The Tyrant's Trophy

Chad

The man in room 110 confessed to nothing. It wasn’t that he refused; it was more than the attack he faced that caused a psychological breakdown. The man screamed the second I entered the room. He jumped off the bed and took shelter in the corner of the room, blocking invisible attacks with his arms. There was nothing to get out of the man that night and I feared his broken psyche might be permanent.

Quinn would have to admit him to the psych ward until he’s stable enough to interrogate. Otherwise, whatever he confesses would be void.

Sighing in aggravation, I decided to break the news to my sister as well as get an update on Maybell. Upon nearing Maybell’s room, however, I heard Quinn soothing Maybell as she wailed apologies repeatedly. I stopped before entering the room. The two women were on the floor, Maybell held my sister as if her life depended on it; gasping and crying brokenly.

The room was upturned, telling me there was a struggle, and Quinn was disheveled. Her bun was undone, her sandy hair messily covering her flushed face. There was fear in her eyes and she wasn’t wearing her doctor’s coat anymore; the article of clothing lay precariously on the other side of the room.

We made eye contact before Quinn shoed me away, mouthing the word “Office, now.” Usually, I ignore my sister but the situation somehow told me that if I entered, I would make things worse. So I obeyed and waited in Quinn’s office until she came.

When she did, she slapped me.

“Thank you for being someone I can trust.” I held Maybell close even after she drifted off. I forced down the lump of guilt in my throat, reminding myself that this was the best option. She’s depressed as it is and looking for anything to keep herself alive. Telling her the truth would only solidify her desire to kill herself.

All I can do is comfort her during her episodes. It warmed me to see how she sought me out during those suicidal episodes. I convinced my sister to not say a word about Maybell’s daughter, however, Quinn couldn’t look at me anymore. We worked together to help Maybell, but our relationship has been becoming more estranged.

Quinn usually acts distant when angry. She’s always been point-blank; a book demanding for people to read her but when she closes up; she stays shut. It’s worrisome, but I hope Quinn can get her over her ego and come to accept that this is the best option.

There was a knock on the door. Without waiting to be asked, “who is it?” Abijah walked in with two suitcases. “Afternoon,” She greeted. I nodded, unsure of what to say and it seemed, the redhead cared little about what I would have said anyways. As if the room were hers, she walked over to the closet and began to hang up some clothes.

“What are you doing?” I asked, not wanting to move, lest I wake Maybell.

Nonchalantly, the intruder hummed, debating if she wanted to grace me with the story that led her in my sister’s clinic. Instead, she simply replied, “I need a place to crash and your sister generously allowed me to crash in the clinic. I’ll be staying in the room next door.”

“So you’re putting your clothes in this room?”

She stared at me like I was dumb. “These are Maybell’s clothes. I brought her things as well as mine. Might as well, right?”

Honestly, there was no arguing with her, though, it did make me a bit sad that no longer would I be left alone with my Maybell. Thinking that I felt the topic of my affections unconsciously squeeze me in her sleep. Without thinking much of it, I softly pecked her forehead, hoping it would ease her pained expression in some way. I felt some of her hair caress my face, making me smile a bit.

Abijah’s expression was emotionless as she watched our display of affection. I wouldn’t describe it as cold but our display certainly wasn’t welcomed around her. Fortunately, she made no remark and turned back to organizing.

I had hoped the silence would remain and that the journalist would leave as soon as she finished but she didn’t. Once done with the closet, Abijah turned and grabbed the plastic chair on the other side of Maybell’s bed. “You’re sister informed me of the man in the psych ward. Any word?”

Of course, Quinn would clue the nosy woman in. Part of me began fearing how close the two were becoming. My sister and Abijah could be in trouble if they become best friends.

“Nothing,” I admitted, grudgingly. “The man clammed shut now. I’ve watched him via the cameras and he’s completely normal but once I or Quinn enter; suddenly he’s lost his marbles. We haven’t even gotten a name to give to the police.”

My sister’s the main one losing patience with the guy. On multiple occasions, I had to prevent her from going into the room to bash the dude’s head in. What upsets me is that cheeky smirk he gives when he thinks we’re not looking.

“I want to see the guy.” Abijah’s demand caught me off, guard.

“What business do you have with this?” I know she’s a reporter but still, she’s not a miracle worker.

That look that called me stupid returned. Grabbing her ever-present bag, she told me she did some digging on her own. “Thanks to my own psychotic villain, I now have in my procession names of human traffickers tied to Dr. Phillip Sweetheart. All we have to do now is research the scumbags and see if our ‘friend’ is one of them.”

“Oh,” I couldn’t stop the smile from creeping up. “That would give us the advantage.” Suddenly, I found myself thankful for the redhead’s intrusion. Once we make the connection, all we would need is the man’s confession and I’ll get that one way or another.