Hands shook in his gloves, sweat clinging to his skin.
He wasn't mad. He wasn't fucking mad.
Without warning, thrust back to being 17, sat in a room with a psychologist and a polis officer. The light. It was harsh, flickering every so slightly, so infuriatingly insignificant. Still clammy silence, knowing all they wanted was answers that weren't true.
The questions began. "How are you?"
He stared, the punk in his eyes brewing. Lips pulling into a slight frown. "Carson a dh'fhaighnicheas tu dhomh nuair nach eil cรนram ort?" <Why ask me when you don't care?>
"English, Mr. MacNeill," the cop chimed.
"Mc. Not Mac."
"Mr. McNeill. Settle. This is a calm environment. We have called you in to answer some questions-" the therapist or whatever. A short woman, dark hair, spotted skin. Condescending.
"And you start with a lie?"
"Please, Mr. McNeill, we do not need the hostility." Therapist again. He wouldn't bother to commit their names to memory, not yet.
"fine. I'm fine."
She realigned her papers, "that's good to hear. Now, our first question.. what happened?"
---
"I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not fucking crazy.." pacing in a small circle, gathering himself. "I'm fine Mhairi. Keep on with it, I'll catch up.." his green gaze snapping back to the ghostly blue figure with a pointed gare, "But I'm not. Leaving any of them behind."
---
"your mother has informed us you tend to talk to yourself?"
"she's fucking mental, don't listen to her."
"Ruiri."
He groaned, head tipping back, agonised by this interrogation, "Faeries."
"Fairies?"
"Faeries." His glare remained hard, unwavering. "Sometimes ghosts or spirits.. but mainly Faeries."
---
"Ru.. I didn't say anything about leaving anyone?"
What answered her was a grumble, and the quiet snap of a camera.
"Ru?"
"Ru,"
"Ruiri-"
"What?"
"are you.. seeing things?" The line fell quiet, the lasting silence pulling at her.
"I'm not mad."
"I know you're not mad. I am asking, can you see something down here?".
---
"I'm not fucking crazy! I see him- he tries to talk to me!" He shouted, desperate to have his truth believed in.
"Fairies, aren't real, let alone ghost's of old,"
"YES THEY FUCKING ARE."
The cop grunted something as he stepped forward, grabbing his shoulders.
"LET GO OF ME."
Another set of hands grabbed, snagging his hair and shirt, pushing him down to the cold concrete floor. "I'M NOT MAD! I'M NOT FUCKING MAD-"
The psychologist just sat and watched as two cops brought him to the ground, bearing the brunt of his shouting, he wasn't mad he wasn't mad.
"- keep in detention and conduct a psychological assessment."
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