I couldn't have killed her. First of all, she was alive. Secondly, I would have remembered something like that. No, those points weren't valid. Crystal came back after she'd died and I was very young. There's a chance I blocked it out. Maybe I'm just denying the truth. I'm a murderer.
I pulled myself from my bed and rushed to the bookcase where I kept Wilson's book. I had to find something to prove I didn't do it. Something solid. I had to. I slowly felt the panic settle in as I flicked through the pages.
The only thing I found was this page that mentioned a protégé doing something horrible, but it doesn't say what or who. I shut the book and sat on my bed looking at the wall. All this time I had thought that I wasn't dark on the inside. That I wasn't tainted by the actions of my family. It seems during this entire time the voice had been right. I was evil. A child-killer to my core.
The softness of the bed muffled my punch of frustration. Was it just this one that I'd killed, or was there more? Had my Father stopped me before I had gone too far? Why was I still alive?
A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts, "Come in." I fought to regain composure as the opening door revealed Crystal. Her troubled look increased my motivation to put my problems aside, "What's wrong?"
Crystal looked very concerned, something was really bothering her, "I'm afraid that John is going to do something rash."
No comments:
Post a Comment