[ WP ] In a time/place that has recently abolished the death penalty , a corrupt prison comes up with a novel solution to overcrowding : a 'specialist ' who 's job is to talk inmates into committing suicide .

I saw Dr. Slate approaching from down the hall, and shivered. 
 
 His look was n't intimidating. A elderly gentleman, he wore a crisp suit, pressed shirt, impeccable tie. His shoes were polished, his gray hair was combed back. He could have been anyone. In fact, he was so nondescript it was almost uncanny. 
 
 Except for his eyes. I looked through him as he drew near so I would n't have to see them. I did n't want him to look at me, just in case. I would NOT be one of his patients. 
 
 He nodded to me as he opened the door to my left. I looked straight ahead, saying nothing. I never said anything to Dr. Slate, and never would if I could help it. He paused in the doorway, looked at me pointedly, and said `` Good afternoon, Darren.'' I still said nothing, trying to shut my ears to his voice. I did n't want to hear it. His voice was for his patients. 
 
 He sighed, and I could see his body sag, ever so slightly, out of the corner of my eye. 
 
 `` I'm not a monster, you know. I'm just a man. I'm just doing my job.'' 
 
 I said nothing. 
 
 He shook his head, just a little, and suddenly straightened up. After all, he did have a job to do. He stepped into the room, and the door clicked. 
 
 I let out a breath and leaned on the wall behind me. That had n't been so bad, as encounters with Dr. Slate went. I had n't seen his eyes, and he had only said a few words. I did n't even have to sit in the viewing room today, so I would n't have to listen as he had his consultation. 
 
 I had listened before. I never wanted to again. 
 
 ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• 
 
 Of course it was MY fucking day to be in the viewing room. We were on rotation, but Darren had weaseled his way out of his shift again. Something about PTSD or depression or some shit. Like it was somehow worse for him than the rest of us. So now it was my turn to stand behind the glass and make sure everything went as planned. Fucking great. 
 
 I flinched slightly as the door clicked shut in the room. Dr. Slate strolled in and give a cheery `` Good afternoon!'' to his `` patient.'' We were supposed to call the prisoners that. Legal reasons or some shit. 
 
 Dr. Slate settled into the free chair in the room. From my place at the window, I could see his aging face. He looked like the grandpa every kid wanted. This guy creeped me the fuck out. 
 
 I tried not to see his eyes. 
 
 `` How are you feeling today?'' Dr. Slate asked the man in front of him. 
 
 `` How do you fucking think?'' the man replied. He knew what was happening. They all did. It was mysterious for a while, until nobody came back from their consultation. Then it was obvious. We were n't just letting these people go, they were murderers, rapists, the scum of the earth. There was n't another prison, they were all overfilled already. Even these people could do that kind of math. 
 
 `` Yes, I realize you probably did n't choose to come here. But here you are, so we can only make the best of it. Besides, I think you will agree this meeting with me is the best thing that has ever happened to you. You'll see.'' 
 
 God, I hated this guy. His voice was so... Reasonable. Friendly. The kind of voice you naturally want to trust. 
 
 `` So... Chris, is it?'' 
 
 I jumped through the fucking roof. Did he just say MY name? But no, the prisoner's name was Chris. It was Chris. I remember somebody referring to him as Chris... 
 
 I killed the audio to the room. Maybe I had to watch, but I sure as shit did n't have to listen. 
 
 I watched the consultation. Now that I could n't hear Dr. Slate's voice, I was much more relaxed. He was n't getting in MY head. Not today. 
 
 The prisoner, though. He was n't so lucky. Chris became more and more animated as he spoke, gesturing as far as his cuffs allowed and shouting. Dr. Slate sat quietly, nodding and smiling slightly. His eyes never left his patient. 
 
 Eventually, Chris calmed down. He settled back into his chair, looking exhausted. I flicked the audio back on. For whatever reason, Dr. Slate's closing remarks had a kind of sick fascination for me. The way he knew exactly what to say to push them over the edge. 
 
 `` Chris, I know you've had a hard life. I'm sorry to hear about what happened between you and Jessica. You say that if it was n't for her, you would n't be here, and I think that's the truth, Chris. You probably wo n't believe this, but I think you're a good guy. I bet she regrets all those things she said to you.'' 
 
 `` She does n't. That bitch has n't written me a SINGLE letter since I landed in this shithole. And it's been 15 years.'' 
 
 `` Maybe not yet. But...'' He leaned in conspiratorially. `` I know the perfect way you can get back at her. Right here, from prison. And it wo n't even be hard.'' 
 
 `` What should I do?'' Chris asked. That poor sonuvabitch. He was asking Dr. Slate for advice. He was done. 
 
 Instead of answering, Dr. Slate lifted a briefcase from under the table and set it down, facing his patient. He clicked the latch and it opened smoothly. Inside, nestled snugly in black velvet, was a gun. 
 
 `` What is this for?'' Chris asked hesitantly. 
 
 `` Think about it, Chris. You have a life sentence. You will spend the rest of your life here. It's Jessica's fault, you said so yourself. You know what that means, Chris? That means if you stay here, locked up, letting the years slip away as you slowly age and die... If you stay here, this place that she put you, this place where you have no freedom, no control... It means Jessica wins.'' 
 
 His eyes. It was his fucking eyes that made this whole thing work. Full of compassion, understanding, even LOVE for these people. They made you want to please him. 
 
 `` But, Chris, she does n't have to win. You can still turn this around. Get the last laugh, so to speak. You can make her sorry for what she did to you, make her miss you every day, make her want you back more than anything in the world. You can, right now, take control of your life again. I'm giving you the chance to choose your own fate, not the fate Jessica forced on you. I'm offering you freedom. You just have to reach out and take it.'' 
 
 Chris reached out a trembling hand toward the gun. Dr. Slate's eyes never left him. 
 
 Chris tried to put the gun in his mouth, but his hands were shaking too badly. Dr. Slate gently took his patient's hands in his own, and aligned the barrel. 
 
 With a smile on his face, he whispered, `` I'm proud of you, Chris.''
