The next meeting was tense. Both Byron and Janice were nervous, stalling in every way they could think of, not wanting to get down to business but not willing to give up either. They made small talk for a while, and then Byron finally broke the spell by bringing out his tape recorder. Janice sighed, “I guess… since you're here...”“Yeah,” Byron said, forcing a smile. “Since I'm here...”They both laughed a little to fill the space. “You were telling me about the House,” Byron reminded, pushing the start button on the recorder. Janice nodded, “Right… so we drove up…” ***“It looked like a normal house. A nice, modest two-story, hidden in the village of Ardsley. It wasn't falling apart, there were no broken windows, hell, the paint wasn't even peeling.” 'You guys sure th

A few days passed, and Byron had not, in fact, destroyed the files. He had also felt no effects from whatever the ghostly woman injected into his body, and for all intents and purposes, chalked it up as a stress-induced dream. Though you don't really believe that was all it was, do you? He thought to himself as he sat once more across from Janice. “Are you okay?” she delved, seeing him little disturbed. “Yeah. Bad dreams,” he shrugged nonchalantly. Her eyes grew wide for a moment, and she was about to say something, but quickly tamped it down. Byron let it slide. “So,” he looked at her expectantly, once more bringing out his old tape recorder. He had been urged many times to get something more up to date, but he liked the sound of the tapes. The soft hiss crackle behind his interviewee's voice gave a depth to the character. It reminded him that these people didn't live in a

The prison library was small and under-stocked, but to Janice, it had become a sanctuary, a refuge from the dullness and potential violence of her day-to-day life.   The librarian, Norma Schelle, was a short, boyish woman in her mid-twenties, with thick, black-framed glasses and a short pixie style haircut. She was also the bright point in a staff of people who always acted like they'd rather strike an inmate than smile at them. “Hey Janice,” Norma grinned from behind her weather-beaten desk. She always referred to the prisoners by their first names, no dehumanizing strings of numbers for her. “Hey, Ms. Schelle,” Janice replied, smiling. She had been told many times to call the woman Norma, but even though the librarian was only a few years older than her, Janice couldn't quite bring herself to do so. “We got in those books you asked for,” Norma smiled. The library made up for their sca

In his time as a True Crime writer, Byron had interviewed many people, many of them disturbed or troubled in some way. In these interviews, he would often run up against what he called The Breakdown, to the point where, due to the pressures of telling him their story a person would hit an unknown well of feelings and just… shut down, usually in a maelstrom of tears. They always recovered but it was at a point that Byron always hated, even dreaded. The young murderess across the table from him was showing all the signs of The Breakdown being imminent—from closing her eyes, to taking deep breaths and biting her lip. For a fleeting second, he considered standing up and hugging the girl, drawing her into his arms and holding her close until she got it all out. He wondered if anyone had done this for her, this little but important thing, and figured that no one had. Murderers didn't tend to get such luxuries. Though h

“Broken night?” Janice questioned. She had been led in as usual, and sat, still cuffed, across the table from Byron. “Hmm?” Byron looked at her, appearing confused. “That's what my mom used to call it when nightmares or something kept waking you up— a broken night.”“Oh,” now he began to understand.“Yeah, it looks like you had one.”“You could say that for sure.”“That's okay, I did too. I was dreaming about Lacey all night, Lacey and that damn snake.”Byron repressed a shiver. He wondered if he should tell Janice about his dreams, describe them to her and find out if they were the same that kept the young killer awake. He decided to keep silent. You just don't want to know. He silently chastised himself. You’re too much of a coward.“So,” Byron started, eager to change