It is funny you know, you never think this can happen to you. I mean you see it in movies, read about it in books. But never think you will experience it firsthand. What is it that I am babbling about? Well, I will tell you what has happened in my life for the past few week.
Recently, I watched a documentary on psychopaths killers. I was fascinated. I wondered how someone who would have no remorse for taking another life or even in some cases have a need to kill. As I researched deeper I found out there was documented proof of such killers and there was an asylum close by, that housed one. I was curious and googled the name of the asylum. I found a number to call. I impulsively dialled the number. The phone rang. A woman answered. “Hello!” She had a soft voice a very calming voice, she sounded familiar. I stammered a “hello”, I didn’t expect someone to answer. I tried to gain my confidence and cooked up a story that I was a psychology student and I would like to interview one of their inmates. She calmly asked which one. I gave the psychopath’s name. There was a silence. “That would be difficult, but I wouldn’t mind talking to you about this case.” She replied. I thanked her for setting a time, 6 in the evening. I couldn’t believe it that actually worked.
I couldn’t wait for 6 o’ clock. I thought I should read up all I could on the case so that I can sound intelligent when I was talking with the therapist. Before I knew it was time. I was prepaid. I hailed a cab and instructed the driver to take me to the Greg Asylum. He looked at me like I belonged there. I gave him a cold stare. He rolled his eyes smirked and started to drive.
Half an hour later I was at the gates. The guard stopped the car. I replied, “I have come to meet Mrs Watson”. “Do you have an appointment” the guard replied. I nodded. He let us in. At the porch, I got off and paid the cab driver. There was an attendant at the gate who directed me to Mrs Watson’s office. I walked in, she was looking out of the window, her back was towards the door. “Please, have a seat” she instructed. I sat down on the closest seat. I saw the was file on the desk. It had ‘patient no - 541’. I was about to take a peek when she turned. “It is nice to have you back, patient 541.” Just the before I could react the room filled with tall men in white uniforms storming into the room. I looked at the desk. The file lay there open. I looked at the photo of the patient. It was me. Below my name, it read in capitals “Psychopath and Split personality disorder “.