What They Told Me Narrative

Recording One
I do not remember the year, or exactly what season it was, but I can still distinctly smell the formaldehyde and hear the screams of damaged minds trapped behind their walls. I remember the sky that night, when she first arrived it was clear, but when the rusted van pulled into the drive, the clouds destroyed any sight of the stars. I remember the two men hauling out a screeching demon of a child, no more than perhaps ten years of age. Her movements were glitch, her hair tousled and her clothes spattered with blood. I remember thinking to myself "This isn't real Banks, this child didn't murder someone." But yet when I inquired upon this, I was met with the shaking voice of the driver.
"S-sir, she killed 'em. 'Vry last k-kid

But she was a child, how would she know that?
“That’s what they told me ‘fore they brought me here, that’s what they told me at the church and the orphanage.” She hissed, dull eyes staring at me.
“Well, didn’t they help you? I’m sure you had friends. They helped you, right?”
“Mah friends are all dead. All of ‘em, they’re dead now. And I killed ‘em!” she giggled at this, a child who felt no remorse at the thought of murder. Frankly, it frightened me, I was wondering if she’d strangle me through the bars should I step too close. Lost in thought, it took me moments to realize she had begun her rambling once more.
“…Mama told me a story once, ‘fore she died o’course, ‘bout a mirror. The reflection you saw told you the truth, she said she brought me to the mirror once, it told mama that I don’t exist…your reflection ever do that to you Samuel Oliver Banks? Does it ever talk to you…?” I shook my head, she frowned, suddenly quiet once more.
“Samuel Oliver Banks, you’re gonna die one day…a horrible death. Not so nice like mama did. The Devil is gonna take your soul and drag you to Hell. You’re a bad, bad man, mama told me so. She told me wha—“I walked away, no, I ran, I couldn’t hear

And though it was cruel, it was the truth. She was retrieved from her cell at promptly eleven forty-three in the morning, straight jacket double checked to ensure no escapes could be made. This is how the next few weeks went by, with these tests and sessions in an attempt to crack open the mind of a child, a killer. Long hours of research on our dear patient 777, her new name here, what a change it was from the innocent Adeline Hall. Though her beginning was not so innocent, for her mother was a fancy lady, poor, on the streets, and murdered. Adeline Hall, the name was so familiar to me, but I could not place it at the name. Though now… I