Free Collecting Cooper by Paul Cleave

one of those people who knows everything. His mother called those people good-for-nothing know-it-alls, but of course Cooper is good for everything. “You study killers, you know killers, and you are a killer. You are an entire collection in one piece.”
    Cooper takes a deep breath then slowly exhales. He closes his eyes for a few seconds and rubs the side of his head with his fingers. Adrian thinks the man is either trying to collect his thoughts or fall asleep while standing. He decides on the first of the two options because it’s not late enough in the day to start sleeping. Then he decides the collecting your thoughts trick might work for him too, so he closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, and it helps, just a little.
    “I’m not a serial killer,” Cooper says.
    Adrian opens his eyes back up. “Yes you are. I know you are. That’s why you’re here.”
    “No, I’m here because you abducted me, and because you’re delusional.”
    “I am no such thing.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “What?”
    “Your name. Surely you have one.”
    “The first rule of a . . .”
    “Shut up about the damn rule,” Cooper says, banging the door. “Just tell me your bloody name,” he says.
    “But . . .”
    “Your name. Tell me your name,” he shouts.
    “Adrian,” he answers. He didn’t want to answer, he certainly had the intent to always keep his name to himself, but he hates being shouted at, always has, and his name comes out before he can stop himself.
    “Does Adrian have a last name?”
    “You have to stop,” he says, getting mad now. “No more, no more questions.” He covers his ears and shuts his eyes, but he can still hear Cooper asking him things. He takes a few steps away from the door. After a minute Cooper goes quiet and Adrian moves his hands away.
    “I made you something to eat.”
    “I don’t want anything to eat. I want you to let me out of here.”
    “You get used to the cell,” Adrian says. He starts scratching at a sudden itch on the side of his head. “And I’m going to try and make it more comfortable for you. See all of this?” he asks, spreading his arms and encompassing the small view. “I brought these things from your house, all your serial killer memorabilia, I brought it here so you could have your own collection nearby because I know how important it is to you, just as you are important to me. It’s still all yours,” he says, “I don’t want it, I want you to still have it. If you think about it, we’re not that unalike really. You collect serial killer memorabilia, and . . .”
    “And you collect serial killers. I get the point.”
    “I am so lucky to own you,” he says, hardly hearing what Cooper said at all.
    “You don’t own me, you crazy son of a bitch,” Cooper says, the defiance in his voice is annoying.
    “Don’t be mean,” Adrian says, then remembers that of the two of them, it really is his job to be the calm one. After all, he has had days to think about this, and Cooper has only had a few minutes. This is going to be quite an adjustment for Cooper. He can’t just expect the man to wake up and accept it. “You should eat,” he says, hoping the change in topic and the food he made will hasten the bonding they have to do.
    “Listen, Adrian, Adrian, I can’t stay here. This isn’t going to work. You’re going to see that soon, and then you’re going to let me go, but by then it’ll be too late and the police will lock you away and . . .”
    “You need to keep your strength up.”
    “Jesus,” Cooper yells, and bangs something against the window that looks like a shoe. “Doesn’t anything get through to you?”
    “Stop with the questions,” Adrian yells, and before he can stop himself, he kicks out at the coffee table, sending the sandwich he’d made all over the wall and floor. The lantern hits the floor, flickers for a few seconds but doesn’t go out, just rolls across the ground sending shadows moving over the walls.
    “Great,