"What did you do?" I hear Detective Oliver Jones call out to me from across the cold, silver, metal table. Detective Jones is dressed in a nice formal blue shirt tucked into his black pants. A black-tie hangs down nearly to his waist line. The man looks to be nothing special, at first glance. He stands no more than about an inch taller than I. He has a smooth babyface, but he can pick up girls with ease because of his good looking facial features.
       I can see in the detective face that wants me to answer, but honestly, I have nothing to say to him. At least, not for now. So, ignoring his intriguing death stare I just stare back at him trying to figure out what is so dam special about Detective Oliver Jones. I can help but to wonder, "Why he turned out to be a detective and I turned out to be well... me."
      "Are you going to answer me?" The detective questions, as if, he thinks I might not have heard him. Oh, but I did. He just doesn't has to know that.
       Before a word can slither through my mouth; or even before I can find a hint of an answer to my pondering question the door of the room swings open. In walks a man with a slick black suitcase in his hand. He is dressed in a suit. A much nicer suit than the detective's. Whoever the man is he definitely comes from money; or rather he makes a lot of money. He has to though, because the elderly man isn't easy on the eyes and money is probably about the only thing he has going for him. He's a fairly large, hefty size man that appears to be the kind to eat snack cakes all night and then question you on why he can't lose the weight. His ginger hair is in the beginning stages of turning grey.
      "Don't ask my client another question, detective," the hefty sized man announces in a mild but authority type of tone.
"And you are?" Jones asks.
"Barry Bishop. His lawyer."
"You hired a lawyer?" Jones questions as he turns to look at me.
      "I never called him. Or did I? I don't think I did, at least." The thought crosses my mind as I try to think really hard about it. At the moment, I don't recall doing so. Then again, I've been busy as of late.
"It's a free country," I fire back at the detective as if it was my idea all along to bring in Mr. Bishop.
"I'm going to need you to leave the room for a moment, detective. I need to speak to my client, alone," Mr. Bishop demands.
       Jones knows there's not a damn thing he can do either. It's the law. I find it kind of amusing that the detective is now the one with his hands tied behind his back. It reminds me of the phrase, "Oh, how fast the tables can turn." I can help but to smirk on the inside a bit as I watch the detective stare back at me from across the table.
       I watch as Detective Jones rises from his chair. He heads over to Mr. Bishop. He thinks he's whispering, but the truth is Jones has never been a good whisper.
      "He's my brother. I would like to stay," Jones states in a low tone to Mr. Bishop.
      "Even more reason for you to go," Mr. Bishop replies.
"I need answers. I don't understand why this happened," my brother continues as if he doesn't already know. Then again, my brother has never been the sharpest tool in the shed. I can remember when we were young I could pretty much say the answer out loud and he would still find a why not to understand.
"Right now, you're a detective, not his brother. So, he can't say anything in front of you because by law you would be required to report it. I'm sorry, but it's the rules, detective. I didn't make them."
       I can't recall remembering a time in our life that I've seen my brother back down from a fight; but there's a first time for everything. Oliver brushes past the lawyer before exiting the room and slamming the door behind him to make it known that he isn't happy, at all, about this.
       Mr. Bishop, meanwhile, positions himself in the seat where my brother just was. Right across from me. He pulls a pen and paper from his briefcase as if he was in a high school class and is preparing to take notes.
      "Hello, I'm Mr. Bishop. I will be representing you in this case."
      "Bailey Jones, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you. I won't be needing your services, though," I reply.
"And why's that?"
"Because I plan on giving my full confession." I can see the disbelief in the lawyer's eyes as he lifts his head from the pad and into my direction. I can sense he's judging me, internally. It's all over his facial expression. After all, what type of person just turns themselves in? Especially, under these circumstances.
"I would advice against that," Mr. Bishop tries to inform me. It's no use though. I knew what the outcome would be. I knew when I woke up this morning what the consequences could and probably would be.
"Tell me, Mr. Bishop, do you believe in monsters?" I ask as I redirect the subject.
"As much as the next person I suppose."
"Do you believe they're born a monster? Or do they just simple evolve into one?"
"I'm not sure if my opinion matters here, sir. I'm not the one in trouble," the hefty man in the suit states.
"Just answer the question please."
"I would have to say it's a little bit on both sides. Depending on the circumstances. In my line of work you see a lot of things that you never expect too." Bishop stops to breath for a moment then continues, "Listen you are in big trouble here. I'm not sure you realize how big. The cameras are off. It's required by law. So, whatever you tell me here stays between us."
"That's just not going to happen. The only way that I'm telling my story is if my brother is back in here. He needs to be here for this. So, as he puts it... He can understands the cause of this," I inform him.
"That cannot happen. Whatever you say will be used against you in court."
"I know that. I'm not stupid. Maybe, I make dumb mistakes but we are people. Everyone makes a mistake every day. So, I will give my confession to my brother. Send him in or you don't get anything," I answer.
"Just for the record I really don't like this. But I'm bound by the wants of my clients," Mr. Bishop replies. The lawyer exits the room and a few minutes later returns with 'Detective Brother'. The two gentlemen sit down directly across from me. Neither one of them taking their eyes off me.
"So, there's something you want to tell me?" Oliver asks.
"You remember when mom and dad made that big move to the city? We had to change schools?"
"Well, of course. It was hard on everyone, but I'm surprised you remember that. You were so young," Oliver replies.
"I was in fourth grade and I remember it like it was yesterday. It's kind of hard to forget something like that as a kid."
"What does that have to do with anything. I don't have time for your games today, Bailey." I can hear the irritation within my brother's voice growing as I'm starting to get under his skin. He always goes up a pitch if he is mad about something.
"It has everything to do with it. That day, the first day, at the new school is when it all started," I say as I begin to fade into a memory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       As I said I was in the fourth grade. We had just moved to Boise, Idaho. It was my first day of school and no one really talked to me. It's not that uncommon though, right. I'm the new kid. No one knew anything about me and we were at that age that everyone could be a bit skirmish towards the new kid.
       It remained this way up until recess after lunch. At first, I just hung around the swings minding my own business. That's when I noticed a large group of kids participating in a race. I was pretty quick for my age. I'm sure you can remember that. So, I thought this would be a good time to take a shot at making some new friends. I headed over and asked to join. Everyone in the group agreed and finally I was part of something. It felt good. I felt like I was fitting in.
       In the first two races, I won easily and by the third race, I seemed to be on top of the world. Then, I met them. The Four Horsemen. Well, at least they didn't go by that until a much later time; but the group had always been together. There was Ray Jenkins who was the nerdist one. He actually seemed to have some kind of brain in his head. Alex Webber, a big boy and it wasn't in a healthy way. The third was Owen Avery. Owen was always average, but he was the best friend of the leader of the group, Mark Stone. I was new to the school I didn't know who they were or even who Mark Stone was. I was a fourth-grade student from a small town where people didn't have names to live up to. But when I saw her for the first time I didn't care. She caught my eye instantly. Kristina Phillips. At the time, I didn't know she was way out of my league. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen before. I never thought about girls in that way till I met her.
       I didn't know the school was supposedly ruled by the horsemen. Anything that happened had to go through them. If there was someone succeeding they had to swipe in and see if they were worth the hype.
      "My name is Mark Stone. Everyone knows that I'm the champ when it comes to winning races," he introduced himself. I didn't care. I knew I was faster and I just had to impress Kristina. I had to do make an goo first impression to catch her eye.
      "You haven't raced me yet, though. So, how can you call yourself the champ?" I was full of attitude back then. I had swagger. Nothing seemed to phase me until that day. "So, we going to race or not?"
       Mark smiled before heading over to the starting line to symbolize his answer without saying a single word. I can feel the tension from the other students. I can see that they were all wondering if I would be the first to knock Mark off his pedal stool. I quickly joined him by his side and prepared my stance. Owen stood in the front of us as Mark and I finished getting ready.
       "Ready...Set...Go...," Owen yelled and the race was on.
       I jumped out to an early lead. Little did I know that was a mistake because before I can hit full speed I felt a sudden push on my back. With all my momentum going forward I fell flat on my face as Mark passes me and goes on to win the race. I could hear all the other students laughing and giggling. Kristina wouldn't dare look in my direction. Then Mark came up to me and says, "I'm sorry. Got in the wrong lane." He extends his hand out to help me up, but I was humiliated so I slapped it away. Before I knew it Mark was on top of me beating the hell out of me. By the time, the teachers came in and pulled him off of me I had a chipped tooth, a broken nose, and two black eyes.
       After leaving the nurse's offices. I got my ass beat again by dad because I had lost the fight and he felt like he needed to toughen me up a bit. Soft is what he use to call me as a young child and I was proving him right.
       I snap back out of my memory as I glance over at Oliver and Barry who are finishing the last of their notes. "And that time in fourth grade that you think has nothing to do with anything was the first piece of the puzzle. It was the first time that I felt less than a human being," I tell them as I look down at the table thinking about the painful memory.