Anger.
are two months now that I come to find every day, and still I'm used to his presence. Fortunately, soon be over.
Disgusting.
Today is the last time we'll see. Tonight, the four forty-five minutes exactly, the cocktail of curare, barbiturates and potassium chloride will put an end to his life, and I can finally erase from his mind every image that he is concerned. The jailer
I opened the door leading into a tiny room with no windows. I am a nod with his head, with a stern look, the scene repeats itself from day one, since I agreed to follow the case. Psychological support call. As if these animals they need it. You try to retrieve their souls in some way, someone needs a priest, but often send an intern in psychology is cheap and difficult to refuse.
I accepted immediately, as soon as I read the name of the accused. John Casey. By
in the room, the light is too strong, as usual. John is sitting in the middle of the room, on a wooden chair. In front of him an old table and a second chair for me. She smiles at me, looking tired and brave, that makes me sick. But I have to lie still for a short time only, I can not betray my emotions right now.
"At last here we are, the time has come," he says, while taking place in front of him, and put my briefcase on the table. I consider a friend. Knows not that far.
John was arrested three years ago, after having killed twelve people during his mad dash through the state. Entered a house, forcing the family man to watch while he raped his wife or daughter. Or both. If it was a good day, torture victims, and then just kill them. It destroyed four families, without showing the slightest remorse. I've seen dozens of times the video of the process: wry smile, while the judge read the sentence.
could be my father, but it is now open with me, ever since the first days. He spoke of hardship, drug problems, alcoholism, a wife would leave him. He even cried a few times, giving dry fists on the wooden table. He wrote letters to relatives of the victims, calling for a pardon that never could have achieved.
stretches his hand on the table and take my. I watch it with the form of interest that have built in recent months, but part of me wants to stick a pen in one hand covered in blood disgusting.
"I've been really helpful at this time. I was not worthy of the least feeling of another human being, after what I did, but you're the closest thing to a friend that I can have, "he says, looking into my eyes. I replied with a devilish smile, moves his hand and I open my briefcase.
'm not your friend, the son of a bitch. Although these two months I did everything to become one. I pretended to be interested in you, understand your pain. I even pretended to believe in your repentance. Everything to come to be here today, the day that you will go to hell.
Among the twelve victims were John Casey, my mother, my father and my sister. I was away from home at the time, very boring for a school camp in the mountains. I did not want to go, but my father insisted. You will do well, breathe fresh air and meet people doing sport. I had saved my life. From police reports
I have learned that the pig has abused my mother, then cut his throat. Then, not content, is passed to my sister while my father, tied to a chair, was forced to watch helplessly. He killed all three, then he cooked something, before he left with the SUV that my father had given my mother for the twentieth year of marriage.
This man has destroyed my family, with the same simplicity with which the insecticide is sprayed on a nest of ants.
I changed my name after those events, and I enrolled in psychology courses. I studied and graduated with honors. But these academic achievements could not stifle the monster that lived inside me since then. I could not interact with anyone: the few people who tried to read my friend the pain inside me rotting, and I gradually moved away.
This man has destroyed my family, but not all. It destroyed my life.
I have long thought of vengeance, when I managed to become his psychological support.
But how can you avenge a man condemned to death? I could pounce on him with a knife during the first days I could easily hide in the false bottom of the case. But I only did a favor, probably.
No, I would have revenge for hitting his heart. This is why I stifled my feelings for two months, and I attended the monster that has killed my family.
And it was worth it. One day John has admitted he is not afraid to die, because he could continue to live in the spirit of her only daughter. His wife, a little good as him, leaving him putting their gear, many years ago. But John, despite drug addiction and his career as a serial killer, had followed from afar the progress of her child, who by now had become a woman. Was finishing college in the city, and though she would never have suspected who his father, he was the only bond of humanity, the only good thing done in a life of failure and violence. She was crying, cursed, and told me these things, showing a photograph of the young man who always carried with him. I had embraced. I smiled, sinking his head in his muscular shoulders. An evil smile, son of the monster that he unwittingly had created in me.
Know Sofia, the daughter of John, it was not difficult. I pretended interest in him, and after a couple of weeks she had invited me to go home. Her eyes were sweet, sincere smile, intelligence and enviable culture.
Two days ago I asked for a special evening at home. He was excited, poor thing.
While photographing I want to show to John today, shortly before his heart stopped beating, I felt very excited and scared at the same time.
While the prints, the next day, I felt a little 'guilty, but I should not leave room for such emotions.
Anxiety.
I smile while I open the paper bag inside which there are photographs.
"I show you something, before it's too late, John. But first I must tell you a story. A few years ago, while you have fun to break innocent lives, there was a guy with many dreams. He dreamed of being happy to be able to join the team of college football, one day. He dreamed of love, dreamed of being able to present to his parents his girl on the evening of dancing and to go on holiday on the southern coast with his sister, laughing together and smoke a pipe on the roof of the garage. He dreamed of making his mother proud, one day. All simple dreams, but rendered vain by the massacre of a psychopath like you, John. "
My voice is calm, perhaps too much. John looks at me quizzically, mumbled something, but I continue to talk. I have little time before the guard knocking on the door to tell me that my time is over.
"You destroyed my life, killing people dearest to me. You did it for no reason, without thinking. But even if I did not die that day, I too am a victim. Your thirteenth victim. Do not worry though, not all. I had to wait two months, pretending to be interested in you, for this moment. You know, there is a fourteenth victim. Here it is. "
Excitement.
In the envelope there are three photographs. In the first, I embraced and Sofia are facing the ocean at sunset. She is happy, smiling with her hair tousled by the wind. His eyes are half closed and one hand in front of face, blurred.
John looks at her and starts a cold sweat, I feel it.
"Piece of shit, what did you ...." I do not finish the sentence, and set before the second photo: Sofia is lying on the bed, wearing only a shirt that leaves uncovered the left shoulder. With one arm trying to hide her face: next to her I'm here, that the peck on the forehead.
last photo, which I slid as the tears begin to furrow the face, Sofia is lying on a wooden table, tied up, naked. His body is purple, covered with cuts and bruises. The eyes are closed, swollen, while the lips are purple. The head is turned back in an unnatural position. All around the table you grow a large patch of dark blood. John let out a yell, and take the head in his hands
"See, John, I tried somehow to prove that you had tried wiping my family. But I did not succeed. I played for forty minutes, with this little bitch, crying and screaming, but I was not satisfied. This is only my first experiment, I was hoping you could teach me what is the secret. You, John? "
But he is not responding. He holds his head in his hands, screaming, crying like a child who has been banned from going to the carnival. I shot photos inside the case, I get up and knock on the door. The jailer opens me and ask me what's going on.
afraid of dying, I tell him.
Calma.
John sees me, including the public execution. Her eyes are swollen tears. Yells at me, tells his Executioner that I killed her only daughter. The ravings of a madman, thought that.
At five twelve minutes his heart stopped beating.
I go to the funeral, Sofia is keen to accompany me. Yeah, Sofia. For those who have taken me? I could never put myself at his level. It was just a botticino of chloroform, stole the prison infirmary, and a good dose of carnival tricks. I must say that the work came well: Sofia has not noticed anything, aside from the slight headache the next day.
Blame the wine, I said.
John died with the certainty of having lost the only track that had managed to leave the world. I am happy
, after a long time, for the first time.
"It's your hard work, Alex. Do not envy you own, "she tells me, holding my hand, while the wooden crate enters the crematorium.
