Page 198 - The Houseguest

“Do you believe in evil?” I asked her to begin what could be a revealing and philosophical discussion before her imminent death. “I believe there are acts of evil. But these are choices, results of decisions, not done by some force of evil. More like a disturbance in brain chemistry. Do YOU believe in evil?” she turned the question back to me, which I always found irritating.
“I think deep down every one of us is capable of committing the unspeakable. You. Me. The officers out there ready to extinguish my life in a nanosecond. We all have a zone in our mind where we, to be considered mentally healthy, do not allow our thoughts to enter. We stop them at the threshold where normality crosses over to depraved. Most of us do, anyway. Think about the crime novelists, the horror movie screenwriters, the creators of bloody, violent video games. They allow their mind to cross over, albeit temporarily, in the name of artistic creation. But then, there are those whose mind crosses over for no explicable reason.” With that I lunged forward and yelled to her face: “THEY JUST...SNAP!”
I could see my words were frightening her and I enjoyed watching her squirm in anticipation of what would happen to her. I added, “You think that’s what has happened to me, don’t you? You think I’ve just snapped?” She simply put her head down, probably fearing any answer was the wrong one. “Perhaps I have, Ms. Rachel Spence. Perhaps I have.”
My cell phone rang and I knew right away they’d found my number. I clicked “answer call” but I didn’t speak. “Lance? Lance Richards?” It was a male’s voice, attempting to sound deeper and more sincere than I
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life