Ghosts Anonymous

I Had To Shut You Up Somehow

EVP Session Transcript

Cross, Jefferson - Age 28 at departure

Dr. Patrick

Jefferson: I got out of law school in 2015. I practiced law for two years, had a total of ten cases, and I won every one of them. They said I was prodigy in my trade. I only brag when it's true. I was proud of what I did.

Me: Tell me a little more about your work.

Jefferson: Well, I was a criminal prosecutor by title, but I felt like a defense attorney in my actions. I defended the people who didn't have a say: the dead. My last case was for a kid who got shoved into a train. Poor kid, such a waste. I spend hours looking into every suspect surrounding a murder. I could have been a detective if I wanted. Again, I only brag when it's true. It became immediately apparent that the victim was offed by his girlfriend's jealous ex. I died trying to prove it, and it seems I won the case even in death. They got the sucker good. Double homicide in the first degree - 60 years to life.

Me: Tell me how it happened.

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I watched him pace back and forth for upwards of a half hour. Bruce Dawson obsessively pawed at a scratch on his wrist in the hallway flanking my office. His lips twitched with disturbed whispers. I immediately recognized the nervous gentleman from the case file. Cliche tribal tattoos stretched across his immense biceps. He was dressed in what I had come to know as his usual apparel, a drab tank top and gym shorts. Eventually his chest swelled with a self-assuring deep breath and he turned to knock on my door.

Judging by the wild look in his eyes, the self-preserving part of me elected to hesitate to speak with him. However, the more adventurous side of me led me to rise from my desk to meet him. I shoved the case file aside and swung the office door open.

"Hi, can I help you?" I asked Bruce with faux politeness.

"Uh, yeah," Bruce replied lamely. "I'm here about Gunner Stephens. I heard you were working his case."

"That's right, but I'm not at liberty to discuss details about my clients."

"Oh, I understand. I was just wondering if you knew who did it."

"We have our ideas."

Bruce gave me a long, hard look, asking if I knew of his guilt with his eyes. Without taking his eyes off me, he pulled an envelope from his back pocket. He covertly slid it into my hand, "If you find someone else to blame for Gunner's death, it's all yours."

I flipped open the envelope, though I already suspected its contents. A significant number of fifty-dollar bills were enclosed. I shoved it back into his palm, unaffected, "You wanna know why I do this job? For the truth. At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is the truth. That's the only thing that my clients can leave behind, the desire for the truth to be told. That's my job, Mr. Dawson. I wouldn't lie for the world. I know you killed him, Bruce. In cold blood. It'll be my absolute pleasure to throw you behind bars. I hope you rot."

Bruce gave me a curt nod, and for a moment he seemed to accept my response. He pocketed the money and turned on his heel to leave. He gently pulled an object from his front pocket, and I only had an instant to consider the mistake I had made before he plunged the knife into my chest, "I had to shut you up somehow." He wiped the blood on his knife with my tie and shut the door behind him.

My final thought was the amount of evidence he left at the scene, and how, in a strange sort of way, I had won. I only brag when it's true.