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The Devil Has a Change of Heart

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'Gavin, you have a visitor.' The guard said. He knew who it was. That forsaken detective Bobby Fulbright. The state were under the impression that Kristoph was somehow not beyond redemption, and with a little help from LA's finest, he could be cured of his murderous disease. What a load of shit.

Upon being told that he would be subjected to these rehabilitation treatments twice a week, he couldn't help but laugh. Kristoph was in no mood to seek salvation for his sins. He did what he did and he had no remorse for that. However, he did not believe himself to be evil. Manipulative, calculating and downright cold - yes. But he did not murder people for sport. He had a bigger plan and those people were in his way, they had wounded him; in other words, they got what they deserved. That was his philosophy on it anyhow.

Nevertheless, these weekly meetings with that fool were nothing but a hindrance to him. He was far too happy and far too persistent. Who had the time for a sap like that?

'I suppose it would be Detective Fulbright?' Kristoph said in his usual cool tone.

'Correct as always. Come on, I don't have all day.' The guard said as two guards came into his cell and chained him ready to be escorted through the wing. Upon being convicted of two counts of first degree murder and one count of first degree attempted murder, many of his privileges had been stripped from him. That included having visitors in his cell. This now meant that he was no different from any other inmate in that hellhole. The very thought of it did nothing but anger him.

'Ah, Mr Gavin, how are you today?' Fulbright said in a brightly manner as he was lead into the visitor's room.

'Marvellous.' Kristoph responded in a deadpan tone.

'Someone seems a bit grumpy today. Justice is at stake, we must work together to help it prevail.' The detective practically shouted as he jumped over the room in excitement.

Kristoph could do nothing but bow his head and sigh. What in the world was this man? This was the fourth detective who had been the official in his rehabilitation. First was Mike Meekins. The helpless thing only lasted a week. It would seem that Kristoph was far too intimidating for him. Gumshoe then tried a hand at Gavin himself, however he didn't have the time or patience and passed the job onto Ema Skye. In truth, Kristoph had been quite fond of Ema. She was as miserable as he was and mainly spent the time eating and sitting in silence as Kristoph read a book. Not to mention she seemed to have a vendetta against his brother which entertained him to some point.

Now, however, he was saddled with this fool.

'Do tell me Detective, why exactly have you taken the lead on my rehabilitation treatment?' The disgraced attorney asked.

'Well as you know, the detective department has had some budget cuts and I have to come here at least 4 times a week to assist Prosecutor Blackquill, so it made sense for me to take the lead in your treatment. All for the good of justice!' Fulbright stated whilst shoving his badge in Kristoph's face.

Kristoph had to physically restrain himself from gagging at his overuse of the term 'justice'. Not to mention that all that word did was remind him of that boy.

'Very well, shall we begin then?' Gavin stated in hope that the time would somehow fly by.

'Indeed Mr Gavin-' The detective was stopped mid sentence when he managed to knock his coffee all over himself and the table. The fool was drenched in coffee even down to his hands.

'Oh dear, I'm such a klutz. Give me a second will you?' He said before miserably trying to mop up the mess on the table and himself. Though this pitiful scene sounded nothing but mind numbingly dull, what Kristoph saw was more interesting than anything he had seen in the past year he had been there.

Upon his right hand lay a small scar near the start of his wrist. A scar isn't usually a significant detail on a person however, in this instance, it seemed to mean a lot more. Fulbright was quite meticulous. He would have his routine which included pouring a cup of coffee before the two would begin Kristoph's rehabilitation. And one thing he would do without fail was take off his gloves. If Kristoph recalled correctly, it was because 'he didn't like the feel of his gloves against the mug' or words to that effect.

However, Kristoph had noticed that recently he had removed this step from his routine. From someone who was equally as meticulous in their daily life as he, removing a step from your usual day to day activities is not something which is done without a reason and he had, had his own experiences with scars to know that was not a fresh wound. And yet, it had somehow magically appeared in the past month or two.

'That appears to be a nasty scar, what happened?' Kristoph asked inquisitively.

The detective's face appeared to pale. 'Oh, this thing? I cut myself cooking or on a crime scene. It's not important.' He said although not in his usual cheery tone.

'And did this happen recently? I've only just noticed it and we have been together for quite some time now.' Kristoph pushed. He knew just what questions to ask to get what he wanted.

'It's recent. If I'm honest, I don't know exactly when I got it.' The detective replied. His tone was beginning to become less and less 'happy'. This was a side which Kristoph had never seen before and he was keen to explore every part of it.

'I'm not sure if I believe you detective. You see, I bare a scar on my hand like you and from the way it has healed, it appears to be almost as old as mine. And mine has been with me for quite some time.' Kristoph said with a slight smile on his face.

'Inmate, I am the one who is supposed to be asking the questions. So, I suggest you shut up and answer my questions. Do you understand?' His voice was cutting with a cold look in his eyes. Kristoph tried his hardest to hold back his laughter. What had he stumbled across? What did that scar mean? And who really was Bobby Fulbright?