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“I love you, Joshua,” she whispers.
My tear-filled eyes meet hers. “I love you too. It’s ok. I don’t want you to hurt anymore,” I whisper.
“But I am, because my son is in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. He has lost his love at the hands of another. How can I help you, Joshua. Tell what you need,” she sobs.
My eyes hold hers and the tears break the dam and run down my face. “Find me Natasha’s body—that’s all I want. I need to bring her home to bury her.”
Her tears match mine as they run down our faces.
“Joshua, where are Natasha’s diaries?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, I’m not handing them over. Don’t ask me to.”
Her face drops. “So you do have them then? This will prove you’re innocent,” she whispers. “Natasha would not want you in prison like this. You need to be with your family. Please Joshua.”
I shake my head. “Her words die with me,” I whisper. “Her words die with me.”
Today’s verdict will be tomorrow’s headline and the look of anguish on Cameron’s face is unbearable. He has been with me blow by blow since Natasha went missing— they all have. Every member of our family have been behind me 100% and I couldn’t have asked for more. I’m so grateful for their unwavering support but I can’t put my family through this any longer. I just need this to be over. The details that they have brought up publicly about my past life have been unsavoury to say the least, my worst nightmare. Natasha’s mother and sister should never have had to listen to any of it let alone have to deal with it splashed all over the world news. The paparazzi presence in this courtroom today is overwhelming and I keep my eyes cast down so that they can’t get the shot of my face that they all so desperately want. Why is it that the perfect days in my life like the ones in Natasha’s arms flew by in the blink of an eye but the horrific final day of my court case is the slowest day in history? My mind goes back to the last interrogation I received at the hands of the prosecutor.
“So, Mr Stanton, I understand that the prostitute was blackmailing you with movie footage of you and her having sex?”
I drop my eyes in shame. “Yes,” I murmur.
“And you didn’t want Natasha to ever know about this movie did you?” he yells.
“No,” I reply in a monotone.
“But she found out didn’t she?” he yells.
“Yes,” I reply.
“But then the prostitute kept going, didn’t she, and she wanted more money and she threatened to go to the press with it and shame your fiancée and her family,” he yells.
“Yes,” I reply.
“So you had her murdered,” he screams.
“No,” I reply.
“Yes you did!” He walks over to the jury members. “Because that’s how this controlling, rich, self-absorbed man thinks. He can control every situation. Every person he comes into contact with must do as he demands or there will be hell to pay. So you can imagine the rage he felt when the love of his life fell in love with her bodyguard.” His eyes come back to me.
I shake my head. “No,” I reply. “That’s not true.”
“The outrage and furious state you would have been in,” he yells.
I shake my head. “No.”
“We have the footage. You were threatening to kill the bodyguard. You pushed her into the car against her will. You drugged her and cut her throat and murdered her in silence and then drugged yourself to cover your crime,” he yells. “Didn’t you!” he screams.
I shake my head. “No!” I yell. “I did not.”
“Your fingerprints were on the Rohypnol which was found in your house.” He yells across the crowded hushed room. “Your fingerprints were on the knife that killed Natasha Marx.”
“I don’t know how they got there,” I reply.
“Do not insult my intelligence!” he yells. “We are not stupid, Joshua Stanton. You have full-time guards on every property. Nobody could have got that drug into your premises without being seen! You are a control freak! You have murdered a prostitute because she wasn’t playing by your rules and got away with it and now you have murdered your own fiancée because she dared to fall out of love with you. Money can’t save you this time, Joshua Stanton.” His eyes go back to the jury and he paces in front of them. “I beg the jury to not let Natasha Marx’s death be in vain. Joshua Stanton will do this again, he is aggressive and violent, he is a drug addict and dangerous to this community. Can you have another death on your conscience?” he yells. “Because that is exactly what is going to happen if this man walks free today.”
The jury all stay silent and I drop my head. I really would like to kill him right now—maybe he’s right. I am a danger. I am going to kill the person who did this—without a doubt. I have no fear anymore. I could die tomorrow and not feel any pain. I have crossed over to the other side, a zombie in this life without my love. My heart and soul have been ripped from the very body that sits here and the only thing that is keeping me alive is the internal image of me killing the person who has done this. What’s happened to me? The darkness has taken me over and I am scared of what I am going to do. I don’t know what I am capable of anymore. Who am I?
