I decided to go away from the Psychopathic-esque stories and try something else that's more lovey. However, I'd really like some CnC on it because I'm quite iffy about it myself, and want to know how I can make it better.

Also, I've been making this for a few weeks so I didn't just do this all at once.

station was dimly lit by the overhead light that continuously swayed from side to side with seemingly no motive behind it doing so. The walls looked as though they were smooth, like granite. The male knew that the floor was concrete, based on the fact that he was barefoot and he could feel the ice cold texture on the soles of his feet. The chilling draft in the small room went through the rips and tears of the male’s shirt. His hands were behind his back and cuffed as he sat upright in the old wooden chair. They were told the male was far too dangerous to be left with his hands free. His jeans were intact, although the knees had brown stains from the dirt. His head was down, so that only his deep black hair could be seen.

He sat in front of a moderately sized mahogany table, void of any clutter. There was an empty chair opposite of him, and at the far wall was a one sided window, where members of the police were taking turns looking at him.

“So that’s the guy?” One of them asked the special investigator, who to this point had been silently watching the male’s movement.

“Yes,” The investigator replied simply, “That’s him.”

“He’s been wanted for years, but nobody could ever find him,” The rookie police officer continued, “They called him ‘The Ghostly Figure’.”

“Oh shut your god damn mouth, rookie,” The investigator snapped, glaring at the rookie and then the growing crowd, “Go back to your work, all of you!”

All of the officers who had been watching the male inside jumped in fear and scurried off back to their posts without another word. The authority of the special investigator was evident. But it was not out of respect. It was out of fear. A man who had been in the deep forests of Vietnam, with more battle scars than one can count, now a veteran investigator who had no issue with smacking around criminals, or even some of the officers if they were incompetent enough. That was enough to fear him.

“Insolent fools,” He muttered, his eyes moving back to the male behind the window. He hadn’t moved at all. He had just been sitting there, his head down. For some reason unbeknownst to him, the fact that he was doing absolutely nothing was an annoyance to him. He finally decided that it was about time to ask him what the hell happened.

He walked to the door of the room, pushing the key into the door. The once silent interrogation room was filled with the sound of the door being unlocked, followed by the investigator swinging it open. He stepped inside quietly, before closing the door behind him, locking it, and sticking the key in his front pocket. He walked confidently to the male that sat before him, sitting down in the wooden chair that was previously vacant.

The investigator had his best poker face on. There was no indication to his emotion based on his expression. His cold and calculating brown hues analyzed the male who had been on the wanted list for years. His gray and thinning hair, accompanied with the wrinkles on his skin was a clear sign that he was aging. While he never disclosed his age to anybody in the police force, he had to be at least in his sixties.

His cold eyes squinted as silence once again befell the room. It was not the silence like before. Before, it was a cold and lonely silence. The silence of someone who had been broken and battered. This silence, was tense. A quiet battle of who would speak first. And the investigator lost.

“So,” He began, his voice booming and echoing off the walls, “I’m not going to be calling you ‘The Ghostly Figure’ the whole time. I’m going to use your real name. Logan”

His ears twitched at the sound of his name. There was only one other person who had called him by his real name recently; and she was dead now. Knowing that, he did not adore another person allowing his real name to come out of their mouth. However, he continued the silent routine anyway.

“So, Logan,” He continued, his voice as cold as the room itself, “How about you tell me what happened on June 12th, 2014? Or rather, every other murder you’re being held accountable for.”

Silence. Logan kept his head down. He didn’t feel like speaking about what had happened, especially not to somebody like him. A man who’s mental stability had been beaten and battered to the point that his emotions had been sucked out of him, as well as his common courtesy. He didn’t deserve to know the truth of the matter. He would not believe anyway.

However, the investigator was persistent. He leaned over the desk, his hands slamming against the edges of the table. “Logan, do not make me get angry. What. Happened. On June 12th.”

“What happened to Kacy!”

His ears twitched once more, at the sound of her name. He had no business calling her by her name. A smirk curled on the investigator’s face as he realized that he was beginning to anger the male in front of him.

“Come on, hot shot,” He slammed his hands against the table once more, “You gonna tell me what happened?”

A few more moments of silence. The investigator was about to speak up once more, before Logan lifted his head up, his glance befalling on the aging man. For the first time, his face was clearly seen.

His lips were contorted into a slight frown, although the level of his anger and resentment could not be transferred into one facial expression. His eyes were a sea green, glimmering even against the dim light hanging above the two males. His complexion was stunning, his face vacant of acne or blemishes, aside from the man-made wounds on his tanned skin. His face was covered in deep cuts and dried blood, along with various bruises.

When he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was almost intoxicating. It was deep, but not booming like the other males. However, the way he talked could tell the story that he felt as though he was an authority figure as well.

“So, you want to know what happened?” He began, his voice calm, but with an undertone of quiet rage.

“Well then let me start at the beginning” [/SPOILER]

rough my tedious childhood with you, now do I? It was rather average, to say the least. I didn’t kill animals in the bathroom and show sociopath tendencies like you people want to believe. Nothing out of the blue happened. At all. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized what type of power I had.

I had just turned eighteen years old. I was getting ready to head off to college. My bags were packed, I had said goodbye to everybody. My mother, who was in her fifties at the time, was ready to see me off as I headed into the world on my own. I hugged her tightly in my arms.

And then it happened.

A vision, it must have been. I suddenly stopped in my tracks, as I saw the event unfold before my eyes. My mother, being attacked from behind by an unknown assailant. Stabbed in the back with a sharpened knife. My mother had a past of moving cocaine and various other drugs for gangs back in North Carolina, and apparently some rival gang members finally had caught up with her. The unknown assailant stabbed her multiple times, before kicking her into my body, as I hit the ground with her on top of me. Blood dripped all over my body as she had been stabbed in the majority of her vital areas. She was already dead.

With the snap of a finger, I was sent back to reality. She wasn’t dead. She had pulled away from me, looking at me and silently wondering what was wrong. I was relieved, but only for a moment. I saw the same masked assailant, coming up behind her. I tried to stop it. Tried to pull her away. But it was too late. The same event that had occurred in my vision happened the exact same way. I watched as the male ran off through the back door, dropping the knife next to us as he sprinted into the forest. After the paralysis due to fear had ceased, I rolled out from under my mother, now drenched in her own, crimson blood.

I glanced over at my mother. Her body unmoving. Her eyes were glossy. I could see the stab wounds on her back. There had to be at least fifteen of them, oozing out blood as it pooled around her. There was my mother, a kind and gentle woman with a checkered past. She made up for it over the course of the eighteen years of my life. She didn’t deserve such a fate. But there she was now, dead. It felt like an eternity, that I sat on the ground, hands to my face, tears rolling down. I wasn’t only grieving for my mother, traumatized that she had been killed before my very eyes. I was fearful. Fearful of what I had. It was different than only a few minutes ago. I felt as though there was…much more power coursing through my veins. How was I able to see her death? It was like déjà vu. I saw this wrongful death occur only moments before it actually did. I saw it, and it was so clear. Now I felt like a completely different person.

I must have lost track of time. I could hear the police sirens at the front of my house. I imagine with both the front and back door wide open, and the screams from my mother before her death tipped people off that something bad was going on. I was broken from my massive daydream, and looked around. I slowly came to the realization that I did not look in a keen position. Blood was all over my body, my clothes. And there was a kitchen knife next to my foot. I tried to get up and leave as quickly as I could. It was too late. They had opened the door. Saw me running away. My father was there too, having come home early from work after the police called him. He was shocked to see me running out the back door with blood all over me, as police chased after me. I never had a problem. Not with school, with life, with anything else. The fact that I had murdered my own mother in cold blood was too much for him to bear. The officers, not knowing of her past, figured that because I had ran, that I was the culprit of this heinous action. Maybe my father knew in his heart that I wasn’t the culprit, but he was too broken to realize it. I had to go on the run. I could no longer be seen by anybody. For I was a wanted man.

Over the years, I had gotten good at stealth. The first couple of months I was seen by multiple people, and they called the police officers. I had almost slipped up and been caught by them too many times. It was mostly because my ability to see when people were going to perish got me into very bad situations. I would try to save them, only to be seen looking like I had committed yet another murder. But…it wasn’t me.

But, after a while of being on the run, I got better at hiding. At keeping myself incognito as I walked through the streets. I got good at it to the point that if someone were to see me one moment, and go to call the police officers, the next moment they would glance over and see me gone. That was how I garnered the name “The Ghostly Figure”. Because I was really like a ghost. Crossing the states unnoticed. Going through the U.S.A without being noticed. As my ability at stealth grew drastically, so did my abilities. If I even glanced at a person for too long, I could witness the exact date and time of which they would die, and envision how. Sometimes if the date was close to the present, I would stick around and steal a local newspaper on that date to see if I was right. To this day, I can’t believe I was right every single time. It was only every once in a blue moon I tried to help somebody, on the odd notion that maybe, just maybe, this one wouldn’t back fire on me. Of course, it did. Every single time.

By the age of 26, I was more than used to the life I had been dealt. However due to me consistently helping people, the police still were constantly looking for me. People would see me and call the police. They would come, and I would be gone. I couldn’t slip up anymore, for they were prepared to take me dead or alive for the “crimes” I had committed. I was so used to this life, that I began to imagine myself doing this until the day I die. T

he funny thing was, I really didn’t give a fuck. My morality and optimism was gone. It was like I expected to be lonely all my life.

It wasn’t until one day, April 11th, 2014, that I changed my views. It was a moonlit night, and I was walking through a back road trail of West Virginia. Even with everything that had happened to me over the past eight years of my adult life, I still sometimes enjoyed going through a trail. Looking up at the rustling trees as the moonlight peered through them to give me light. The faint noises of owls, night birds and other nocturnal animals. It was very soothing, and fitting for a quiet night such as this. I was so intoxicated by the beautiful night, that I didn’t realize where I was walking. I bumped into a figure, causing it to fall down with an oof.

“Oh! I’m sorry” I said. I looked down at the ground and quickly helped the person up, not wanting for them to see my face and recognize me. The face was illuminated by the night sky. It was a woman. A beautiful woman. Unblemished face, light blue eyes with cinnamon brown hair, accompanied with a pair of thick glasses. “

“It’s okay,” She replied, her shy and nervous voice somehow intoxicating me. It was the first time in a long time where my heart began to pound, and my stomach was tied in knots.

“I’m Kacy” [/SPOILER]

light of the moon illuminated further, I saw her faded blue jeans, and her loose shirt with the letters washed away. Her cinnamon brown hair was messy and at her shoulders. Her blue eyes twinkled like the ocean. She was like an average every day country girl. Beautiful, and not prim and proper. Except this beauty was multiplied by a hundred.

She seemed to be just as dumbfounded as I was as she looked me up and down. However it wasn’t any fearful bewilderment as if she had recognized me yet. She was just…staring at my body. I guess anybody who had recognized who I was, never took the time to look at my body before they called the police. My T-shirt was tight against my torso, but I had intentionally ripped the sleeves off to make it more of a tank top. I guess my abdomen WAS something to look at. Rock hard abs, and pretty appealing biceps. My jet black medium length hair and sea green eyes seemed to make me a bit of a stud too.

Kacy soon regained her composure and looked at me, which was when I noticed her flushed cheeks. “I like to walk around here at night…y’know, to get a feel of the nature around here. I never see anybody else around here.”

I smiled in response, my face still turned slightly away from hers. “I’m not a commoner. Just…wandering around.”

Her face contorted into one of concern. “Where do you live?” she asked.

I chuckled at the thought of even living somewhere, “Nowhere.”

“Nowhere? You just walk around with no home? When’s the last time you’ve even eaten something healthy?”

I was silent, and my shoulders slumped. It was in that moment that I realized it had been years since I actually had a home. It had been years since I ate something that wasn’t a bundle of plants that could quite possibly be poisonous. Or a bunch of bugs out of tree bark. Or some random animal that I cook on the fire and hope I don’t get worms or parasites from it. I really was an unhealthy man.

The female smiled genuinely and pulled on my tight tank top, snapping me from my daze. “Come on, I’ll give you some quality food,