This is the third part of a story that I wrote in response to this prompt:
You wake up in a jail cell, crusted blood covering your hands. You have no idea how you got there. The cell door clangs open, and an officer walks you to an interrogation room where two detectives wait to question you.Reedsy Prompts
“Hello? Who is this?” The male voice on the other side says.
“Misty Heart,” I reply.
“Ohh, Misty! Thank Jesus! Where are you? Haven’t heard from you since Monday! Thought the police got you.” I was supposed to report to this guy, Mason, I recall.
“They did but I’m out now. I don’t remember much of it but I think I’ll have to change my name. Anyway, I’ll take you up on that offer you made Sunday night.”
“Which offer? You already took care of the priest right?”
“Yeah, duh. I was talking about the other offer…”
“Holy shit! What the fuck did you do?” Mason interrupted me. That piece of shit!
“What the hell do you mean, Mason?” I say. I don’t remember half the things I do yet I complete his shit and he has the audacity to speak this way?
“You’re all over the news! Says you killed the town priest, Father Bolton. Your face is all over the T.V. with the name…Amelia Montez. What the fuck is this?”
“That’s not even my name. And I left unnoticed.”
“Not that unnoticeable in police uniform!”
“How do you know I’m in a police uniform?”
“Cuz the news says so. They know you’ve left. Where are you?”
“Near my apartment.”
“Says you live in your parents’ house. You hiding stuff from me?”
“That’s not true and don’t get in my business! They’ll never find me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m not Amelia. I’m Misty.”
“Yeah, don’t think the police would lie,” he says incredulously.
“I probably lied to the police, you dumbass!”
“Probably? You’ve been forgetting things all month! The hell’s wrong with ya?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll get myself out of this mess. Change the way my hair looks, get a new apartment outta town. A new name.”
“What about our business?”
“What about it?”
“That offer? There is a guy named Albert Scott. Lives on the outskirts. Big bucks and big cars. You gotta take care of him by Monday.”
“Consider it done.”
I lower my hand to hang up.
“And Misty?” His voice calls.
“I don’t care what secrets you have up your sleeves but keep me the fuck outta your mess.”
“If you want to keep that mouth, don’t talk to me this way ever again,” I say in the calmest voice before hanging up. He fears me. I know that. I’ve been living as a substitute teacher for god knows how long. Nobody fears me in school. Not even the kids. But out of school, I’m a new person, capable of intimidating priests. Mason, a dealer who almost everyone fears, fears me.
I walk down the road to my apartment building as the sun colors the sky in crimson streaks. Reaching my room, I quickly change out of clothes. I wear a scarf around my face. I pack my stuff in a big suitcase. It’s not much, really. Just some clothes and books. I didn’t intend to stay here long. Grabbing, the suitcase, I walked down to my landlord’s door. I knocked quickly and raced out after dropping the month’s rent. I may be a cold-blooded murderer, but I’m not a thief. If I want the money, I work for it. I kill for it.
I race out of the building and stumble into someone. Quietly, I apologize and pull out his phone from his pocket and make my way down the street. I hail a cab quickly. “Where to, miss?” The cab driver greets me with a nod.
“Out of this town. I have some business I need to take care of.”
I text Mason with the phone and tell him to arrange a house out of town for me. He obliges. He should, considering how he spoke to me. I look up to see that we’ve stopped in front of a signal and the cab driver is staring at me from the rear view mirror, curiously.
“Any problem?” I ask him charmingly.
“None at all. You alright there, miss?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It’s a warm evenin’ but you’re wearin’ a scarf, that’s why!”
“I have cold. Shouldn’t you be paying attention ahead?” I ask him coldly.
“Sorry, miss. Just curious, that’s all.” He shrugs. I want to slap him. Or better yet, quench my thirst. But I can’t do it here.
The signal turns green and the driver revs up the engine and starts driving. I watch as the buildings fade with time. I’m leaving town today. What will I do for a living? What will I do about my forgetfulness? Should I have met a doctor here? But I did meet one…And killed him. What’s wrong with me? Is this how I want to live the rest of my life? I squeeze my eyes shut. All my life, the people I’ve loved have abandoned me. This world is nothing but a pit of loneliness. Whatever I’m doing, or will do, doesn’t even matter. Loud noise pierces my ears. What the hell is going on? I open my eyes and widen them in shock. Police cars have flanked us on all sides.
My heartbeat quickens. The cab driver has halted and is about to open the door. I grab him from the back by his neck. His body becomes stiff. “If you want to get out of this cab alive, just drive ahead.” I whisper eerily.
The driver remains silent.
“Ms. Amelia Montez,” a loudspeaker shrieks amidst the sirens, “we’ve surrounded you from all sides. Kindly get out of the cab with your hands above your head.”
“Go on! Drive!” I shout at the driver.
Suddenly, he grabs hold of my wrist and yanks it forward. I hit my head on the back of his seat. He opens the door and jumps outside. I have no other option but to surrender.
I can’t. I have committed too many sins. I can never forgive myself. I have to choose. I have to choose between freedom and justice. I choose freedom.
“Whatever did happen to her?” A fellow detective asks me.
“Well, she decided her fate.” It always pains me to handle the cases of the dead but I’ve been doing it for a while now. Ms. Montez took her own life yesterday. I had interrogated her. I could have given her the resources to take professional medical help. But little did we know what she was suffering with.
“Decided her fate? Cannibals like her don’t deserve to “decide their fate”, you know? Oh, the number of people who’ve died because of her. That priest, for instance. He was a man of God. He didn’t deserve to die in the hands of that monstrous murderer.”
“She is dead now, Arnold. Must you speak that way?”
Arnold rolls his eyes in response. We are at the hospital where her body is. She took her life by strangling herself. It must have caused her pain. I peer at her through the window. Her face is covered by a veil and her hands are now clean of all the blood she has carried.
“Dead or not, Mark, a murderer is a murderer.”
“She didn’t even know what she was doing. I mean, she would go day without food and she wouldn’t remember half the things she did.”
“Quit sympathizing with her, Mark. She is a monster.”
“Was, Arnold. And I’m not sympathizing with her. I’m sympathizing with who she could have been.” Had she not suffered from Dissociative identity disorder. I don’t say it out loud. I could be wrong. But I remember her confused face in the interrogation room. I remember how she looked at herself in the glass. I wish we could have helped her.
“Well, I don’t care about who she could have been. Honestly, you don’t have the time to care, either. We have to find Mason Baron. That’s who she texted last, right?”
“Yeah, let’s find him.”
I take one last look at the girl under the sheet and walk away.
If you liked the story and would like to read more such posts, don’t forget to tell me about it. I don’t normally write in suspense or thriller genre but the prompt sparked my interest.
Click the Like button if you liked this post.
Don’t forget to share and comment!
And if you like my posts and would like to be updated with them, do Follow!
Keep reading and stay safe!