Counting Days

Justice

A plan he did have. I stayed in my room, removed my clothes, and handed the bloody pieces of fabric to Francis as he discarded them while I took a shower. I turned off the lights in my room and laid down in my bed in fresh new pajamas, hearing my butler walk down the hall and down the stairs. He told me he would take care of things. Take care of me. "Just trust me," he said. I trusted him. How could I not? Ever since I could remember he was always there in my life to take care of me. When my mother left, he took on the role of caretaker for me, unlike my father who never did.

It was hard for me to sleep that night. So many thoughts were running through my head. So many possibilities of what could happen or what Francis was doing right now to fix the mess I created. Not to mention flashes of Esther's dead body and my killing of Mark. Tears collected in my eyes at the thought of Esther. Her limp body lying on the floor like that. Like she had no life left in her. Because she didn't. The tears spilled over. I then thought about Mark. How I had gripped that knife so hard when plunging it into his body, my knuckles turned white. A small part of me was satisfied, though. It felt good knowing that he was dead and couldn't hurt anyone else. I felt good knowing I had done it. I found myself wondering if that was normal.

It took a week after the incident for the police to show up at Esther's house. They were called in when Mark's friends from work showed up worried about where he was and why he hasn't showing up to work. When there was no answer at the door after minutes of knocking, they thought it was best to call the authorities. They found Esther's body first after breaking into the house. After a thorough search through the woods, they later found Mark's body buried six feet below the ground along with the murder weapon. It didn't take them long to start questioning the neighbors, including my father and me. I told the partial truth. I told them that I had befriended Esther and knew that her father was abusing her. I didn't tell them about my father yet as this was just a general questioning. They didn't suspect my father yet and it would look weird if I told them that my own father may have something to do with the deaths.

It took the police a week more for them to come knocking at our door again. This time with a warrant and handcuffs. My dad was furious. He was shouting with a tomato red face spewing spit all over the place. I watched from around the corner as they took him away. They wanted me to go to another general questioning that day and led me to a different police car from my father. I looked to the right as they led my butler to another police car. We shared knowing looks.

It was at that interview that I told them everything. About the abuse, about my father's behavior these last few weeks, and how I was terrified of him. They asked why I didn't tell them the first time they talked to me and I answered that I was afraid of what he would do if he found out. The cop rubbed my shoulder as I shed tears and sobbed. In the end, they told me that I couldn't go back to my house anymore until the investigation was over. My butler was placed as my temporary guardian, and we booked a hotel to stay in not far away.

"How?" I asked. Francis and I were in a public park not far from our hotel. We wanted to be in a public but not crowded place when discussing what had happened today.

"What do you mean?" He asked. We sat on a metal bench that was painted a glossy black. The sun was covered by dark clouds. A slight wind blew through our hair. The weather matched the dreary sensation I felt in my heart.

"You never told me how you did it." My butler paused, seeming to know what I was talking about, then opened his mouth,

"It wasn't too hard. Just required a lot of knowledge and experience." Experience? I looked questioningly at Francis, but he stared straight ahead. He continued, "I cleaned the scene of the crime of all blood and DNA, just like he would. Except for a few things. The murder weapon I cleaned of your fingerprints, then took back to the house for your dad to touch. I also grabbed a few of his stray hairs from his hairbrush and placed them throughout the murder scene. I then buried the knife and Mark's body in the woods. I searched the house and found some interesting things that the police would have found if I wasn't there to help you," my butler pulled something out of his inner jacket pocket. It was a phone. "It's Esther's disposable phone. It had texts of you and her planning the murder." I grabbed it from his hand and stared at it.

"I left Esther's body and the basement alone since it was her own father that killed her. I erased camera footage of your father working out in the gym that night. Therefore, he has no alibi. Although I did my best to throw the police off track, there are a few inconsistencies. For example, a lot of the stab wounds did not penetrate deeply enough for your father's strength. This might alarm some of the policemen. Not to mention, the placement of the stab wounds. With your father's height, a lot of them should have been placed higher on the body and at a different angle. Despite this, I'm confident that with the evidence I placed at the scene of the crime and both of our confessions at the questioning, he will be convicted. No matter how good of a lawyer he hires, the odds are stacked against him."

I continued to stare at the phone.

"Are you okay," Francis asked. He looked at me worryingly. I looked at him and to my own surprise, wrapped my arms around him.

"Thank you," I choked out. He embraced me back.

"You're welcome."

It took nearly a year before the trial of my father began. I lived my life like nothing had happened in front of my peers, even though in the beginning they annoyed me with their strange behavior at first but after I exploded on them, they went back to treating me like normal. When I was in private, it was different though. I still thought about Esther. I found myself looking back on us often and how happy we were together. I didn't know if I would ever find someone like her again.

She made me feel genuine happiness for the first time in a very long time. I liked her for real. I didn't pretend to like her like my other friends and peers. I didn't have to act fake around her. I could just be myself. She didn't like me just because of how rich or popular I was. I practically forced her into my lifestyle and yet she didn't change one bit. Despite how many differences we had between us, we also shared common experiences. Such as our mothers' stories and abusive fathers.

I visited her grave often. She rested in a place just as horrible as the place she lived in when she was alive. She was placed in a run-down, nearly forgotten graveyard. It was small and overcrowded. It was also located in the middle of the woods with only a narrow dirt road that led to it. Her house was demolished after the murders. The only memory left of it was an imprint on the ground where the house used to reside at. Over time though, the grass grew into a meadow full of colorful flowers. Their beauty reminded me of Esther's hidden personality. She was shy and reserved, but once you got to watch her grow, she was beautiful.

I was taken out of my thoughts when I heard someone say the words I had been waiting an entire year to hear.

"I sentence you to life in prison."

I watched the camera pan to my father's face through the television screen. His skin was a flushed red and tears streamed down his face. Snot ran down from his nose to his mouth. I was watching from home. The mansion that used to be my father's was handed down to me, along with every single possession he had. Every stock, every dollar bill, every business and property he owned were all mine. I watched as he was taken in hand cuffs out of the courtroom to prison. He would never set foot into the real world ever again. He would never hurt me anymore.

A smile slowly crept onto my face.