knew.
"Co over to my place if you need to, at any ti." I looked around to see that we had already reached the apartnt that I was staying in.
"Thank you. I don't think I will be going over." I told him pointedly.
"Drink so warm milk, wrap yourself in a blanket and try to get so sleep. The first cri scene can be overwhelming." He seed unbothered by my declaration.
"I won't be needing your help."
"Ah, there are so official matters we need to resolve before I can free you from your obligations. I will call you." He ushered out and waited as I made my way across the street and into the building. I looked back to see the car standing there, waiting for to go inside.
I waved my arm at him even though I was embarrassed. I rushed away and entered the apartnt.
Everything felt so foreign.
Everything felt so cold.
Mr. Butler's words played over and over in my mind as I glared at the wall.
I got up at a languid pace and dragged myself to the kitchen. A glass of milk and blanket accompanied to bed.
Haunting images of the girl flashed before my eyes.
I had seen this face before in the mirror.
Years ago.
And I had dreaded this day.
I cuddled into the pillow, trying to concentrate on the warmth of the milk now residing in my stomach. I slowly faded into darkness as I tried to ignore the prickling sensation of being watched or being touched.
I breathed heavier.
My eyes drooped.
And I thanked Mr. Butler for protecting .
"You are not the problem." He had said. And he had believed it.
I wanted to believe it, too. How long would it take to get there?
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