A Rose of Broken Glass
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Amethyst Dreams on 11-11-2011, 01:51:47</h2>
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				Title: <strong>A Rose of Broken Glass</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Amethyst Dreams</strong> on <strong>11-11-2011, 01:51:47</strong>
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				<em><strong>It has been some of the most grisly murders to have shaken the state, if not the nation itself, and an immense sigh of relief arose when the police publicly announced that the perpetrator was in custody.&nbsp; Despite exclusive media coverage, there were no angry crowds demanding justice outside the courts, no one to throw rocks or waste when the doors were opened and the man brought to the waiting bus van; only the press were present to snap their pictures, but even they kept a wide distance, as if they did not trust the police to keep their charge under control.&nbsp; Once the doors were closed and van departed, it was the last the general public heard of Michael Beaumont.<br><br>The members of the maximum security prison where he was to be held could not forget about him though, being there in the midst of them.&nbsp; There was no sudden rise in unruliness associated when a big personality joins them.&nbsp; That would have been preferable; they'd know how to deal with it.&nbsp; Within a week, the usual rowdiness of the criminal element - murderers, rapists, drug lords and baron and their cronies - was gone.&nbsp; The monthly report of the warden compared the calmness of the prison to that of a tomb, though he did not mention to the cause.&nbsp; They could not tell the cause, and though they suspected, a lack of substantive proof caused them to dismiss it in their own minds before it reached their lips.&nbsp; But unspoken did not mean unthought of.<br><br>Michael Beaumont remained in his own cell for most of the time, ate on his own table when the time came - his own if only because the others would not sit with him - and jogged lightly when it was time to exercise.&nbsp; He returned to his cell or complied with orders without any need of manhandling on the part of the prison guard.&nbsp; Written on paper, one might have thought him eligible for parole despite his crimes, yet a genuine smile from him made many break in cold sweat.</strong></em><br><br>It was an early morning when the paperwork came through to the desk of police, who then forwarded it to their department's senior detective and criminal psychologist and profiler.&nbsp; Like all her other cases, it was an unremarkable plain envelope, sealed and addressed to her from the state penitentiary, detailing the newest addition to their maximum security prison.&nbsp; With the envelope opened and the paper being removed the first words to appear: MICHAEL BEAUMONT.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Rose of Broken Glass</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>RaeynahsRose</strong> on <strong>11-11-2011, 14:52:14</strong>
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				Isabelle Ellis’ office was anything but glamorous, piles of paperwork cluttered the room like a living creature, originating from her desk and spewing outward onto the floor and any flat surface they could find. Organized chaos she like the call it since she knew exactly where everything was, regardless she was the boss so in her mind everyone else could go to hell she’d keep her office how she liked it. She worked hard to get where she was today, she gave up a family life for it and why? She wasn’t exactly sure anymore, she just knew that it used to be her dream to be the lead detective and now she was at the top of the ladder with nowhere to go and that was depressing to her. She’d reached her peak and her life was stagnant now, if you could call profiling and hunting down murderers a stagnant and boring life, she could.<br><br>Her office was lit in a dim glow of a single desk lamp that threw long dark shadows around the room like an out of service merry-go-round because of her piles of manila folders but it did well to illuminate her tired expression as she hunched over some paperwork for a case her team just solved. “Sergeant?” A male voice broke through the haze of her mind as she was lost in the mindless scribble of her pen to paper causing her to look up. Her hair hung in a bun at the back of her head that had seen to many hours during the day having started off in a tight professional manner now it just hung loosely allowing strands of stray ebony locks to do what they wished while her golden gaze shot across the room freezing the younger detective in place. “What is it Rodriquez?” &nbsp;<br><br>She watched him take a deep breath, she could help it if she was intimidating – well she could but she believed ruling in fear kept them in line more then having them become her best friends would, before stepping into the room. He weaved between the stacks of paperwork before holding out a new manila envelope, which was quite plain and boring in appearances, for her to grab and open while her face brightened slightly as if she just had a jolt of caffeine for her sixteen-hour shift. <br><br>“Excellent, the new inmate Michael Beaumont.” &nbsp;She had been waiting for these papers for much longer then she had liked, it had been a long time since a case intrigued her – having seen everything from petty theft to child molesters and jealous husbands murdering their wives there wasn’t much that surprised her anymore but this man had caught her attention. Never before had she seen such gruesome murders and she wanted to get inside his head to see the reasons, she’d be very disappointed if he was just another daddy hating antisocial boy just like so many were. Perhaps that made her a bit as sick as a man who could end the lives of his victims the way he did but she preferred not to dwell on the thoughts and preferred to get some sleep to make a drive to the prison in the morning.<br><br>Standing up she slid the paper back into the envelope and nodded to her detective “Have a good night Rodriquez, tell Marie I said hello and that we have to have coffee soon.” She’d offer a tired but still professionally cold smile to the man who was her best friend’s husband before she grabbed her jacket and her leather case bag as she headed to the door. She new everything about her detectives, perhaps one would call that an interest in being their friends but she saw it more as an advantage to protect them and to do her job right as their boss. Yes, she was Marie Rodriquez’s best friend and yes her husband was Isabelle’s best detective but he also knew that in the work place Isabelle was much different then out.<br><br><em>~The next morning~</em><br><br>The alarm sounded at 7:23 for the third time in the past half hour before Isabelle finally rolled out of bed and slammed an open palm down on her clock to get it to shut up. She sat on the edge for a moment, her face in her hands as she rubbed her temple trying to rid herself of a headache that she had earned for not going to sleep until only two hours ago because she had lost herself pouring over Michael Beaumont’s paperwork. It made no sense to her how a man so, for lack of a better word, evil could be the perfect inmate but she supposed that’s why she was who she was – to find things like that out. <br><br>Sliding her feet into a pair of old, no-longer-so-fuzzy white slippers she’d next wrap herself into her white satin robe and push off to the kitchen to hit brew on her worn down coffee pot. Her apartment wasn’t exactly a five star suite, it had the air of not being lived in yet still somehow things were organized chaos, only she seemed to be able to move through the path ways without disturbing anything. Once her coffee was turned on she moved for the bathroom, pausing only to look at herself in the mirror. She looked good for her age, though that was only thanks to anti aging creams and eye depuffers considering she didn’t exactly sleep well and she basically lived of a second, third and fourth wind every day with the help of her trusty friend coffee. <br><br>Her hands came up to slap at her alabaster skin sum trying to bring some life to her pale cheeks while her long wavy hair encased her body like a tomb. “Good morning Belle aren’t you looking spiffy today?” She’d roll her eyes at herself before beginning to get ready for the day, by the time she was done she’d finish her pot of coffee with a mug to-go and would be wearing a dark grey pencil skirt with a satin pink sleeveless-top that gave her skin a bit more of a rosey hue as it reflected onto her. Her long black hair was pulled back into a tight bun while her feet slid into a pair of three inch black pumps, it was hot this time of year and she wasn’t about to go around wearing her business jacket. Grabbing her leather bag she made her way towards her car and headed out to the prison as if it were any other normal day though her heart was beating a little faster with the hopes this might be a case that she could find interest in once more. <br><br>The prison wasn’t welcoming, who could expect it to be? A cold slab of concrete with a fenced in ‘park’ for the inmates while the pathway in was lined with your typical fence on each side, barbed wire at the top and a prison guard before you to lead you to the door. Yes, very welcoming, not. She was used to it however and ignored the catcalls from inmates as she passed by “Hey sugah, why dun you come closah – I got somethin’ to show you.” One of the inmates called out over all the rest but Isabelle just kept her eyes forward and stepped into the building when the door was opened for her. She checked in as she always did, showing her ID and allowing herself to be scanned for any weapons she wasn’t wearing before she made her way into the room where she would be meeting this Michael Beaumont. <br><br>The room was small containing a single table in the center with two chairs, one on each side and shackles for the prisoner to be strapped in so he couldn’t try anything funny. Looking about the room once she’d rub a hand over her face and then set her brief case down by the single barred window in the room. “Bring him in.” &nbsp;She’d nod to the guards before turning her back to the door he’d enter, her hands were clasped behind her at the small of her back while she peered out into the courtyard watching some of the inmates have their daily recess time. Her heart beat slowed as the moments passed and she convinced herself not to get excited, her life was all-in-all boring and she needed stimulation, mental most definitely but there was another part of her that needed more than just a good puzzle – not that Michael could help her with that.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Rose of Broken Glass</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Amethyst Dreams</strong> on <strong>12-11-2011, 07:26:45</strong>
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				The cell was dark.&nbsp; Not even the slightest bit of light trickled through the door that lay somewhere within this darkness, but if this bothered the occupant, he not rail or complain or even make the lives of his guards miserable – there was only a relaxed shallow breathing to be heard, not even perceptible over the ambient noise of a day at the prison.&nbsp; Then came a loud clang, as of metal being shifted and striking against another and light flooded in to reveal the cramped compartment, barely three metres across and just as long.&nbsp; The man within squinted and averted his face.&nbsp; That was all.<br><br><strong>“Get up Beaumont,”</strong> came a harsh voice from the silhouette at the door, “<strong>you have visitor.&nbsp; Assume the position.”</strong><br><br>It was an unremarkable spectacle in itself, text-book written and executed, and an outside observer would have been pleased to know that human rights were being respected and protocol followed.&nbsp; Of course anyone who worked at the prison would have known better.&nbsp; The guards were too formal, as if watching their step, did not bull their way into the prison cell as they might have been wont to do and manhandle their victim into submission.&nbsp; The man called Beaumont complied though, without comment or mockery as another man in his position might have on seeing the reluctance of the guards.<br><br>Only once he had knelt, bent forward, and stretched his hands behind his back did they enter and lock the handcuffs on his wrists.&nbsp; They allowed him to stand up unaided and walked him out of the cell.&nbsp; Five more men waited outside and when two came out, seven men accompanied their prisoner down the halls.&nbsp; No jeers or praises awaited him as he was marched past the other prisoners, who looked sullenly from behind their bars.&nbsp; In the most secure maximum security prison in the state, made to house the most unruly criminals of the time, one might have heard a pin drop at that moment.&nbsp; The light that streamed through the windows on the upper level almost seemed to give the romantic appeal of a structure that had been abandoned for years, or even decades.<br><br>The small smile that creased Beaumont's face brought cold sweat to one of the guards who saw it, but there was not further incident.&nbsp; Most felt the same way, as though of the introduction of the Serpent into their little corner of paradise.&nbsp; Nearly ten minutes later they arrived to the interview room they had been heading for.&nbsp; The door was open and the sergeant marched in.&nbsp; He gave scant glance to the woman, but his eyes snapped to the table at the centre of the room. <strong>“Who left that damn thing there?&nbsp; Remove it now!&nbsp; Hurry up, don't keep the lady waiting!”</strong><br><br><strong>“Sorry ma'am,”</strong> he began apologetically, strange from such heavy-set man, <strong>“but we need to see his hands and feet at all times.”</strong><br><br>He did not wait to see what the woman would say.&nbsp; When the table was out, their prisoner was marched in.&nbsp; He did not pay attention to the woman at the window, but sat down, making himself comfortable, whilst they went through the ritual of restraining him.&nbsp; His feet and the handcuffs upon his wrists were set in with heavy chains to rings in the floor and he was restrained tightly to the chair upon which he sat upon.<br><br><strong>“Guards will be right outside ma'am,”</strong> whispered the sergeant, and with a nod towards the mirror in the room, <strong>“and watching as well.&nbsp; Please do not cross the yellow line on the floor.”</strong><br><br>They left, and the door closed shut.<br><br>Michael Beaumont was not a particularly intimidating man to look at.&nbsp; His shoulder-length locks of raven-black hair was unkempt, even a little wild, but his expression was placid and his gaze fixed upon the line between the two chairs.&nbsp; His face was still unlined by the cares and worries that came with the years, but his eyes were intense, almost feverishly so, as of a man racing against the clock to solve some deadly secret.&nbsp; The chains jingled as he spread his hands as if to test them, but otherwise he was still – it was doubtful that a man of his frame would ever be able to snap the finger-thick chains that had been set upon him.<br><br><strong>“I imagine,”</strong> he spoke suddenly, his voice surprisingly deep for a man who might be in his early twenties, though without harshness, <strong>“this must be feeling somewhat like interviewing the fictional Hannibal Lecter.”</strong><br><br><strong>“But I understand I am to give you thanks for my temporary respite from the hell of solitary confinement.&nbsp; But I am surprised – it is not often that an angel would visit the damned, Miss Ellis.”</strong>&nbsp; He gave a sudden light hearted laugh, out of keeping with the heavy atmosphere.&nbsp; <strong>“You need not be surprised that I know your name, they certainly mention it well enough, and I was told that you might visit me... well back when they still talked to me.&nbsp; Do you like the company of dangerous men then?&nbsp; To cure them, was it?&nbsp; Goodness, what a self-destructive act or perhaps... a path of cynicism – if you cure these men, you lose the means to earn your living, or else you are firmly of the belief that such men will never die out.&nbsp; But be warned that there isn't anything to cure Miss Ellis, they're only human after all – most people seem to have the mistaken belief that human beings are an inherently noble creature, when we are all composed of conflicting natures birthed by the very society we live in.&nbsp; Oh, but you didn't come here to hear me ramble, so tell me what I might do for you today?”</strong><br><br>His tone was courteous, if slightly amused at the entire situation, an amusement reflected in the light hazel of his eyes that almost seemed to twinkle as of that of a child with an amusing secret barely held in.&nbsp; He looked at her then for the first time with an almost critical light, as if appraising her obvious assets and hidden virtue, and obviously liking what he saw, despite any differences in their age or their standing.&nbsp; He sat up straight, stretching slowly, awaiting her next move.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Rose of Broken Glass</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>RaeynahsRose</strong> on <strong>12-11-2011, 23:08:56</strong>
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				The door to the interview room finally opened while the Sergeant marched in and started demanding they remove the table that sat in the center of the room causing Isabelle’s gaze to travel towards the object before it settled in cold detachment upon the man who seemed to be running the show. She had met him before after all she had dealt with 60% of the convicts in this prison however she looked at him as if this was the first time she’d seen him and that he was nothing more than dirt beneath her heels. Sometimes she wondered if she had grown to be just as detached, just as cynical and sociopathic as the murderous men she interviewed – it bothered her of course but she made no acts to change it either, her life was led in comfortable solitude these days. <br><br>The apologies of the Sergeant earned nothing more than a nod from Detective Ellis before she turned her body around to face the door in which her subject would enter – her gaze drawn to the spot as he was hauled in by men who seemed to be taking a bit more precaution around a prisoner than usual. This sparked her interest slightly though she did not show this as she gazed down at Michael Beaumont, resident mass-murderer. He was young, younger then the picture she had on file made him appear to be – he also had more of an ‘innocent’ charm though she chalked that up to the fact he was not the typical body build you’d expect on a man with his rap-sheet. The long black hair only added to the intensity of his gaze that gave no mind to those around him other than to fixate on the yellow line separating his side of the room from his.<br><br>He defied the standards and that was like setting several glasses of wine before her and daring her that she could not name each kind by scent and taste alone – but as usual the pesky Sergeant pulled her from her thoughts causing her to turn her attention to him once more. She’d nod at him, giving him a look that stated nothing less than ‘My time is precious and you’re wasting it’ before she retrieved her briefcase from beneath the window and moved to take a seat in the chair opposite Mr. Beaumont. Isabelle did not say a word, instead she placed her briefcase in her lap and popped it open only to pull out a single pad of paper and a pen before she shut it and returned it to the floor on her right side. Crossing one leg over the other she allowed her foot to sway naturally while she used her thigh as a writing table since they had removed her intended hard surface. <br><br>She didn’t speak; she kept her silence and just watched him waiting for him to first open his mouth – they eventually always did. She figured it to be a part of human nature; no two beings could sit in a room completely silent without one of them breaking that silence in an attempt to interact with the other. Whether it was to show off, badger, ramble or what have you, someone always broke first and Isabelle had a lot of experience beneath her belt and had quite literally spent entire sessions in silence depending upon the subject. That’s when he spoke, his voice shocking her slightly though she kept a leveled gaze upon him with a brow arching slowly as he labeled himself parallel to Hannibal Lector. <br><br>Detective Ellis kept her mouth shut still, though she was glad he knew her name – it saved herself from uselessly introducing herself and it meant that her prisoners didn’t forget her, even some feared her enough to let him know she would be visiting him eventually. The points he made in his little speech were very thoughts Isabelle had previously had one time or another but that didn’t shock her – murders were good at getting into people’s heads, it was often their jobs and him of all people she wouldn’t put it past. She knew what he had done, she knew the type of man you had to be to commit those murders and she knew the type of mind you had to have – you had to be brilliant, in a sick and twisted sort-of-way. <br><br>When he looked at her she met his gaze square on, showing no weakness as this was a game – it was always a game with these men and her being the woman had to make sure she did not show her own cards. The stretch he performed made her sit back slightly, more casual as if she was waiting for him to be through before she spoke and when she finally did her voice was calculated and ice cold. “Michael Beaumont….” She first stated his name, acknowledging him before she continued “…. Are you finished with your monologue or should I wait several more minutes for you to publish a book?” &nbsp;<br><br>She’d arch a brow and then speak instead of waiting for a response “Good, now I’m going to tell you how this is going to work – do you understand?” &nbsp;Again another rhetorical question before she nodded and continued speaking “I do not know what your inmates have told you … when they used to speak to you …” &nbsp;she commented to make him aware she did not miss the fact that the cell block was silent towards him now “ … but this arrangement can be easy or it can be hard. You can comply with me or you can fight me – that is your choice, I simply am here to make your life run smoothly in solitary confinement or make your life rougher then you ever thought it could be. I'm easy to get along with as long as you don't attempt to fuck with me.” &nbsp;Detective Ellis did not hide her threat behind vague words and harsh stares, nor did she shy away from swearing as clearly demonstrated – she laid it all out on the ‘table’ and folded her hands together over her notepad while remaining silent for a moment as she evaluated him.<br><br>“To make things easy you can answer my questions truthfully – you’ve already been sentenced for the crimes you have committed so your answers here will not affect the length of your stay in the prison. However, if you choose to proceed down the hard road you might as well say goodbye to any luxuries solitary might offer you.” &nbsp;She stared him down, the demeanor she had clearly stated she had been doing this for a long time – it also stated she wasn’t lying and that she’d knock him down every peg that led him to his high horse without blinking an eye. She wasn’t pretending to be some tough woman; it was who she was and how she became the Sergeant Detective of her precinct. <br><br>“Do we have an understanding?” She’d wait a moment for him to answer, or to not, before continuing “Very well, let’s get down to business shall we? First tell me – do you see yourself as a real life Hannibal Lector?” &nbsp;She’d unlink her fingers now, slipping her pen into her right hand and poising it to write though her eyes never left him – she knew the lines on the page like the back of her hand and did not need to look down to write. She didn’t want to miss a beat of his facial tics or his expressions whether they confirmed or denied the words that passed his lips.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Rose of Broken Glass</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Amethyst Dreams</strong> on <strong>13-11-2011, 13:47:14</strong>
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				<strong>"Ah, it would appear that I have given you a misconception Mrs Eliss - the comparison to Hannibal Lector was merely a turn of phrase - my words were thoughtlessly chose: pay them no heed - I do not consider myself a genius, nor a misunderstood cannibal."</strong> he replied with a self-depreciating laugh.&nbsp; <strong>"I only meant that the situation might be considered similar."</strong><br><br>Stretching back as far as he could, he gave a deep loud sigh, and somehow the entire motion seemed more obscene than any gesture or profanity that could be spoken.&nbsp; Finally he looked forward, but he face was plain and expressionless, but his gaze was fixed squarely into Isabelle's eyes.&nbsp; For a moment he seemed to ponder a deeper mystery before he spoke: <strong>"Are you searching for something Ellis?&nbsp; Something here in all the worst remnants of humanity?&nbsp; Perhaps you believe you might touch upon the domain of the gods by examining these men - the desire to examine the ground that society forbids us to explore, but that such men as these could so completely ignore what to most consider taboo and indulge themselves without fear of condemnation, just as a god might do without fear of critique or retaliation.&nbsp; Perhaps you will write down that I am delusional or self-centred that I should bring the topic back upon my own idealisations of reality, hmmm?"</strong><br><br>Suddenly he leaned forward, not as man intent of intimidating another with sudden brutish movement intended to shock and startle, indeed Isabelle Ellis had all the time in the world to see it.&nbsp; It was a slow, deliberate motion, so slow that even as the chains restrained him as they reached their limits, they did not rattle harshly.&nbsp; Balanced on two legs, suspended by the chains that anchored him to the ground, Michael looked at the woman before him, his head barely over the yellow line.&nbsp; He cocked his head this way and that, his actions eerily reminiscent of raven turning its head to look from the side.&nbsp; Then he twisted his head until it was parallel to the ground, so that he looked at her sideways, almost as a dog that tilts its head in question, his eyes widened momentarily as though in sudden realisation.<br><br><strong>"Oh?&nbsp; You know, now that I look at it, your quite a cruel looking lady, which in itself is cruel joke for one so beautiful,"</strong> he chuckled before leaning back into his regular seating position.&nbsp; There was a certain eeriness that the chair should not slam down harshly as the two back legs came to rest - but then again, it could be that Michael Beaumont had a superb sense of balance.&nbsp; <strong>"Yet even so, it is a human fault for being able to find desire in that which is harsh and ruthless and cold."</strong><br><br><strong>"Well, I am sorry to disappoint you detective, but I did not kill those people, though I will not deny I had an indirect hand in their death.&nbsp; Perhaps you believe they are just the poor victims of some deluded maniac?&nbsp; Perhaps it would be good to look into the backgrounds of those victims - the press does so love to downplay the details of dear old granny who lives alone with her five cats, ignoring the fact that she threatened children into obedience with lit cigarettes under their bare tender feet."</strong>&nbsp; With a ghastly laugh of inhuman cynicism, Michael threw back his head and laughed, but that bleak laughter gave way to genuine and softer mirth.&nbsp; Once he had recovered himself he sat placidly, almost as a man in the grip of supreme bliss.<br><br><strong>"Once upon a time,"</strong> quoth he, <strong>"man built the tower of Babel in an effort to reach the domain of god, or so it is said.&nbsp; I often prefer to see it as an attempt to honour an aspect of god that god would rather the world not know, and the tower crumbled for that for that presumptuous attitude, dividing man to forever stumble forward blindly in the dark and bliss of ignorance."</strong><br><br>Raising his hands to his face, the chains arrested his actions, so he lowered his face to his hands to scrub his eyes before clutching his temples as if in sudden pain.&nbsp; Ceasing all action suddenly, almost as still as a marble statue, he looked at the detective with a single eye between the gaps of his fingers, the gesture of which seemed strangely deranged, his breathing deep as though he struggled with some inner ordeal, an ordeal that evidently taxed him until his nails dug into his face and a thin stream of blood ran from beneath his fingers as nail punctured skin. With a sigh, meant more his relaxment than anything else, he withdrew his hand and wiped the blood with his sleeve, the crimson stain barely visible of the sleeve of orange overall.&nbsp; <strong>"Forgive me, I am weary now.&nbsp; Is there anything else Detective?"</strong><br><br>In comparison to his casual tone earlier, his voice was now even deeper and decorous.&nbsp; <strong>"Surely an upstanding member of civilised society should not seek the knowledge of the deranged and the warped - unless perhaps you desire to satisfy the savage within, in which case you may indeed find much to sate yourself, but often at the cost of self."</strong>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Rose of Broken Glass</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>RaeynahsRose</strong> on <strong>15-11-2011, 16:33:34</strong>
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				Again he opened his mouth, that deep timbre of his voice still seemingly misplaced to the small man who looked as if he could be taken on by a young male – Detective Ellis’ hand moved across the page while he spoke, keeping perfect record of the conversation at hand. The denial that he was comparing himself to Hannibal, the fact he called Hannibal a genius despite him being a misunderstood cannibal made Ellis’ eyebrows raised very briefly before falling back into place. She couldn’t deny the man had a certain … Hannibalesque ‘charm’ in way of his musings but she did not write that down nor acknowledge that conclusion further than a passing thought wave.<br><br>As Michael Beaumont stretched Isabelle adjusted her seating and remained stoic as he continued speaking, questioning her as if he were the one trying to unravel a mystery before them. Often people attempted to analyze their psychiatrists, it’s how a lot of minds worked so Ellis’ just sat still even when he leaned forward slowly and tilted his head this way and that. He was a show man, quite obviously, and she was his only audience at the moment – aside from the men behind the large mirror in the room though she gave them no mind while she continued to write on her pad of paper. <br><br>She would still ignore his attempts to tell her she found desire in cases such as his, part of it was true – it was her only ‘excitement’, for lack of a better word, in her boring life and often times even interviewing convicts was drab and snooze worthy. It was when he denied being the murderer that she really paid attention to his words, his admittance of possibly having an indirect hand in their deaths but still claiming to not be a murderer. She made a note to check into the back stories of the victims at a later date however she did not give him the satisfaction of knowing she would do so. Perhaps these victims had flaws, everyone had flaws – no one was innocent, not even a grandmother, but that did not make them any less of a victim as he was trying to portray it. <br><br>His quote of the bible perked her brow for a moment but it was the next action of his that created a stirring in both her and the officers on the other side of the mirror. The door burst open behind him and two guards filed in ready to remove him from the room with his ‘outburst’ as small drops of his blood fell to the concrete floor. Ellis’ held up a hand to the guards to wait causing them to pause by the door while she leaned forward over her thighs and pad to look him in the face a bit more clearly. “The tower fell because the Lord wished man to spread out, encompass the earth in its entirety, he smote them with languages so they could no longer understand them because they did not learn their lesson from the great flood, because their unity was that of arrogance – it had nothing to do with God wishing them to not know him ….” <br><br>She paused before a smirk crossed her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she quoted the rest of the passage in which he spoke “And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the children builded.&nbsp; And the Lord said, ‘If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them.&nbsp; Come, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech. ‘&nbsp; So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city.&nbsp; Therefore is the name of it called Babel; because the Lord did there confound the language of all the earth: and from thence did the Lord scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth.”<br><br>Watching him she leaned back “Are you a God fearing man Michael?” She arched a brow, making no comment to his previous outburst before she continued speaking whether he answered or not. “How did you have a hand in the death of these victims, if you did not kill them as you say contrary to evidence?” She would let him free once he responded, whether or not it was an answer she wanted the guards would gather him up and she’d stand up once more – her gaze momentarily pausing on the two way mirror as if she was staring someone down before she’d turn to make her way from the prison the same way she had come. <br><br>It was still rather early; the interview didn’t last long perhaps for the better but it left her with more questions than answers – first and foremost she was going to delve deeper into the pasts of his victims. She didn’t like him making her question what evidence had already confirmed, but why would he tell her to look into their pasts? Just to mess with her most likely but what kind of detective would she be to ignore it, to ignore something that might be true – after all she of all people knew that no one was who they appeared to be. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Rose of Broken Glass</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Amethyst Dreams</strong> on <strong>18-11-2011, 23:42:24</strong>
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				<strong>“God fearing?”</strong> queried the bound man, before laughing softly.&nbsp; <strong>“By no means.&nbsp; I would prefer to think of it as god loving, for I once saw the nature of this being you call God, and I have every reason to be delighted in its existence – yes, I do not fear God – indeed I have every reason to adore him.&nbsp; One may question that I find myself here, but I have every reason to be here and I do not seek hidden plans and ‘mysterious ways’; the concept of God is, after all, very simple once understood.”</strong><br><br>The guards entered to undo his chains, to which Michael Beaumont paid only marginal attention, continuing to speak as they worked.&nbsp; <strong>“Might you have an interest in Theology, Miss Ellis?&nbsp; You quote scripture rather well... even if it is only the scripture of man, certainly not one written by <em>his</em> hand, but by the hands of those who <em>claim</em> to be his representatives.&nbsp; Presumptuous, isn’t it?&nbsp; Yet it is accepted as truth by the great majority.&nbsp; Do you desire truth detective?&nbsp; Or perhaps convenient truth?&nbsp; Isn't it amazing how the addition of a single word can turn around the entire meaning of another."</strong><br><br>The chains that bound him fell, loudly and heavily in the insulated room.&nbsp; <strong>"Did I kill all those people?&nbsp; No.&nbsp; Did I cause their deaths?&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; There are no two ways about that.&nbsp; Should I be here?&nbsp; The law certainly believes so.&nbsp; But now... here is the really interesting question detective - do I want to be here?&nbsp; A good day to you Isabelle."</strong><br><br>The door closed shut, almost with a grim finality as Beaumont was escorted out of the room.&nbsp; It would be quite interesting to see how she would follow in his footsteps, or more accurately, how she would walk back through them.&nbsp; It was quite evident that she was a clever woman, just like he had been clever once.&nbsp; He reminded himself of the story of Icarus who has flown to close to the sun, only to pay for his folly and plummet back to the earth and died.&nbsp; Icarus had been lucky, Michael mused, for those who have stood too high can never forget the view and are forever haunted by it, driven upward again so that even though they may never acquire that height again, they may acquire something of its savour.<br><br>Leaving his musings, he returned to the present.&nbsp; Isabelle Ellis would surely pick up on the trail; all the victims had a sordid past that would not be too hard to pick up on.&nbsp; Probably.&nbsp; Yes, Isabelle Ellis was clever, but if she were wise, for this time only she would give up the trail at the first obstacle that came across her path.&nbsp; He gave a small chuckle, realising he was quite smitten - as a former archaeologist obsessed with the past he had little time to appreciate women, and the surroundings of isolated jungles and scorching deserts was not the place that most would visit voluntarily, let alone to see a man who probably wouldn't pay attention to them even if they would have lounged seductively right before him.&nbsp; Yet now his senses seemed so heightened that he could feel the body of Isabelle Ellis as though had traced her contours with his hands.&nbsp; It was not a carnal interest.&nbsp; Not exactly, though it seemed to him that he could effect arousal if he tried.<br><br>As Michael Beaumont walked, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor before him, but he was not aware of the smile the had crept on his face, though there were others about him who wished they had no awareness of it.&nbsp; It was not the grin of a maniac or a deranged man - it may have even seemed gentle to a stranger - but on a man such as Beaumont it was deeply unsettling.&nbsp; That smile was the last thing his escort saw as they closed the door to his cell, and non too soon.
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