Author's Note: Here is the next chapter of the life of our favourite sadist, Drake Merwin. His ordinary life but messed up mind. Anyway, I've put another note at the end to say where I got my inspiration from. Hope you enjoy it and don't forget to leave me some feedback, no matter what you thought. Thank you :)

Breakfast in the Merwin household was pretty much the same day in day out. David leaned back in his chair, studying a newspaper and slowly sipping a mug of tea. Sarah sorted through various pieces of paper in between bites of toast. Drake sat staring at his bowl, stirring around the milk and prodding the cereal with distaste. He wasn't impressed with the healthy, multi vitamin stuff that had been placed in front of him for the fourth time that week. Sarah insisted it was good for his health but she usually left to go to work before Drake went to school, and was oblivious to the fact that her darling son surreptitiously poured the contents of his bowl down the sink as soon as the door closed behind her. David frowned as he turned over the page in his newspaper "what is it?" Asked Sarah "not the banks again?"

"No." Said David, his eyes scanning the page "it says here that by the age of seven most children have seen over a thousand murders on television." He snorted "statistics these days. Drake's just turned seven and-"

"Why that's awful." Gasped Sarah, forever the worrier "don't you think it's disturbing to think that...those poor children..." David rolled his eyes at his over reacting wife and turned his attention to an article about counterfeit money. Drake looked up from his soggy bowl of cereal and, his face a picture of innocence, said "but, I'm seven. Does that mean me too?"

"Yes, but you won't have seen any such thing, don't worry." Said Sarah, ruffling Drake's hair as she went past.

"But, that's not fair!" Cried Drake.

"I know it isn't, dear. It's terrible the things grownups do these days."

"It's just...I..." Drake frowned as if in deep thought "that must mean I've been watching all the wrong channels." Sarah stopped dead, not quite sure what to make of her son's sudden exclamation but David just burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" Said Sarah, hands on hips.

"Those stupid statistics! They don't know what they're talking about and here's you getting all wound up about it. See, Drake hasn't even noticed. You fuss too much, really."

Sarah frowned slightly and said "come on, Drake. I'll take you to school this morning." Drake, delighted at the thought of leaving his untouched cereal on the table, scraped back his chair and hurried to the door leaving his statement hanging in the air. Was it just a silly thing any young child would come out with? Or did it...mean something?

Mr Kingsley disapproved of most games, he found that they wasted one's time when something far more productive could be done. However, children seemed to enjoy them and this particular game usually produced most interesting results. Drake Merwin sat, once again, in the chair opposite Mr Kingsley's desk, the same bored expression on his face. It was getting a little old, a little tiring. All these young people, they tried to act uninterested all the time. They really had no imagination. Well, these were Mr Kingsley's thoughts on the matter as he studied Drake's face with curiosity. "Today, Drake, we are going to play a game."

"I don't play games." Said Drake. Uninterested. Predictable. But then, something sparked in his eye "well...not your types of games anyway." Mr Kingsley didn't even bother thinking about what sort of games the young sadist had in mind, he was sure they would be even less pleasant than the thought of having to play 'Simon says' or 'I spy'. Frederick shuddered at the thought of playing games with several babbling children, far too happy. Too normal. He worked with special cases and, usually, he didn't have time for games. "Well, Merwin, we are going to play a game. An associating game. I will say a word and then you will say another word that has a relation to my word and so on. Are we clear?"

"As a bell." Said Drake, folding his arms and fixing Mr Kingsley with one of his icy glares.

"Then we will begin." Frederick picked up his silver fountain pen, ready to jot down anything...peculiar in the boy's behaviour. "Tree."

"Wood."

"Table."

"Kitchen."

"Plate."

"Knife." Mr Kingsley paused for a mere moment, to see if there was any sinister meaning behind this word but he detected nothing other than an uninterested look in Drake's unblinking eyes. Nevertheless, he made a quick note at the first word Drake had mentioned that was...questionable. "Fork." Continued Frederick.

"Devil." Again Mr Kingsley stopped, this time Drake appeared to have gone a little more out of his way to say something...unnerving. Strange. He jotted it down and underlined it before carrying on the game. "Red."

"Blood." It could have been a trick of the light but Drake's eyes appeared to sparkle and the side of his mouth twitched. Mr Kingsley frowned and underlined 'blood' on his notepad.

"Ok, Drake. Can you tell me how you feel about the words that you told me?"

Drake slowly raised an eye brow and looked at Mr Kingsley as if thinking 'did you just ask me that?' "Well?" Said Frederick, losing patience.

"You want me to tell you how I feel about...wood?" Said Drake.

Mr Kingsley sighed "how about we start with knife?"

Drake shrugged, as if he couldn't care less "they're useful tools."

"Tools for what, may I ask?

"Where've you been living, Kingsley? You never used a knife before?" Mr Kingsley said nothing, unimpressed. Kingsley, he thought refraining the urge to shake his head, it was almost as bad as Freddie. Almost. "Well, you know, people use them in the kitchen." It was almost as if a shadow passed across Drake's face then, his eyes narrow and his mouth twisted into a sinister smile. Not everyone can manage to smile and look scary at the same time. Drake could. "Cutting. They're good for cutting. Sharp ones...they take less time but if the blade is blunt...well, it offers more of a challenge." Of, course, Drake could be referring to chopping vegetables or meat. If anyone else had said it, they probably would have meant no harm with the words. But Drake wasn't just anyone and Mr Kingsley doubted that the boy's problems were self harming. He doubted even more that Drake aspired to be a gourmet chef one day with his own restaurant.

"How about devil, Drake?" Said Frederick, whilst making a note of Drake's answer, the change in behaviour, tone of voice. Drake paused, waiting for Mr Kingsley to look at him.

"If you sell your soul to him, you'll never get it back. Once you've gone too far on the path to hell, you're never going back." Drake answered in the most infuriating way, as if he wanted Mr Kingsley to be uncertain of his answers. To be guessing. "The devil will take you places, if you'll go with him." Unnerved but determined not to show it, Frederick wrote down Drake's answer.

"Blood?" Mr Kingsley asked, almost dreading the answer.

"Well, it's red isn't it?" Said Drake, stating the obvious. "Did I ever mention that red was my favourite colour, Mr Kingsley?" Such a subtle hint yet it said so much. Chilled, Mr Kingsley put down his pen and gathered his nerves for just one more game before the session ended. "Thank you, Merwin. Just one more game before you go. House."

Drake's eyes lit up "Slaughter house." Well, he's certainly not trying to hide it anymore, thought Mr Kingsley.

There wasn't much else he could say to this so he said "slaughter." He tried to stay away from words such as this that might provoke his patient into saying something but he wanted to see Drake's reaction. Any normal person should have replied animals or maybe blood or a type of weapon but Drake, being Drake, said "laughter."

"Just before you go, Drake. Can I ask why you chose laughter? It isn't the funniest thing, is it?"

"Well, Kingsley. If you were starving to death and you slaughtered an animal, which was your only chance of survival, you'd be laughing, wouldn't you?" Drake paused, letting Frederick mull over his answer "have you ever starved, Merwin?"

"No." Said Drake "doesn't mean I can't laugh though." With that, he left, without so much as a backward glance, leaving Mr Kingsley to contemplate his answers. He sat with his cold cup of coffee and thought in all my years of talking to psychopaths, I've never met one quite like this. Then he too left the office, in need of a good book and square of dark chocolate. A hot cup of coffee might be an idea as well thought Mr Kingsley, pouring the remains of his stone cold drink away.

Author's Note:

The 'children have seen a thousand murders by the age of seven' idea comes from Calvin and Hobbes. (A comic strip by Bill Watterson, it actually says 'a million murders by the age of 6' but that seemed a bit farfetched. The 'I've been watching all the wrong channels' was in the same place, but that's all I got from it. It's a four frame comic strip but it gave me the idea.)

The game played by Mr Kingsley and Drake comes from 'Scorpia Rising' By Anthony Horowitz (which I recently read). But it was just the idea of the game that came from there, not what was actually said.

I guess I feel guilty not giving this people some credit ^_^