AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I put my face in my hands. “I wish I could help.” I sobbed.
I felt exhausted. Every ounce of strength I had left seeped out of me and onto the floor. I sank back into the bed, defeated, and kept my head down. The weight of the world seemed too much to bear at that moment.
Everything felt impossible.
Thoughts raced through my mind, each one more helpless than the last. I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and wake up from this nightmare that had become my life.
“You can help.” He growled. “You’re just going to let him walk free because you’re too scared to point him out. You know he is on this lineup. I know he is in this lineup. Put aside your personal feelings and help us get justice for all the girls who didn’t survive like you!”
He stabbed his fat, stubby finger onto the picture of Common’s face, and his nostrils flared. “Is this the man that tortured you?” The veins in his neck engorged, his face reddened, and spittle fell on his chin.
I nodded wearily in response to his question, feeling too exhausted and defeated to argue with him. My body ached, and my mind felt numb from his relentless questions. I was growing less and less clear on the details he kept pressing me for. My eyes fell to my lap as I sat slumped in my bed, willing my mind to disengage from the situation and float away to whatever peaceful place I could conjure up.
They left, and the crippling silence enveloped me once more.
To this day, I don’t know why I nodded. Dr. Larsen explained it was because of the volatile nature of his questioning, and it was my mind’s way of protecting me by trying to find an exit from the uncomfortable barrage of questioning. She tried to convince me that I was not to blame for what I did or did not say because of the trauma I had experienced.
My lawyer sent a strongly worded complaint to the FBI and demanded that Agent Shiner be reprimanded for his conduct and that any of my testimony be wiped clean due to my fragile state of mind at the time.
They responded with excuses and offered the option that I would not have to testify in person if I signed a deposition statement stating I had picked Commons out of the photo line-up.
As time went on, Common’s face began to morph intohisface, and I had no choice but to believe that he was the one who broke me. When the FBI sweetened the pot and threw in the new start in Oregon, I jumped at the opportunity and left before the trial commenced.
Over the years, I struggled with what I did. I knew in my heart that David Commons was innocent, but the documents I signed made it impossible to go back on my word.
Ava Thompson no longer existed, dead by suicide; perks of being a part of the FBI’s protective custody and the arrangement I made with them. Ava Monroe was just a girl who began a new life in a small coastal town with no belongings to her name and a wish for healing.
Years passed, and no other murders occurred, and I knew I had contributed to the condemnation of an innocent man. Regardless of what evidence the FBI and local authorities thought they had on him, he was just the unlucky schmuck it was pinned on. This ruse was the means to an end. The way they could end the harsh scrutiny and outrage of a very public murder case that made law enforcement look like clowns.
The killer had eluded law enforcement for years. When they thought they were close to catching him, he would disappear into thin air again. He taunted law enforcement and was always ten steps ahead of them. He somehow always knew where they would be.
It got so bad the FBI began an internal investigation to determine if someone in their department was the killer or was giving information to the killer. When nothing nefarious turned up, the subject was dropped.
David Commons denied knowledge of the folder and never admitted guilt to the murders, rightfully so. I always felt like the tip that pointed the FBI to Commons was conveniently timed. He was convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to death. He was still on death row and running out of appeal options. It didn’t matter that he had solid alibis for the timeframes when the bodies were found. It didn’t matter that he had no other evidence in his home or anything that tied him to the crimes.
The prosecutors focused on the hundreds of pictures in a hidden folder and my signed statement.My deposition had destroyed a man’s life, and I would always have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.
I continue to breathe through those past memories and fight to overcome the pain. After a few minutes, the dizziness begins to subside, and I am back in the present. I stand up and amble slowly into my kitchen. Tossing the newspaper down on my kitchen counter, I grab the nearest bottle of whiskey and pour myself a drink. The dark brown liquid warms my throat but does nothing to stop the chills I feel deep in my bones.
His dark eyes burn into my mind.
His deep voice whispers, “The pain you feel now willdisappear when your body realizes you are dying. It is your body's defense mechanism that sends the last bit of adrenaline to your nerves to comfort you in your finalmoments. But until then, I am going to use you. I am going to tear inside your body. The last thing you will see before you die is me.”
His hot breath violates my ear; his words are laced with seduction as he speaks perverted details of my impending death.
Fuck.I exhale loudly. It was going to be a long night, so I poured myself another drink, this time a double.
SIX
JAMES
My team and I had just entered Harborview when the sky lit up, thunder rumbled loud enough to shake the car, the windows rattled, and the side mirrors shook.
Fitting.
I was here to find the motherfucker that made the department look bad. Either this guy was flawless in his attention to detail to the murders committed, or the news reporters were right...they arrested the wrong man.
How else could he have had photos of all those women on his computer if he was not the killer?
