A prisoner on death row. A psychologist sent to evaluate the killer.
Who is at fault? The prisoner? Or the life they had and the troubles they went through? Our world is corrupt and we're only getting worse.
Warning: Dark themes are mentioned, but t...
This is the last chapter; the epilogue will be up shortly.
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Calandra then proceeded to tell him about the next turning point. What made her go from school fights to using guns on people on the street.
"I was approached by a gang, actually," She told him, scoffing at the clicheness of it all. "They told me they wanted me in it."
Harold furrowed his brows, knowing how rare it is for a gang to approach someone to ask them to join. He didn't interrupt her, though. He appreciated how open she had been and didn't want to do anything to cause her to shut down or close herself off.
"They told me they would keep me safe. That we would work together. We would all do better if we were all together. And I bought into," Calandra recalls bitterly. "I was stupid. Naive. In my mind, they were already my new family, just by offering me the chance to be equals."
"Did they treat you well?" Harold questioned quietly. He hoped dearly that she would say yes. That she had gotten a break.
"No. My turn," Calandra said, turning the tables on him. "Who do you see when you look at me? I know I remind you of someone. Someone you used to know."
"That's beside the point," Harold told her firmly. "We are here to talk about you. To get you out of this jam you're in."
"That's one way of putting it," Snorted Calandra. "But I refuse to continue until I get an answer."
It was her curiosity mainly that caused her to ask. Maybe a bit of boredom too. She needed a break from talking about herself. From spilling all her secrets. But now she needed to know.
Harold studied her before nodding. He could see that she had made up her mind, and it was a simple question anyway. "My daughter," He answered reluctantly. "I haven't seen her for a very, very long time, though."
"Well, let's hope she didn't turn out like me, then," Calandra said flatly. "Why haven't you spoken?"
"We had a fight. Nothing big, really," Harold sighed. "But we just drifted apart after it, not speaking."
"Call her," Calandra ordered simply.
"Excuse me?" Harold said, looking at her incredulously
"You heard me," She said. Calandra leaned back with a sigh and tried again. "Please? As my dying request?"
"Don't you think you're being a tad dramatic?" Harold asked her, avoiding her question.
"Answer the damn question," Calandra said, giving him a flat look.
"Sure," He agreed reluctantly. "I'll call her."
Calandra looked at him, her eyes scanning him for any sign of deceit. Nodding, she decided he was telling the truth. That he would call her. Following their agreement, Calandra answered his question at last. The question of whether or not the gang treated her well.
