^Enzo Webb^D9 {FIN}

"Have you ever spoken to a murderer?"

You look up from your drink, and look across the bar at the kid towards the end. He looked young, how he had gotten into a bar like this escapes you. His eyes look weary, like hallowed sapphire marbles. "I can't say I have." Whatever his business here is... well you don't give a damn. All you want is a drink.

He moves closer, and its all you can do not to roll your eyes. "Well I have. And its nothing like you'd imagine it. It's nothing like I imagined it..." He sighs, a long exaggerated breath, and he seems to age. For a brief moment he looks ancient. But then he shakes his head, smiles and continues, voice lighter, even more childlike. "I'm new to the job, obviously, but goddamn is it crazy. They just throw you right into it." He lets out a chortle and takes a deep sip from his mug.

He pushes off the mop of fiery hair from his eyes. You sigh, taking a gulp of blissful ignorance. He was a persistent fucker you had to admit. It became clear he wasn't gonna stop talking, so you might as well understand the what the hell he's talking about. "Calm down boy. Start at the beginning." Immediately you regret it, because now you've damned yourself for the longest damn story since those lectures your teacher gave you about the history of Panem. He smiles, showing off a line of crooked yellowing teeth in front of a splash of freckles. You turn back towards the TV, broadcasting a rerun of the 63rd games, and nod along as he launches into his story:

"The beginning? I don't even remember my beginning. I mean my mother and father weren't exactly the sentimental type. They were very stern, and demanded the very best... I guess you could say I was their mistake. My father made it clear he regretted having a son, called me an unnecessary distraction when he thought I couldn't hear him. My mother is better, not exactly the kindest woman, but the type who shows her affection through gentle pats and lingering finger touches. She smiles... something my father stopped doing a long time ago..."

You nod, like your head was wobbling on a loose joint. Whenever he pauses to take a breath you give a small "Mm hm." or "yeah." Whatever reason this kid needs to vent you're gonna let him. Besides, the 63rd games were pretty boring, and his life story is almost as good.

"My father was an awful man. I walked in on him cheating on my mother when I was 10. He panicked, explained to me how important it was that I didn't tell a soul. I nodded along. After all, why wouldn't I have the back of the man who spent his entire life in clear disapproval of my existence. I kept his fucking secret for all of two hours. Mom left him in the yard, making him beg to be let in while the snow feel around him. I watched from the window... laughing as he sulks away into the night...

You zone out, become engrossed in the shenanigans of the Keeni siblings. When you come back to reality you realize the lack of alcohol in your glasses. With a nod and flick of your hand you order two more for you and your friend.

"I guess school was a little too easy for me. I was top of my class... not that I'm bragging... and the kids didn't like that. I hated them as well, so I got all the shit about them as I could."

By now you were both on your fourth drinks. Cricket had been crowned upon the TV and the boys words were slurring together. You're about to head home when he began unleashing strange fact after fact.

"There was this girl... Karen... or maybe Kelli, but she was a bit of a whore, she got pregnant, I knew about the kid before the father. Also knew that her parents made sure no one ever learned about their precious daughter's fling, if you know what I mean. There was this other guy, Flynn, real jerk. He would make fun of the smaller boys. Real asshole, but I guess he was just ashamed cause he loved guys. Found him with the very person he tormented." 

You heard about the Flynn boy... but that kid was young... "Shit. Kid, how old are you?" The number is slurred but clear. "18." 

"Damn it." You grab the boy by the arm and lug him out of the bar. Now your stuck with a drunk teen. The funniest thing is that he was still talking.

"I work at a hospital! You know that? With the loonies. They tell me a lot of shit. One girl confided in me that she had watched her brother been attacked by her boyfriend... sexually. She tried to kill herself. Her name was Gina Williams." So thats what happened to the Williams girl. Who trusted this kid with these fucking secrets? This kid was a legal nightmare. But I couldn't keep him quiet.

"Where do you live, Kid?" He mutters an address, luckily a street nearby. I begin to drag him towards his home, but the kid was really slowing me down. He was taller then me, at east 6', and he was a solidly built guy. He was constantly tripping over his feet. "Why would you do that job anyway?"

"I want to help people. I want to make them feel better. I just didn't realize all the lies... and hate... and lies. Whyyy? I mean the crazies have a lot of secrets. I once spoke to a guy who was killed three people, he was convinced that the devil possessed him to do it. He told me every single gory detail. He described the looks on their faces... the gashes and severed limbs."

You shudder, and wish that you had just walked away when the kid first began speaking to you. Why didn't you just leave? "I'm sorry, Kid, you'll be okay. Just hold on for a few more minutes." You spotted his home just a few houses away.

"Yeah, but thats all part of the job description. You know whats not? The fucking civilians who make appointments just to whine about their lives. Did you know that almost every couples has a cheater? They all cheat, the men, the wives... the husbands. Some really high profile people too." 

You smile, even after all that happened to him he was still naive, a kid. What a fucked up world he's living in. A sigh escapes you as you climb up the steps. 

"You know the Harrisons?" "Yep." The Harrison, what a couple of pricks. "The husband is sleeping with every housewife he can." I knew that guy was an ass. "But the worst was the Johnson wife, that woman gave me a list of names a mile long. What a slut." He opens the door, and stumbles into the house. Before entering he looks back and smiles. "Thank you. I'm Enzo, by the way Enzo Webb. And you are?"

"Mike Johnson." You turn away from the kid, almost smiling at the look of recognition and then shock on the kids face, but you're too busy preparing to face your wife.