That morning I woke up to the sound of sobbing. Sure enough, there she was, crying, with her head buried between her legs. My cellmates were gone, one of them was sent to prison, she was apparently guilty for some crime I didn’t bother paying any attention too. I couldn’t even remember her name. Rebecca? Beck? Who cared anyways?
The other girl was released from jail after a week or so. She I listened to. She was accused of robbing a convenience store because the robber looked like her and because she lived nearby. Two houses away to be exact. Imagine that, being sent to jail for a week for doing nothing and worrying your head off because someone else thought you did something. I knew the feeling all too well.
The woman sat in the hallway, still crying and muttering words I didn’t understand. Usually I wasn’t the kind of person to do things to comfort other people, but for some insane reason, I did just that, in a way. I dropped to my knees right next to her and patted her back gently.
“Get your hands off of me right now,” she warned in a harsh toned.
“Psh, angry much?” I sarcastically replied but swiftly moved my hand away before she got the wrong idea. She lifted her head, her mascara stained her cheeks. She looked like a horror show, scarier than Scream himself. Not that he was scary or anything.
“I’m sorry, I’ve just been through a lot, okay?” her voice calmed down a bit.
“I know same here.”
“Trust me, you don’t know and you’ll never know.”
“I’m being accused for murdering a girl I hate the life out of,” I said blankly.
“Well, I did murder someone but I refused to confess and my trial is in the next few days or something, and I’m going to confess. So, I guess we aren’t exactly on the same page here, now are we?” Wow, wasn’t expecting that.
“Maybe, maybe not, who knows? My trial is next week.”
“Oh, congratulations,” she replied in a totally fake high pitched voice.
“Thank you,” I returned the favor, “who’d you kill?”
“My husband,” more sobs followed.
“Oh.”
“And my two children, my two babies,” she broke down then.
“Why?” I asked. Fine, call me what you want, I was curious and asked a lot of questions.
“What’s it to you?”
“Absolutely nothing. I’ve got my own problems, but your problems seem to make me feel better about myself,” I honesty deserved a slap across my face at that point, so I braced myself for it, but it never came.
“I don’t know why I did it, that’s the problem. One day we were fine, the happiest family there could be, nothing got in our way, we solved all our problems together. Then I woke up the next morning, and I wasn’t me, I wasn’t Abby anymore, I was someone else.”
“Like who exactly?”
“Like…the stalker outside your window waiting for you to fall asleep to break in and slit your throat.”
“That’s deep.”
“Yeah, all I remember was standing above him, with a knife in my hand, the bed was stained red, with his blood. And I heard them cry, I turned around. My babies were watching me in fear, they knew what I had done, so I ….”
“I get it,” It hurt to hear her speak that way, it pained me. I felt it inside, like an open wound after dumping an entire bottle of ethanol on it.
YOU ARE READING
False Modesty
Mystery / ThrillerI was accused of murdering Brooky Joey, a girl I had a huge dislike for. Her body was found and the evidence taken suggested that I was the killer. Not everyone believed me, especially when my hair sample was on her, or the bloody shoe print matched...
