I’m a killer. It’s not something that I wanted to be. When someone would ask
me what I wanted to do when I grew up, I didn’t tell them that I was hoping
to one day become a murderer, and almost get away with it. I never wanted it
to happen, but it did, and I figured there was no point fretting over it. I
couldn’t change the past, but I could move on with my life, and try to do
some good with it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. You see, the woman I
killed—and I won’t tell you why I did it, because it doesn’t matter
anymore—had recently experienced relations with a man. That’s why not I
killed her, before you get any ideas about jealousy. His connection to her
was the only lead the cops had when they were running their investigation,
and instead of looking into the truth, they just selected him as their one
and only suspect. I’m not a cop. It’s not my job to confess to the crime I
committed. I decided that I would let this play out, and accept my fate,
whatever that was going to be. I wasn’t going to actively impede their
investigation, but I wasn’t going to go out of my way to help them either.
Even after the wrong man was convicted, I convinced myself that it wasn’t my
fault. Again, it’s not my responsibility to put bad guys away, and leave the
innocent alone. They screwed up, and it was all their fault. At least,
that’s what I told myself. Subconsciously, I was a wreck. I already felt
guilty about the murder itself, but now I had to contend with the fact that
an innocent man was behind bars. I could not live with myself. It just kept
getting worse by the day. I honestly believe I would have eventually turned
myself in.
The wrongfully accused didn’t stop fighting. He insisted that he wasn’t even
in the country at the time, and continued trying to prove his alibi. This
was great, I thought; he was gonna go free, and they still had no evidence
against me. It would turn into a cold case, and the whole thing would just
go away on its own. That’s not what happened. They reopened the case, looked
deeper into the clues, and finally found me. It’s actually what got that guy
out of prison. They wouldn’t let him go until they knew who the perpetrator
was, which I recognize is a ridiculous idea, and all those people should be
fired for incompetence. I did as I promised, and accepted my
punishment. They arrested me, put me through trial, and threw me in prison.
I wasn’t in there long before I died, and that’s where things get
interesting. What I haven’t told you is that I am voldisil. I have the
ability to form profound connections with others. My cat is 34 years old
(older than me), because I linked her to my lifeforce 21 years ago. She
can’t die until I do, and neither can the man I let rot in prison for four
months...unless something unavoidable happens to him. After I was
imprisoned, he came to visit me, hoping to get some closure. I was moved by
his words, and decided to give him a gift. He was in his late forties, which
means he was maybe about halfway done with his life. In contrast, I was in
my mid-twenties. Prison being what it is, I would probably die relatively
young, but in the meantime, he would last so much longer. Sadly, my ability
has its limits. He never got his life back on track, and he’s ended up
living on the streets, where the cold can get him. I feel him more clearly
now as the faux warmness overtakes our bodies. I’m grateful that, if he had
to die, it was this way; quietly. If my cellmate could tell that something
was wrong, they would be able to stop it. He would still die, but I
wouldn’t. I wish he was going to live longer, but at least I don’t have to
live with the guilt anymore.
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