Pill Number One: Pop it in your mouth, drink some water, swallow. Remember. Remember how your boyfriend, Anthony, left you. Remember the look on his face as he told you, “Honey, you just don’t, you know, do it for me anymore.” The look was indifference. He didn’t say he was sorry, he didn’t say, “We can work this out, I’m sure of it.” He didn’t say that the past year meant anything to him. He said she was Tiffany, was hot, and didn’t want to “talk all the time, if you know what I mean.’”

Pill Number Two: Pop it in your mouth, drink some water, swallow. Remember. Remember how when you looked to cry on your mother’s shoulder, she said it was time for Law and Order and could you call back later. Remember back to the first time she hit you. You were five and had dropped a plate. She took out a hanger and took down your pants. Remember how when you were young, every time you hurt, it was because of her. She was your mother and you wanted to love her and she only knew pain. Hate yourself for trying so hard to love someone who couldn’t be loved.

Pill Number Three: Pop it in your mouth, drink some water, swallow. Remember. Remember the first time with Anthony. You were afraid, he told you he loved you, you wanted to be loved. You were still unsure; he said he was sure. You cried. He said maybe next time you’d be better. You asked if he loved you, he said he had to pee, and then fell asleep. Remember how you washed yourself in the shower, and thought first of calling your mother because you still believe that a mom, even yours, won’t hurt you although that’s all she does.

Pill Number Four: Pop it in your mouth, drink some water, swallow. Remember. Remember to cut the phone cord so you won’t be tempted to call anyone. Remember to lock the door, and make the bed. Remember to sweep the floor; you don’t want people to think you are a slob. Remember to call work and tell them you won’t make it in tomorrow. Remember that the website said five pills, but you decided that six would be better; you wanted to be sure it worked. Remember that all your bills are paid for the month, good. You are responsible; you always pay your bills on time. Remember the taste of chocolate and cool mint ice cream on a hot humid summer day. It makes you smile, but it’s not enough.

Pill Number Five: Pop it in your mouth, drink some water, swallow. Remember. Remember how happy you were when you got accepted into college, the first in your family. Remember being so excited that first day of classes. Remember meeting Anthony in your freshman Biology class- you were going to be a doctor and he wanted to just make it through the course. Remember how his smile made you melt. Remember how when you told your mother about Anthony she said, “I can’t talk now; I’m watching TV.” She put the phone down and you filled in the conversation for her. In your mind she cared and was happy for you. Remember every little clue you missed because you wanted someone to love you, and decided Anthony did. Remember that you were so desperate, that you allowed everyone to use you.

Pill Number Six: Pop it in your mouth, drink some water, swallow, lie down on your bed. Remember. Remember that trip to the doctor, alone, to find out you would be a mother. Remember Anthony left you. Remember that everyone you wanted to love hurt you. Remember the war in Iraq; the children kidnapped every day, the murder, the molesters, and the danger in the world. Remember your mother. Remember that you promised to never be like her. You are a good mother; you will do the best thing for your child. Remember the best thing to do is not bring a child into this world. Think that maybe you can be together like this. You will sleep forever, and in that sleep, you will love and be loved.

It’s almost six o’clock. Unless I hear from the governor, I’ll be dead in about six hours. Right now, I’m staring at a half eaten plate of steak and potatoes. Funny, I’m not too hungry.

I don’t feel like watching TV either, even though the news is about me. The reporter is outside the prison, interviewing the protestors. It seems every time someone is about to walk the hall, you have all sorts of protestors saying how the death penalty is wrong. I don’t know about most guys on Death Row, but I think my punishment fits the crime.

The priest was just here, asking if I wanted to repent or confess anything. That got me to laughing. As fast as he left, I must have upset the old Padre. But if there’s one thing I’ve done enough of, it’s confessing.

At the trial, I confessed to all the crimes they said I did, except for one. I just refused to talk about it.

There were five murders I confessed to. Killed them all in cold blood. Just like Johnny Cash sang “I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.” Except they weren’t in Reno, and they weren’t men. They were all women, all over the country, and I only shot one of them. But the watching them die part is right.

I never talked about number six, even though she’s the reason I never appealed my sentence. I even asked to get this over with sooner. Most guys stay on Death Row for ten to fifteen years. I’ve only been here for six, but I couldn’t last another day.

To understand the sixth one, I have to explain the first five. The first girl was kind of an accident. We were having sex, going at it pretty heavy when the urge came over me to wrap my hands around her neck. The tighter I squeezed, the more she fought, the more pleasurable it was for me. I climaxed and she croaked at the same time. The euphoria was unbelievable.

The second girl went the same way, but now I knew what I was going to do. Watching the fear in her eyes as she struggled for a breath was amazing. But for some reason, it wasn’t as good as the first one. Don’t get me wrong, it was the second to best sex I ever had, but I sure as hell didn’t want to take a step backwards.

I stepped it up a bit with the third girl. I tied her hands to the headboard and shoved a gun in her mouth. Needless to say, the gun went off the same time I did. No step backwards here. But I knew that I had to step it up each time from now on.

I don’t want to go into too much detail, for those with a sensitive disposition, but girl number four was a lead pipe and number five I beat to death with my fists.

I brought a knife with me on the last one. I had been fantasizing for weeks about the cuts I would make on her body. But things started going wrong as soon as I brought the knife out. She didn’t seem scared; she seemed turned on by it. What should have been struggles of pain were more like throws of ecstasy. The more pain I inflicted, the more she enjoyed it. She never fought against the tearing of her skin. Not once did she ask me to stop.

Blood covered everything. I knew she was near death but I was nowhere near receiving the pleasure I wanted. I punched her in the face, she laughed. I dropped the knife and reared back to punch her again. She grabbed the knife, made one quick slicing motion, and died.

She wasn’t laughing at the pain I was inflicting. She was laughing because with one swipe of my own knife, she ensured I would never have a woman again. She cut off the one thing that makes me a man.

In less than six hours, the Penathol with start dripping into my arm. That’s when my pain will finally go away.

In the dreariest part of the forest, all was quiet except for the occasional ‘pwfft’ coming from the base of a dead tree.

“Life stinks”, thought Six as he blew the long black-dyed lock of hair from his eyes. ‘Pwfft’, his breath would whistle out sending the troublesome lock airborne for a second only to have it settle in the exact same place.

“Nobody understands me,” Six said to no one in particular, which was a good thing since at the moment he was utterly alone.

It should be noted that chipmunks are curious creatures. In general they are happy and full of life, content to scamper and frolic through the rich forest undergrowth. They are also not the Creator’s brightest creatures.

A chipmunk mother can expect to have up to five children at a time. Anything more is a very, very rare occurrence. When Six’s mother had her litter, he was obviously born sixth. Not being very creative she named him Six. The first five she named Bob, even the little lone girl baby she had. She thought Bob was a fine name; short, few letters and you could even spell it backwards or forwards.

Six hated that number and his name. There were no other Sixes around. He was unique.

A scampering in the undergrowth near him, made Six aware of another chipmunk’s approach. Little Sue, (another good, short name; though not as good as Bob since it could only be spelled front-ways.) his neighbor’s daughter, came bounding up to him with her eyes full of life and happiness. She was less than a year old and it seemed to Six that she followed him everywhere.

“What’cha doin’ Six?” little Sue asked in her squeaky voice.

“I am not a number,” said Six as he put as much boredom as he could muster into his voice.

“Of course you’re not silly, you’re a chipmunk,” Sue answered. “Come on Six, come scamper with me!” she pouted. “Look it's fun!”

Here she jumped far into the air and squealed with delight as she bounded ever upwards, sometimes with her tail higher than her head and sometimes with her head higher than her tail.

‘Pwfft’, up went the hair. “I don’t want to do anything so stupid. Leave me alone.” Six said softly.

Heartbroken, Sue turned to leave, her little tail quivering with disappointment. Then she noticed a brightly colored butterfly and off she raced to get a closer look.

“That was not very nice of you,” said a voice from behind Six.

Six turned to lecture the new voice on the woes of his life. ‘Pwf….’ His breath caught in his throat. Before him was the most beautiful chipmunk he had ever seen.

“I uhmmm… you see..” he stammered.

“Hi, I am Polly” she said as she held out her hand shyly for Six to shake. “Polly Dactyl to be exact.” She said laughing.

Taking her hand quickly Six shook it, amazed at her different name. Her hand felt warm and sent a flush up to his little furry cheeks. Her hand didn’t feel quite right though and as he looked at it when she drew it away, he noticed she had six fingers.

“You… are different,” muttered an unbelieving Six.

“Yeah I sure am,” said Polly “and I am so happy about that! Would you want to be just like everyone else? There is only so much cute I can take in one day.”

“You don’t mind being different?” Six asked.

“Heck no, I stand out. I like being special. Not many people have these,” said Polly Dactyl waggling her six tiny chipmunk fingers.

Six was dumbfounded and when she grabbed his hand again he couldn’t tell if it was her attitude or simply being with another chipmunk that was different but suddenly the forest didn’t seem so gloomy.

So they sat and talked while Six held her beautifully special hand. ‘Pwfft’, up went the hair and Six thought maybe he would consider cutting it and letting it go back to its normal hue. Six thought many new things after that day and during the many, many more days they spent together.

Inservice days for teachers always have their pros and cons. The pros are that we get a day’s break from the kids and we get to wear casual clothes. The biggest con is that we are subjected to sitting for hours of listening to the principal drone on and on about the statistics from recent tests.

Mr. Finchly, otherwise known as Herman, sat down on the seat next to me. He was a nice enough guy, but had an odd personality and was extremely odd looking.

As soon as our principal stood up to begin the inservice, Herman was instantly engrossed in her statistical yadda.

Less than an hour into the boring monologue, my mind began to wonder. I found myself disturbingly fixated on the toes of Herman’s right foot. He was wearing flip flops. I realized I’d never seen his bare feet before. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Was I seeing six toes on his foot? I closed one eye and conducted a meticulous visual digit count. After several repetitions, I concluded that the man indeed had six toes. I tried to get a glimpse of the other foot. I wondered if he had a match, or if only one foot was afflicted. Poor guy. Why wouldn’t his parent’s have gotten that sixth toe lobbed off when he was a baby? He must not come from a family that cared about him. No wonder he was so weird. I felt a tinge of compassion toward him.

While the compassionate feelings were welling up inside of me, I was still trying to get a good view at his other foot. His big hairy thighs were making it hard on me to see what I needed to see. A man that size and with that amount of body hair shouldn’t be wearing shorts! I found myself getting very irritated with him. I started to feel that it was wrong of him to not be open and honest about his deformity. He had it, why hide it? People should be open about things like that, especially if they’re going to flaunt their affliction. He shouldn’t have worn those flip flops nor shorts. The man had no shame.

Mercifully, after six grueling hours, I was given access to a full view of Herman’s second foot. I’ll be darned if it didn’t also have six toes. Well, at least he had a matching pair. But, why was he like that? Maybe his mom didn’t take her vitamins when she was pregnant with him. Maybe he came from a poor gene pool. Shouldn’t he be ashamed that he had funky feet. I’m sure that anyone else cursed with six toes would not be strutting into a staff meeting in flip flops.

Shortly after this discovery, our principal dismissed us for the day. As I stood up to leave, Herman tapped me on the shoulder. I slowly turned around. With me being an attractive single woman I certainly didn’t want to encourage him into thinking I had any interest in him. He was an aging 42 year old single man. I had heard the rumors of how he liked to invite other single teachers out for dinner and a movie. I was not about to go out with a man as odd as him, and had six toes to boot.

“Jenny. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but as your friend and co-worker I feel I should say something to you about a problem.” Herman looked distressed as he was saying this to me.

“This is hard for me to say. You’re a very pretty girl…”

“Oh here it comes! He’s going to ask me out.” I thought.

“…but your extreme body odor is disturbing. I found it hard to concentrate on what Mrs. J was saying to us. Honey, it really distracts from your beauty.” Herman looked at me with kind eyes that made me want to crawl under a rock, and also made me want to slap the heck out of him.

I learned more about myself that day than I ever wanted to know.

The game is simple, just six silver cans, stacked just so.
Three on the bottom,
two on top of those,
and then one on the top.
All stacked in the middle of a red circle.

Three baseballs for three dollars,
not that high a price to pay.
Only one dollar a ball

Look what you can win for the little lady –
We have stuffed monkeys,
cute little kittens made with real rabbit fur,
and even a fluffy pink panda.
All you have to do is knock over all six silver bottles with one throw.

Oh, don’t seem so wary.
We have a code of ethics you know, you can do this!
I’ve seen a lot of men walk by my booth today, but I know you can win.

I’ll show you.
Just wind back like so, pull your arm back – notice my elbow?
Look at my fingers; see how they curl around the ball?
Now, leg up and - throw!
See how it hit the bottom center bottle?

That’s all it takes, just one ball.
Just six bottles, that’s all you have to knock over, just these six.
Okay, good wind, good hand placement and – oooh, so close.

Your pitch was just a little off.
Don’t worry though; you have two more to try. Go for it!
Ooooh! You were a little high, but you got two off! Try again.
Wow! That had power to it, that top bottle almost hit me!
Man, you’re strong. Too bad you only knocked off three bottles.

Try once more. I’ll tell you what; I know you can do it,
and that girl on your arm really deserves a bear – I see her eyes on the pink panda,
so I’ll throw in an extra ball next time.

That’s right, four balls for three dollars.
Oh, I like your girl; she knows you can do it.
Thank you kindly for the three dollars ma’am, here are the four balls.
Maybe the lady would like a try? Sure you would.
Here you go doll face, just aim for the bottom center.

I see your eye is on the prize!
WOW! Gee man, she is good!
She got them all down, and on the first ball too!
Way to go, which doll you want ma’am, the panda?
No? Ah yes, the monkey.

He’s cute, isn’t he? Just watch out, he’s a little mad – Rawr!
Oh, I’m just kidding. Enjoy the rest of the carnival!
I knew you would win; I just had a feeling.

John stared at the six small puzzle pieces in his hand. He wouldn’t admit it, but they were his six most valued possessions. They were given to him by his high school (and college) sweetheart, Carol. She had given him six pieces of a twelve piece puzzle, while keeping six of them for herself. They had taken these as a promised to each other that they would meet again on a certain day, which they had set for June 10, 2006. On that day they would assemble the puzzle while they reminisced of their youthful days.

John put the puzzle pieces back in his pocket and shifted his attention to the all-night diner in front of him. It had a nostalgic look to it now, though it was every bit the same as it was when he was in college. It had been Carol’s favorite place to eat; she and John had eaten there every Saturday night when they were in college.

John pushed open the tinted glass door and sat down in booth number six, where he was to meet Carol at 6 o’clock that night. John glanced at his watch to see:

6/10/06, 5:33

He was a bit early, but that was okay. He wouldn’t miss this for his life. John began to think about Carol, but was quickly distracted by the raspy voice of a waitress.

“What’ll it be?”

“Huh?” John responded. “Oh, I’m not ready to order yet, I’m waiting for someone.”

“Is it your girlfriend?” She whispered curiously.

“Yes…No…Well, I don’t know…I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, then walked back to the kitchen.

John checked the time once again:

5:53

It was almost time. She would be there any minute.

John reached in to his pocket and grabbed the six puzzle pieces that were being kept there. He set them down on the table, then flipped them all face up. He then proceeded to piece them together, revealing half of a beautiful waterfall. It was magnificent, but incomplete. He needed the other half. John checked his watch:

5:57

‘Just a few more minutes,’ John told himself as he stared at the doorway, carefully examining everyone who entered through it. He saw three women pass through, but none of them looked anything like he imagined Carol would. Even if she did look different, she would know to come to booth 6. John looked at his watch again:

6:05

‘Maybe she’s a little late, but she’ll be here soon,’ John thought. The waitress then approached his table once again.

“Sir,” she began, “If you don’t order now, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.

“Okay,” he replied, “I’ll have a strawberry shake.”

John didn’t like strawberry. However, it was Carol’s favorite flavor, and they had shared one every Saturday night. John loved the light, crisp smell, but found the taste almost unbearable. Almost. John would do anything to make Carol happy, even it meant making his taste buds suffer.

At 6:30, the waitress brought him the shake. He thanked her, then pushed the shake off to the side. By this time, he still had hope, but dismay was slowly enveloping him.

Hours passed, yet John didn’t move. Finally, all doubt was removed, and he knew she wasn’t coming. John looked at his watch one last time:

10:23

“So, she’s not coming?” Asked the waitress, who had just come over to John’s table.

“I guess not,” John replied. The waitress patted him on the back, then walked away.

John rested his head in his hands and began to cry.

“I can tell from your luggage that you’re not a tourist. You’re here on business, no?”

The cabby’s question startled me. It wasn’t that I was surprised by his powers of observation. He was clearly an experienced driver. During his years taking people from one place to another he had probably learned more about human behavior than many psychologists.

I had been daydreaming and was barely aware of anything other than my thoughts. Unfortunately, they weren’t particularly pleasant thoughts.

The rain streaming down the windows barely let me catch a glimpse of the sights that sped by. I let my mind wander as I watched the drops stream across the glass. I was headed to a hotel in a strange city and would spend my first night away from Emily. Sure the “terrible twos” were aptly named, but it still nearly broke my heart not to get to kiss her good night.

I knew Dan would take great care of Emily. He was a fantastic dad. But it was the other little things that I kept worrying about. Would he remember to feed the cats? Did he remember that the trash needed to be taken to the curb?

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just these domestic concerns that had me feeling anxious. There was also my presentation. I knew I shouldn’t worry. After all, I had led my team for nearly a year and we had made some excellent progress. Nevertheless, the thought of delivering my report to the board of directors was unsettling. I was more of an in-the-trenches kind of person. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I had even stepped inside a boardroom. I had to buy a new outfit just for this meeting.

I tried to relax, but even after filing away all my various anxieties, I still felt uneasy. I couldn’t identify the source of my discomfort, but in the back of my mind I felt that there was something that wasn’t quite right.

Suddenly, someone dashed out in front of the cab. He had been carrying an umbrella and was not watching where he had been going. The cabby simultaneously slammed on the brakes and forced his palm on the horn.

And that’s when I realized it. I suddenly understood why I had been feeling out of sorts. I must have been unconsciously aware, but seeing the cabby’s hand slam onto the horn forced the recognition. He had six fingers on his right hand.

Stupidly, I immediately glanced at his license – as if that would give me some sort of clue to the origin of his extra digit. I felt embarrassed and quickly looked out the window only to see more rain beating against the glass.

“Now he was a tourist,” the cabby said. “Nobody from here uses an umbrella. Only out-of-towners. Street vendors – they make a killing selling flimsy nylon umbrellas to the tourists. Don’t you buy one of those! But I do hope you have an opportunity to do some sightseeing. We have a wonderful city. It’s much more than offices in skyscrapers.”

Normally, I might have asked him for places he’d recommend. Especially places to eat. I love getting a chance to try exotic foods. But somehow I didn’t trust myself to enter into a conversation with him. I kept thinking about his extra finger.

I felt a tension of being extremely interested, yet not wanting to pay attention to that extra digit. He picked up his radio, adjusted the defroster, and navigated turns just as easily as I might have. Yet all the time, there it was, sprouting off the side of his hand. I was glad I wasn’t sitting across from him at a restaurant. It would have been difficult to maintain eye contact.

We spent the rest of the journey to my hotel in silence. He was very polite and offered to help me with my bags. I declined his offer and simply handed him the fare. And as he took the money, his sixth finger brushed against my palm.

The silence enters the room, without knocking. It comes slowly, close to the ground, blowing the powder of the floor. The night hangs the stars suit and stays alone, with the moon, in a dull courtship. Another evening has arrived and the boys are ready for their favourite moment of the day: dinner time.

A table for six is at the center of the room. It has a green towel and six old chairs around it. The boys enter the room, stopping at the entrance, looking at each other with ambiguous emotions in their eyes, a sadness expression but at the same time overflowing with enthusiasm. They start walking towards the table, each one for a specific chair, and finally sat down without saying a word or even sighing.

An old lady appears bringing some food in larges plates. She serves the boys and leaves the room with the same silence. Each of the boys tastes the food, but it was clear that the meal wasn’t the essential there.

So, the boy with red hair and melancholia in his eyes starts: “Today I went to a sweet shop, there were all kinds of sweets…different colours painted the space, which was filled with other kids.” As the boy was talking, the others smiled with excitement, totally forgetting about the food that was becoming cold in front of their eyes. And the boy continued: “so I talked with them all day as we tasted all types of sweets and bubble gums.” he said linking his lips as tasting the sugar again.

The boy on his left began: “I finally received that guitar I always wanted, so I played my favourites tunes all afternoon…it was a blast!” he ended with a wide smile.

“I didn’t go anywhere” said the blond boy. The others looked around oddly and the boy continued “I stayed in my room all day playing computer games, where I can be whoever I want. I also surfed the net, visiting far places of the earth without leaving the room.”

It was a round table so the boys were talking in a circular order. The next boy to talk was a small and shy boy, eyes down looking at his plate, but he didn’t say a word. The others didn’t find that strange so the boy next to him began: “I played throw and catch with my dad all afternoon…we laughed, told each other secrets, talked about my friends at school, my teachers, my dreams…it was a huge father/son moment.” he concluded with difficulty as his voice was running out and a tear threaded to appear.

“Today I ran through green fields, feeling the wind on my face…the grass was so high that I could touch it with my hands as I ran. I closed my eyes and the sun kissed my skin with its rays of light.” - said the last boy with a dreamy look – “And when I was tired, I just throw myself to the ground and felt every inch of lawn and earth touching my body...and finally I felt free.”

For a moment, the silence took over the room and dreams flew through those boys minds. The six boys stood up, left the table and walked towards the bedroom. Five of the boys fell asleep immediately but the one that didn’t talk at the dinner table remained standing at the bedroom window, looking to the only tree in sight, which gave shadow to the foster home entrance, in those sunny, hot days. He was smiling, praying that the dinner time of the next day could come instantly so he can hear more imaginary stories and could dream about the places that the others visited in their minds. Maybe next time he would also tell about the amazing day he had.

"Your deal," Jody said, handing Vincent the cards and standing up. "I'm going to get a drink."

Sam grabbed the deck and fanned it. "You left an eight in here, Vincent."

"I did?" Vincent took the cards. "Sorry." He pulled the offender out and tossed it in with the rest of the low cards.

Jody came back with a glass of water and sat down. "I thought the kitty was too thick."

Vincent cut the cards and shuffled, struggling with the small deck. "Do you wanna start over?"

Sam looked at the score cards. "Nah. We're six hands in. Let's just keep going."

"You're just saying that 'cause you're ahead," Vincent said with a grin. He held the cards out to Jody. "Cut the deck."

"You don't make your partner cut the deck!" Jody said. "You wanna cut your luck in half? Make Sam do it."

"How come the dummy never has to cut?" Sam asked, all smart-alecky.

Jody stuck out her tongue at him. "You know why. Ben needs all the luck he can get."

Vincent passed out the cards in twos and threes, alternating who got what.

"Misdeal!" Sam shouted almost immediately. "I've got six."

"Crap," Vincent said, and tossed the remaining cards into the middle. "I give up."

"Aw, Vincent!" Jody said sympathetically. "Lay off him, Sam. His finger's still raw."

"What's left of it," Vincent said, looking at his right hand. The middle finger was just a stump, less than an inch long, with stitches at the end holding the skin closed. "I still try to bridge with it when I shuffle. Takes me a minute to remember to use the ring finger."

"Yeah, I imagine it would," Jody said. "Cut the deck, Sam."

"How'd it happen?" Sam asked. "I still haven't heard."

Vincent shrugged. "There's not much to it," he said. "It got caught in a piston at work." He smiled ironically. "Two days later my transfer request came through. I hate this deck."

Jody looked up from dealing. "Why? Bad pattern?"

"What? Oh, no, not the cards. This deck," he said, knocking his knuckles on the thin carpet. "Deck D. Where we live."

"Fourth from the surface isn't bad," Sam said. "I'd rather be here than, say, L or M. Pick or pass, Vincent."

"What is it?"

"Nine of spades."

"Oh, uh--" he checked his cards-- "Oh God, pass. Pass, pass, pass."

Jody lifted the corner of the dummy hand. "Ben passes too," she said. "I pick hearts."

"Great," said Sam, and laid the jack of diamonds. "Didn't you grow up on K, Vincent?"

"Yeah. It sucked. Why'd you play the left bower on the first trick?"

"Why do you think? Just put something down."

"Fine." Vincent laid the king of hearts. "Have I mentioned that you suck at euchre?"

"Several times. Just play."

Jody played the right bower and took the trick. "It's not so bad here," she said.

Vincent studied his cards. "I went exploring above the surface once, a few years ago," he said. "I got as far as Level Six before a deck officer spotted me. Spent a week in brig, but it was worth it. I'm never gonna forget what I saw up there."

"What?" asked Jody.

Vincent closed his eyes, remembering. "Sky," he said. "The bluest sky you ever imagined. Just a little patch between the buildings, but God! It was beautiful." He opened his eyes. "I'm tired of spending my Saturday nights underground in a dingy little apartment--"

"Hey!"

"--playing euchre with a dummy hand because our fourth got brigged for a minor offense and won't get out for two months. I want out."

Sam lowered his cards. "You get caught, they'll brig you for a long time. Maybe years."

"I know. But it's worth it."

Jody looked up at the ceiling nervously. "Guys," she said, "I don't want to talk about this here. Not right now."

Vincent played the ace of hearts. "It's not that it's so horrible here," he said. "I want something better, is all. It could be better."

"Yeah, it could," Jody said softly, and straightened the cards in the dummy hand. "It definitely could."

“You may start at any moment, the recorder is already on,” said Dr. Sandra. That was her first time inside a prison. The room was moist and dark; there was a single window on the back wall where few sunrays could enter and cast some light. Sandra was seated on a wooden chair behind a desk; the only things on the table were a notebook, a pen and the recorder.

Her patient was silent; he had been observing every movement Sandra did attentively, which made Sandra a little nervous. He was young, tall and had blue smart eyes behind thin spectacles. No one who looked at that man could believe he had ever committed a crime, or at least not one so evil.

“You are very elegant, Miss Callahan,” said the man, “I like the way your hair drops on…”

“Thank you for the praise Mr. Schmitt,” she interrupted, “But I didn’t come here to hear how I look in my suit. You know why I am here. Would you mind starting? ”

Mr. Schmitt smiled tenuously.

“Yes, Miss Callahan… I know you are here because you want a description of my crime.” He said in a cold and nearly whispering tone of voice, “I won’t take much of your time.” He started:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a rainy night; the police got an anonymous phone call saying that a murder had just happened on the Sweepstake Mansion; six corpses and no trace of who was the murderer. The sheriff was terrified; he had never seen such scene before. Three women, two men and one girl; all the six with deep cuts on their necks. There was no blood on the ground, though.

“Strange…” said the sheriff, “no blood on the ground even with such deep incisions.” He took a look around carefully searching for a clue. Finally he found two suspicious artifacts: A bucket and a funnel on the left corner of the room. The sheriff approached the artifacts and saw that there were traces of blood on both of them.
“The murderer must have bottled their blood.” Said the sheriff almost whispering. I approached the sheriff and touched his right shoulder; he turned to look at my face.

“Detective Schmitt! Nice to see you buddy!” The sheriff gave me a pat on the shoulder.

“How is it doing this night, sheriff?” I said.

“Hard buddy, some one here definitively don’t like little girls…” he said in a sad tone.

“Yeah, there is a cruel murderer free.” I said coldly.

“I think we’ll have lots of work for the whole week. This tastes like a hard case… Do you have the ID of the victims already?”

“Yes, Sheriff. The first woman is Sarah Fanny, 42, house maid, mother of six kids…”

“Did you say six kids?” he said.

“Yes, six kids. May I continue, sir?” I said.

“Please, go on.”

“The second woman is Felicia Rooks, 24; the third woman is Amelia Falks, 36…”

“All of them have one thing in common,” the sheriff interrupted, “Their ages are multiples of six. It’s the same about the guys, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, “And the little girl is 6 years old. She is one of Sarah’s kids.”

At that time the rain had already stopped and the moon was up in the sky. The sheriff run his hands through his hair. I wanted to laugh at him, but that was not the right time.

“Sheriff, we’ll have hard work from now on. Would you like to go to my house and have a drink of wine?”

“Ok…” He said.

When we arrived there I asked him to sit down at the doorsteps while I got the wine bottle and the glasses. The lights were turned off so the moonlight bathed us. I sat beside him and filled our glasses.

“This wine looks so crimson, Schmitt,” said the sheriff with a suspicious expression.

“Yes, sir. I had to take this off six people,” I said as I swallowed some of the ‘wine’.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sandra was astonished. She had never heard a story like that before. Mr. Schmitt smiled.

“Now there are just six months left until I take the lethal injection” He said.