Killing Chris

Trial, and errors

"Do you understand your sentence?" The judge asked

I looked over at my lawyer and he nodded, I turned my head to my parents who were crying and I yelled.

"No, I didn't do it please you cant send me there... He will kill me!"

The police grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the courthouse screaming. Pleading for anyone to believe me and come to my rescue but no one did. Outside the courtroom, Danes parents stood staring at me.

"We let you into our home... and you killed our boy!" his mom yelled in grief.

As I got carried down the steps of the courthouse I watched as my parents stood in the distance doing nothing to help me and believing that I was ill. Ya, that's where I end up for all this, Red branch psychiatric hospital. Obviously, you know now that the interrogation didn't go as well as I hoped. As I sat in the chair staring at the inspector she explained to me my options.

"Confess to the murders we know you committed, or fight in court waste your parent's money, and then still end up in jail."

"I want a lawyer," I said to her hiding my emotions

"That's what I thought you'd choose, your type of murderers always think their parents can save them," she said standing up and walking for the door.

I didn't need her to tell me how screwed I was I already knew. A large chunk of time passed before my parents ended up showing up with the family lawyer. Mr. Crowdar had been my parent's lawyers for as long as I can remember. He was always family to me, you know the one friend of your parents you call your uncle even though they aren't related to you.

Mr. Crowdar opened the door looking at me with sad eyes hinting that I was in deep shit. He sat down and closed his eyes for a minute and then looked at me and begged for a story that didn't end with me killing my two friends. I decided it was time to crack the whole truth out, I explained every detail of the runins Id had with the killer.When I was done I felt as if he'd be caught now and I'd be released from custody but... Nothing in this story goes the way I think.

 "Here are your options. You can claim that you are mentally ill and go to a psych ward or you can confess to the murders and go to prison for maybe five years if you're lucky." He said to me straight forward

"Wait what...I...just told you the whole story...I didn't do this! I didn't want to kill Dane I was forced." I pleaded 

"Well kid, there's a video of you stabbing Dane and then the video cuts off and a cop finds you with a gun next to a dead kid with a bullet sized hole in his head." He responded

"But how can you want me to do this when I'm telling you that I didn't do this," I said

"The justice system has been broken for a long time before you and it will continue to be broken after you, the cops don't want the truth, they want a story that's believable and to close the case. You are a meal delivered to them on a fancy silver platter."

"Get out!" I yelled 

"Chris.." Mr. Crowdar started to say but before he could finish 

"Guards!" I yelled interrupting him 

The guards pushed the door open and Mr. Crowdar left I sat by myself for a while with just my thoughts and I willed myself to imagine a world where someone believed me. The killer gets caught and his identity revealed to the whole world as the bad guy... and me, the final survivor.

I had to stay at the station for a few days until my trial date, I was barely fed and slept on the cold hard ground. The cops at the station absolutely despised me and if looks could kill I'd be unrecognizable. When my court date arrived I was sleep-deprived, borderline starving and I hadn't showered in a week.

Hopefully, that will make you guys understand why I did what I did. The cops escorted me from the station and into a black van that had metal grates over the windows like I was a dog being taken to the pound. As I sat in the back of the van I looked out the back window just enjoying the outside in general...I hadn't seen it in a while.

I put my head against the door closing my eyes and then yanked my head back and then forward again smashing my head into the grated window. I continued to smash my head against the window until the cops had ripped me to the ground and restrained me. Blood ran down my face and into my eyes and mouth.

I only saw red. For a short while, I thought that would fade to black and Id be at peace for once in my life but I made it to a hospital in time. However, I did get my court date postponed and got a two-week vacation handcuffed to a hospital bed instead. The hospital had someone from the psych wing come and evaluate me whatever the fuck that means. I told the man the whole story and begged him to believe me. he asked questions about the story like he was interested but apparently, I had failed the test. I was told that I was "making up stories to hide the trauma and pain I was caused by killing my friends which included Margo, Lake, Dane, Derek, and everyone else the killer butchered".

 Who is anyone to judge me and tell me that I'm crazy, I should be crazy by now but I'm not. I'm not crazy, I didn't make this up, I don't belong in a mental hospital. Or do I? At this point in time, I allowed the outside world to chip away at my truth and implant reasonable doubt in my mind. I knew what I had to do now. Secure my ticket to the mental hospital instead of prison and then either explore myself and find out if I killed them, or escape.

When I got to the courtroom the audience section was almost full. Derek's parents, Margo's grandparents, Lakes parents, Danes parents, all came to see the guillotine drop and cut my head off. To the surprise of many when the judge asked me how I plead I said 

"I plead insanity"The judge asked me a bunch of questions when I began to tell him that I smashed my head into the window fifteen times because I can't remember if I did it. Which was a lie but I had to deliver the story that he wanted if I had hopes of escaping this sentence.

I stood at the bottom of the courthouse stairs after my sentencing and looked at all the spiteful looks I had collected. All the hate I didn't deserve and all the eyes wishing death upon me. As if they were pleading with the Grimm reaper to come and retrieve me himself. The ride to the nuthouse was pretty calm. The nurse in the van asked me If I was gonna need to be sedated and I replied

"Hopefully, if I'm lucky"

I stepped out of the van and examined the nuthouse from the front driveway. The building was massive and made out of thousands of bricks. The building was probably six or seven stories high and at the top, the slanted roof windows stuck out from the building. When I was admitted into the nuthouse I was assigned to a rehabilitation group made up of eight people including me. 

As I write this story now so many years later I feel obligated to share information with you now I wish I had known. The rehab group wasn't just made of seven normal people and me it was made up of me, six normal people, and... The killer.

Chris logged off