The sadistic smug on his face remains same, though he offers this glare to no one in particular. This makes him appear more dangerous. With people like these, it doesn’t matter who you are, how moral, your beliefs would shatter in the face of their unrepentant atrocities.
“Adams, huh?” Uzo says, dragging the seat aside and seating over a table between them, his hands holding his jotter, and Adams cuffed and pinned to the desk, both locked in the interrogation room
He says nothing to Uzo’s words, just glaring back, eyes piercing, void of any form of concern.
Uzo heaves. “I told them it’s futile to ask but… why? Almost two dozen deaths to your name. Why? What do you stand to gain?”
“Depends on your definition of why.” He leans over the table, still with a smug, but seriousness in his tone. “You see, being good is a perception you claim because you sit there and I sit here. In truth, you’re not better, certainly not moral. All of these,” he points around, “is a farce, your illusion.
“You think what I think; you certainly think it of me right now. Had you your way you’d rather I get killed instantly in public than have me jailed and fed forever with taxpayer’s money. A sentiment which, of course, is a justified and perfectly good one, were I in your shoes.
“But, I already am in your shoes, hence why I am here. See? We aren’t so different.” His laughter gets psychopathic. “The laws just restrain you, or you claim they do because you fear what would happen if they don’t. But those laws were made by people like us both running from their own realities. The same laws I simply obey, yet you call a crime.”
“What?” Uzo snaps, shocked, annoyed at that statement.
Adams shrug, “The law says not to kill, to be obedient. I do all.”
“You’ve killed people, dozens. You killed Mary.”
“Oh, she?” He scoffs, looking away with disgust. “The law gives penalties for murderers like me. On a good day, they’re killed. Your lover though, she’s no different from me: a killer in uniform. She’s worse, in that she, like you, kills by peddling on the law as justification for her acts. It doesn’t matter if you killed a thief or me, you are a killer. Our difference? Motivation and uniforms.
“You kill for the justification of it, but I’ve killed no one but those capable of killing others and lying. Mary? She’s cheap. Shot her fiancée, claiming it was an attempt to capture me. What’s the difference again?
“You’re a psychopath too, only better, allegedly that is, because the law enables you, and gives you a fake moral code as justification. But quite frankly, you’re worse. I mean you lie that the law is meant to protect people from killers like me, but it’s actually made to protect them from killers like you. To keep them in check so you don’t have to abuse and kill them yourself.
“By the way, on what moral grounds do you judge me? You aided a girl who claims to love another man, cheat on him with you. Be honest, didn’t you think of having her, getting rid of him if you could? Would you hate me less if I’d killed just him and not her too?” he scoffs again. “But then, not me. Your secret lover killed her fiancée, just as you killed him emotionally without lifting a gun.”
“Shut up,” Uzo growls, springs off his sit, lurching straight for Adams whose hysteric laughter fills the room. “Shut the hell up!”
Blinded by rage, his arm launches into Adams’ face, knocking him off his chair, yet restrained by the cuffs. Uzo pummels him, leaving his blood to stain the floor, with nothing else in mind other than refusal to be anything like Adams. His heart feels caught in a darkness, its power overwhelming, driving him insane, fuelled by that gurgling laughter which never stops.
Officers ran in and pulled him away, yelling, then attending to Adams now limp. Uzo pants by the corner, worried.
The officer kneeling over turns to him, angry, moving his hand from Adams’ neck. “Uzo, what have you done? He’s dead.”
Uzo gasped, shocked, “What?”
His phone rings, distracting him. He places it over his ear.
“Hello, detective Uzo,” the voice scoffs, young, yet with a familiar mischievous tone in it. “Told you, we’re not so different after all.”