My Life with Death

Holding Cell, Major Crimes Unit, J. Edgar Hoover Building, January 11, 2019

 An FBI car drove me from the house, but Kent didn't cause it. He stayed at home. After arriving at headquarters, the agents shoved me into one of the cells and left me sitting there for several hours.

1:20 a.m.

It was about one o'clock when I was taken out of the cell and moved to a small interrogation room. They sat me down on a chair at a metal table. My hands were still handcuffed behind my back.

An agent I didn't know sat across from me. He started asking me stupid questions, but I didn't answer. Never. After twelve unanswered questions, I couldn't bear to be silent any longer and shouted, "I will talk...but only to Assistant Principal Kent. I don't want to talk to doctors. I don't want to talk to cops or agents. They make me a lunatic and a murderer. I don't want to talk to them anymore. They keep making me answer stupid questions," hysterically. "I want to talk to Kent." He got up from the table and left the room.

3:21 a.m.

I sat there alone for what seemed like an eternity. He never came, but I knew dozens of agents behind the glass laughed at me. Kent was there, too. He was there the whole time because he didn't want to talk to me. He just wanted to see me at rock bottom. I wasn't even surprised at him. After everything I did to him, I deserved him not to help me. At the moment when I no longer believed in it, the door opened, and he was standing in it. He walked across the room to me. He unlocked the handcuffs with the key, went around the table again, and sat down. He placed a thick FBI file open in front of me with my name written on it.

"What's that supposed to be?" I asked.

I rubbed my wrists, bruised by the police handcuffs. I needed to bandage the wounds on my hands.

"Given your past, it wouldn't be strange if you felt the need to take revenge. What happened to you changed your behavior and your personality. You've become an ambitious, justice-obsessed workaholic, but you're still mistrustful, emotionally unavailable, and a loner.''

"I know we set some rules, but as you well know, I'm no longer with the FBI," I remarked. "so off with the charade," spiritedly. "you have decided to blame me now for the job you brought me into," indignantly. "You helped me solve the biggest mystery of my life. I will be eternally grateful for that. I fell in love with you, and I don't think you should blame me. You could have done that years ago," I sighed. "it's too late now, don't you think?" I concluded.

"Let's talk about the case," he quickly changed the subject of conversation. "triple murder, unlawful possession of a firearm, obstruction of justice, theft of federal government property and burglary," he said. "How will you explain all this to me?" he asked.

"I'm no longer working on the case, so I have nothing to tell you."

"I know you're lying. You continue your investigation. We searched your car and found a copy of the entire case, including your notes and conclusions," he announced. "Who do you work with?" curiously.

"With no one," I emphasized.

He leaned toward me and said quietly, "I offer you freedom in exchange for information. If you keep silent, I won't be able to help you anymore. You will end up in prison for life. All the evidence points to you. No one will look at your work in the office. They will see what they want to see," he announced. "a disturbed person who has PTSD with access to both weapons and knowledge," he added.

I leaned against the back of an uncomfortable chair. I thought about it. I lowered my head and stared at my hands.

"You wouldn't understand. You would never understand," I muttered to myself. "You won't believe me," I added.

"Try it," he urged.

I took a deep breath and looked around the room.

"The profile is wrong. The evidence is planted. Everything should have pointed to me. The killer wanted it that way. It's him."

"What do you mean?"

"It's him," I repeated. "He wants to destroy me. He wants me to kill myself and watch it," I said.

He looked at the wounds on my arms. "Did you do this?" he asked. I just nodded.

"Shit, Alexis," angrily. "self-harm? Suicide attempt? That's just another reason why everyone sees you as a deranged killer. How am I supposed to protect you like this?" he said with concern. I didn't believe he would want to help me after that, but he did. That was why I fell in love with and never stopped loving him. His lion heart saves the world from destruction by helping every living soul change their life for the better.

"You have to trust me. I'm not a murderer. I did not do it. You know me. You know I wouldn't do that," fearfully.

"I need proof," he said. "I need proof of your innocence. Where were you at the time of all three murders?" he interrogated me.

I wiped my tears so he wouldn't see it. "Probably in bed," I cleared my throat. "with you," I added quietly.

"I saw you in the hospital. She was throwing tantrums, and I was talking, so weird. So paranoid," he thought. "Are you taking your medicine?" I didn't answer.

"Alexis," he touched my hand. "if you don't cooperate with me, I can't help you get out of here."

I looked into his eyes as sincerely as I could and said, "Trust me. I love you."

Then I just looked down again and tried to hold back the tears.

I wanted to go home. I was hoping this was all just a bad dream. I tried to wake up from him finally. I wanted everything to be the way it was before.