“What is your darkest secret?” I walk in the hallway, beside me is my bodyguard. I look straight ahead at the last room in the hallway. “Is your darkest secret the reason why you love tragedy?” I inhale deeply and keep on walking. “Have you killed someone before?” I close my eyes tight. I need to brush away these thoughts, they’re not going to help. I just hope the Pulitzer winning reporter won’t ask me such stupid, horrifying questions.
My bodyguard knocks at the door and a sweet-loving woman greets us. “Great evening, Mr. Hendricks! I’m Jane. Please come in and take a seat.” The hotel room beams sophistication. Very, very Jane. I sit in the living room, Jane across me. She takes her notebook and pen. “Let’s start, alright, so we can finish early.” Her friendly smile soothes me.
“Mr. Hendricks, your life is quite a closed-book. Is there a reason why? Do you have, maybe, a dark secret you’ve been keeping?” Dear god, I think.