I watch the sunrise through my bedroom window, its lights piercing through the glass, shining on my wooden floor. I rub my eyes, hating the bright sun. The moon is so much better, her silver aura casting the way for anyone stupid enough to travel at nighttime. I never travel at that dark hour. I always travel through the horrible, sunny day.
     I rush to the shower, enjoying the hot water cascading my fragile body. Afterwards, I quickly get dressed in my black and white suit, and I gel back my black hair. I put on my black glasses and smile to myself in the mirror. Today is going to be a good day.
     I hop in my 82 transam, start the ignition, and speed down my long driveway. Rich people always have long driveways. It's only normal for me to have one too.
     I turn on Spotify on my iPhone after connecting the Bluetooth. The song "Celebrity Skin" by Hole comes on. I smile and start to sing along.
     "Oh, make me over. I'm all I want to be. A walking study. In demonology. Hey, so glad you could make it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, now you really made it. Hey, so glad you could make it now." The song blares through my car as I drive to work.
     A half an hour later, I pull up to my psychiatrist office. I park my car in my usual spot- right in front of the building- and walk inside.
     The place only has four other employees- a therapist, a psychologist, a receptionist, and a man that cleans here every week. We all get along pretty well, though sometimes I piss them off because I am paid $150 an hour while they're paid a lot less than that. It's all based on the job, though. It's all based on the job.
     I sit down in my office, turn on my computer, and see what appointments I have for today. Ah, I have Lindsay Connor at 10:00, Jaymie Geius at 11:30, Jason Wallow at 1:00, and Howard Montgomery at 3:00. Right now, it's only 9:00, so I have an hour for preparation. I always review the notes of my next patient from the previous session I had with them. I forget a few details since some come at various times. Lindsay, though, she comes once a week, so she'll be pretty easy to review.
     I pull out my notes on Lindsay and start to whisper them out loud to myself. "Suicide thoughts have returned. New boyfriend just left her. She self harmed, she lost custody of her child. She lost her job and is slowly losing money to pay for the rent. Her life is going to shit. Should take anti-depressants but doesn't have the money for them. Well, this lady is basically fucked." I put my notes away and look at the time. 9:15. Motherfucker.
     To pass the time, I pull out the book "Garden of Shadows" by V. C. Andrews. It's the prequel to the book series "Flowers In The Attic", my personal favorite book collection. They're so dark and twisted, and I love that kind of stuff.
     Slowly, but surely, 10:00 rolls around. I put my book away and stand up and walk out into the hallway. I walk down the hallway and take a right to see a door. I open the door and step into another room- the waiting room. Then, I see Lindsay, her brown hair in a bun, her eyes red from crying, and her cheeks still stained with tears.
     I smile at her. "Come on in, Lindsay. I'm all ready for you."
     She looks up at me and gives me a gentle smile. I know that smile means nothing but good manner, and it saddens me.
     She follows me to my office and I close the door behind me. She sits down on the red couch and pulls a box of tissues out from her leather purse. I sit in my black desk chair and turn to face her.
     "How have you been?" I ask.
     She bursts out crying. "Terrible! Just terrible!"
     "How has it become worse?"
     She sniffles, her bottom lip shaking. "They- they- my ex husband- he..." She wipes away her tears, but new ones soon replace the old ones that were there. "...he got a restraining order on me." She buries her face in her hands, her mascara spreading across her palms and cheeks. "Now I can't see my daughter! I can't see my precious Jessica! My beautiful Jessie!"
     I frown at her. "Why has your ex taken away Jessica and get a restraining order on you?"
     "The drinking...I've started it again..."
     I sigh and look at her in those sad, green eyes. "Lindsay, you should emit yourself into a rehab facility."
     "But I don't have the money for it!"
     "I know, I know, but we could fix that."
     She sniffles and looks up at me, hope glinting in her eyes. "How?"
     "Well, this is very unprofessional, and I could get fired for this, but I would be honored to give you the money."
     Her eyes widen and her mouth hangs open, drool dripping down her chin. It's pretty disgusting, but I ignore it and focus on what Lindsay wants to do.
     She gulps. "You- you would really do that for me?"
     I nod. "Yes, Lindsay, I would."
     She smiles- a sweet, genuine smile. She then laughs, the beautiful sound echoing throughout the walls of my office. She wraps her arms around me and says, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!"
     I chuckle. "It's no problem, really. How much money do you need?"
     She lets go of me and sits back down and shrugs. "I don't know."
     "How about this. I'll slowly give you cash as not to seem suspicious. You get yourself a job and slowly, over the years of the money I give you, you'll end up with one million dollars."
     "ONE MILLION DOLLARS?!", she shouts in excitement and shock.
     "Shh shhh," I warn, putting my pointer finger over my lips. "Don't be too loud. Someone might walk in here and discover our plan."
     "Sorry, sorry." Silence suffocates is until I finally speak.
     "So is it a deal?"
     She nods. "Yeah, definitely. Thank you, thank you so much." Tears come back to her eyes again, but this time, they're tears of joy.
     "How could I ever repay you?", she asks,overcome by joy of riches.
     "Well, you could do one favor for me, but it'd take some work."
     "I don't care what it is. Just tell me so I can do it."
     "I have a package that needs to be delivered to Worcester tonight. Do you think you could bring it for me?"
     She nods very eagerly. "Yes, yes, of course, of course!"
     I smile to myself, my plan working. "Good, good." Then, for the rest of the time, we talk about how she'll get back her daughter. I told her that after she gets a job and goes to rehab, she should take her ex husband back to court, and try to get custody of her daughter again. Then she smiled and left. It's 11:28 now, so Jaymie will be all good to go in about two minutes.
     Jaymie is an interesting person to say the least. She is a former heroin and cocaine addict, and was in prison for ten years for her drug addictions. When she was released, her wife Kate divorced her, and Jaymie had a suicide attempt. Luckily, Kate found her in time because she was on her way to apologize. Kate called the police and made sure that Jaymie would be alright. Kate and Jaymie are back together now, and Kate makes Jaymie go to therapy sessions. It's only her second one, so I don't know too much detail yet. Jaymie isn't one to talk a lot. She just likes to sit there in silence and say a few things. I don't mind though. I feel the same way sometimes.
     I walk to the waiting room and see Jaymie playing on her phone. I clear my throat and she looks up at me. She wears a Def Leppard tank top, so I can see all of her self harm scars and the past scars from sticking a needle in her vein. I don't understand why some people who self harm wear short sleeves. I don't. I'm too ashamed of what's underneath them.
     I gesture for Jaymie to follow me. Reluctantly, she does, giving me a little eye roll. She really pisses me off sometimes. I hate that fucking sassy attitude of her's.
     She sits on the red couch and I close the door behind me. I sit in my chair and pull out my notepad. She plays with her hands, rubbing them over and over again. It's a nervous habit she has. She always does it when she's- well- nervous.
     I clear my throat and begin to speak. "So, Jaymie, how have you been?"
     She shrugs. "I've been fine."
     "How have you and Kate been?"
     "Good." This is normal for her. She usually gives me one word answers.
     I sigh. "Listen, Jaymie, if you want this to work, you have to talk to me. You can't just give me short answers and sit there and not talk. You have to talk to me. That's the whole point of this. Okay?"
     Silence fills the room as she sits there, staring at the floor. I'm about to speak again, but she interrupts me.
     "I want to take drugs again."
     "Why?"
     "I feel...I feel empty without them. Like something's missing."
     "Well, don't fall into that addiction cycle again. It's not good for anyone." Except for me, at least.
     "I know, I know! But it's so hard to fight the urge to buy cocaine and heroin again."
     "Do you want to go back to jail?"
     She shakes her head.
     "Does Kate know about this?"
     She shakes her head again. "No. She'd be worried."
     "I advise that you tell her."
     "Okay. Thanks."
     For the rest of our time, Jaymie just sits there, staring at the floor. I tried talking to her, but she didn't answer. Honestly, I don't why she kept sitting there. She should've just left. I didn't tell her to leave though. That would be unprofessional. But so is giving one of my patients money and to tell her to deliver a bag tonight. I don't really care about Lindsay, though, so that's why I decided to be unprofessional with her. Jaymie, on the other hand, actually has a chance at a good life, unlike Lindsay. That girl just went and fucked it up.
     Eventually, 1:00 rolls around, and it's time for me to meet with Jason. He is a very peculiar person. His daughter died last year. She died at the hands of suicide. But he's not here because he needs closure for her death. No, he's here because of his anger issues. Part of me thinks that he killed his daughter, but the cops didn't speculate on it. Instead, they just said that it was a suicide, but I know it wasn't. I'm pretty sure that she was murdered.
     I go back out to the waiting room and call for Jason. He stands up, towering over me. I'm a short guy- only five feet tall. But Jason- I'm pretty sure he's 6"3", or close to it. He's not as tall as Damien though. Damien was 6"5".
     Jason sits on the couch and I sit on my chair, following my daily procedure. I don't like Jason very much, though. He creeps me out. He looks like Ed Gein. He even wears the same goddamn hat. It fucking creeps me out.
     "What's been going on, Jason?" I ask.
     He snorts. "Why do you care?"
     "Because I care about you." Because I'm paid to care. Duh! What a fucking idiot.
     Tears start to run down his cheeks and nose, his whole face flushing red. "I...I was pulled over for drunk driving again. And my ex-girlfriend accused me of hitting her."
     "Did you hit her?"
     He starts to cry even more and buried his face in his hands. "I did, I did! But I didn't mean it!"
     "The right thing to do is to tell the court the truth when you go."
     "I'd rather die than go to jail or have a criminal record like that. People already don't hire me because of my personal issues. Then this shit comes along and it fucking ruins my life even more!" His hands curl into fists and he clenches his teeth. "But if I die, all of my money will go to some donation, and I don't want that to happen."
     "First of all, don't commit suicide. That is not the answer. The answer is to get through these tough times and to wait for greater times to come. Second of all, I would advise for you to leave your money to someone you trust who's always been there for you."
     He sniffles and wipes his tears away. "Well, the only person I trust who's always been there for me is you."
     I shrug. "Well, I guess you found your answer, then."
     He smiles. "Thank you, Doctor. Could I have your full name though?"
     "Yeah, sure. Want me to write it down?"
     He nods.
     I grab a sticky note and a pen. I write down "Virgil Grit Warren." I hand Jason the sticky note and he puts it in his back pocket. I smile at him, though he thinks I'm smiling because of him trusting me, but I'm really smiling because I know that he'll commit suicide, and I'll get all of his money. He's a millionaire, by the way.
     "Dr. Warren, do you mind if I leave early?"
     I smile. "No, of course not." We both stand up and shake hands. "Remember, don't commit suicide." But I whisper just so he can hear, "Though, at this point, life for you isn't worth it." Then I give him a great big smile as a look of sorrow crosses his face. "Goodbye, Jason." He quickly leaves and I laugh to myself, thinking about how I'm one of the richest people alive.
     Then a knock comes to my door. I open it and see Gerda- the receptionist. "Mr. Warren?", she says.
     "Yes?" I ask.
     "Howard cancelled his appointment. You're free to go home if you want."
     I smile. "Thanks Gerda. I think I will go home now."
     She leaves and I gather my things and head to my car. I pull out my phone and click on David's contact.
     The phone rings and finally he picks up. "Hello?" David asks.
     "Hey, David. It's me, Virgil."
     "Oh, hey Virgil. What do you want?" He doesn't like me very much.
     "Meet me at my house in half an hour. I have your money."
     "Okay. See you soon."
     "Seen you soon." We hang up. Then I call Lindsay.
     "Hi Dr. Warren!" God, she sounds way too happy.
     "Hi Lindsay! I was wondering if you could meet me at my house in a half an hour? My address is 25 Pleasant St."
     "Sure thing!"
     "See you soon."
     "Seen you soon!" She's way too fucking happy.
     I arrive at my home, knowing that my guests should be here soon. I go inside and sit down on my black, leather couch. I recline back and pull out a cigarette. I light it and silently wait for my guests to arrive.
     After a few minutes, I hear a knock. I look up to see David standing on my deck. He wears his classic black leather jacket and his black hair hangs down to the middle of his stomach. He's Damien's twin brother. They both have black hair and green eyes, but the similarities end there. Damien was a lot taller.
     I get up and open the door. I pull my cigarette out of my mouth and smile. "Hey there."
     David rolls his eyes and steps inside. I close the door and we both sit on my couch. I cross one leg over the other and me and David sit in a comfortable silence, waiting for Lindsay.
     After another few minutes, I hear a knock at my door. I quickly get up and open it to see a smiling Lindsay. If only she knew what she was in for.
     "Please, come on in," I say with a big, bright smile. She smiles back and walks in, staring at my house in awe.
     "Your house is beautiful," she says in astonishment.
     I chuckle. "That's the beauty of being rich. You can buy nice things." David gets up and I gesture for them both to sit down at my dining room table. They follow my gesture.
     Lindsay sits at one end of the table, David sits to her left, and I sit to her right. She has a dumb smile on her face and it disgusts me. My tiny bit of hope gave her the feeling of happiness. She thinks that money can buy her happiness but it can't. Though, she'll never find that out.
     "Would you two like anything to drink?" I ask.
     "No thanks," David says, a cynical look on his face. He knows exactly what I'm doing, and I can tell that he doesn't like it.
     "Just some water please," Lindsay says.
     I nod and go over to the cabinet. I pull out a glass and go over to my refrigerator. I fill up the glass with water. When nobody's looking, I pull my gun out of the draw right next to the fridge. I put it in the right front pocket of my pants and cover it with my shirt. Then I sit back down at the table and hand Lindsay the glass. She shoots me a thankful smile and takes a sip.
     "So, Lindsay," I began,"when you die, who are you going to leave your money to?"
     She gives me a confused look. "Why- why would you want to know that?"
     I shrug. "Just curious."
     "My daughter." I'll soon change that.
     "That's not going to happen, Lindsay." I take out my gun and point at her head. I cock it and her eyes widen. She starts to shake and tears run down her face. All I can do is smile. "What's wrong, Lindsay? Scared?"
     She gulps. "Wha-what are you do-doing?"
     "I'm just simply a man with a plan."
     "What-What do you want from m-me?"
     I let out a cruel laugh. "Oh, nothing, Lindsay. Nothing at all. I'm just here to tell you what a piece of shit you are."
     "If you plan to kill me, please, just let me write down that I want to leave all of my stuff to Jessica! Please, just let me do it, please!"
     "No. Fuck you." I stand up and walk over to her. She looks up at me, terrified eyes staring back. I grip her hair and pull her head back, looking deep into those beautiful, green eyes. Oh, how deceiving they can be.
     "You- you- are such a piece of shit," I say, waving my gun at her. "You always complain on how you lost your daughter and your husband. For fucks sake, woman, it's your own goddamn fault! You became an alcoholic, and instead of emitting yourself to rehab like your husband told you to do, you didn't listen and kept on drinking. Then he divorced you. You started to come to therapy and complain about it, saying that he was the bad guy. He was not the bad guy! You were! You were the one that fucked up!" Anger shoots through me and my grip on her hair tightens. Tears stain her eyes, and a voice whispers in the back of my head that this is wrong, but I ignore it and continue on. It's too late to go back now anyways.
     "You became an alcoholic who refused to get help!" I shout. "Then you took your daughter out while you were drunk and crashed the car! And even then- even then- you still refused to go to rehab! What are you? Fucking retarded?" I heave in and out, trying not to pull the trigger, but my finger quivers, feeling my desire to kill her worthless soul right now, but I wait, still having more to say.
     "You- you are a disgrace to humankind. You abused your life and fucked it up. Not your husband. Not your daughter. Not the law. You. You fucked it up. And now- here today- you pay for all of your sins." I shoot her leg and she cries out in pain, falling to the floor. Her blood seeps into the wooden floor, but I don't care. I shoot her other leg and she screams. Then I stomp on her wounds, twisting my foot in each bullet hole. Her cries fill my house and I smile, enjoying every second of it.
     "Goodbye, Lindsay," I say. "I'll see you in Hell." The last thing she sees is my gun and the monster standing before her- me.