The story of Jim Heron and Kera Heron, two siblings that survived a brutal tragedy only to become two sides of a coin. Jim remembers none of the horrors of his youth, while Kera remembers them all. That is, until Jim realizes what his sister's memories have turned her into... A Serial Killer.
I looked over the papers once more. I really could hardly believe what I had read, let alone that I had to speak with the children that survived! Why this? Only a month back I was graduating from Churn University with my degree in child psychology and I had to deal with witnesses to not just one murder, but twenty over a five year span!
Come on, Matthew, get it together!
I focused on my reading again. From what the papers said, assuming the source was really accurate, there was a boy and a girl who lived with their mother and father. On the outside, they were a normal and close family, but at the end of each year... I shivered, but continued reviewing the case. I knew what was coming, so I should have been alright.
At the end of each year, the father would drag home a victim - usually a prostitute or some single girl living alone - and tie them up in his basement. Once he had stripped the victims naked and bound them to a table, he would call on his wife and children to come down. Presumably out of fear, they would come and sit in chairs as...
My fist clenched, bending the report in my hand a little.
... as the father would rape, torture, then kill the victim. In that order. I started to read just how he had tortured them, but stopped. I couldn't finish that again. No, once was enough. I had enough information to hopefully treat these kids from the actual incident. I decided to instead focus on the first of the siblings, Jim Heron Johnson.
He liked to write and on the outside seemed to be just an innocent little boy. The only really odd thing is that he seemed to not remember anything about what his father had done in that basement... Was he in denial or had he just not been able to deal with it? If he had been in denial, then he would crack under a little pressure, so I would have to be safe when asking questions. But... If he was not able to deal with it and had simply blocked every bit of it out, that made my job extremely harder. I would have to drag it out and make him come to terms...
The door to my empty interrogation room - it felt like one to me - opened and a cop escorted in a little boy with shaggy black hair. He had a confused look on his face and seemed to be a little curious about everything he saw. That was Jim Johnson.
I thanked the officer and dismissed him before standing and stretching out my hand to the little boy. "Hello, Jim," I said in the most cheerful voice I could, "I am Mr. Damer."
Jim took my hand with his small one and shook it with an oddly firm handshake. A trait from his father, perhaps? He HAD been working as a chairman for a company. "Nice to meet you, sir," Jim said politely, which cause me to be slightly taken aback, "Have I done something wrong?"
I recovered myself mentally and smiled even wider. Maybe it was because he was such an honest kid. "No, no, we just need to talk to you, is all."
The boy brightened up and sat down when I directed him to the other chair.
Might as well get started.
"Where is my sister?"
Well... Guess the boy beat me to speaking. "She is just getting some water and food. You'll see her soon, Jim." I gave him a smile and started to go into the proper conversation. "In here you are safe to say anything you want without anyone but me knowing."
"So... you won't tell anyone?"
I smiled. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad even with bringing out the repressed memories or dealing with his denial. "Of course. I promise!"
Jim smiled and seemed to get excited. "Ok, sir! So, do you know why my sister gets mad when I interrupt her when she's painting?"
I sighed inside my head. Repressed memories, then. After all, if this was his biggest concern, it could not be anything else. One thing at a time. "Well, I'm sure she is just mad that you made her lose focus."
"Yes," I told the boy, keeping my smile on, "I know you like to write, don't you?"
He smiled widely and shook his head fast. "I'm only nine but my teacher said I have talent! I might even write a book, she said!"
I laughed at that. And, honestly, it was a true laugh. I loved kids, which is why I got into Child Psychology. "Well, how would you feel if someone interrupted you when writing?"
"Well, I wouldn't be mad like she is..." Was he pouting?
"Well, she is 13, so she can't help getting mad sometimes," I told him. Thankfully, he accepted it. He seemed to trust his sister a lot and already have the belief that she is a role model, so he could accept such a simple answer easily. Maybe he could accept his fathers... actions... the same way. I shivered. Still wasn't used to something like that.
"So, Jim," I said, changing the topic, "Tell me about your dad."
I expected something like fear, anger, or even a smile from repressed memories. Instead, the boy gave a sad smile and twiddled his thumbs before saying, "I never had a dad, sir."
"Are there days you don't remember? Or even times?"
Jim looked thoughtful. "Well..." he started, "I have a lot of times that I just forgot. I don't know why, but I just do. Is that bad?"
Selective Retrograde Amnesia from mental trauma. A form of amnesia that makes a person forget certain events that were especially traumatic. It was odd, but not impossible. Since it was the first session, I knew this was a good place to end.
I smiled and told the kid no. What else could I say? On my paper, I wrote down my synopsis then sent the kid to get his own food and drink. The door opened shortly after, but I didn't turn to greet the cop and girl, yet. I still had to write down...
I looked down, only to see a knife sticking out of my chest. Darkness consumed me.