Kill to Write – 3

Posted: July 7, 2012 in English, Kill to Write
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Part 3…………. Last Part

She was bewildered of what she discovered about her husband. The medical laboratory result, the killings, missing husband. “Gawd!” she cried. “Where are you, demet!”

She tried calling everyone she knew asking if they saw her husband but everybody said, no.

“Hello!”

“Yes?” said the other person on the other line of the phone. The last person she knew her husband would had gone to.

“This is Sophia, may I speak with Dan?”

“Oh, thank God, Sophia! This is Nancy.”

Dan is Sam’s father and Nancy is his mother.

“Dan is out. Sam is here and he is just in his room. I’m worried about him. He drinks and sleeps the whole day. He won’t even eat. He’s a total mess. I’ve asked him what’s the problem but he wont talk. Can you just come over here if you’ve got some time. Can you help me to speak with him? I know that the two of you are going through something hard, but it would be a relief if you could help me about Sam. Please?”

“Thank God!” with a relief, she breathed deep. “Im coming over.”

“Thank you,” said Nancy, and they hang-up.

————–

“Can you let me speak to him first?” Sophia asked her dear mother-in-law. “I just would like to talk to him for a while and sort things out.”

Nancy nodded.

Sophia knocked on the door before she twisted the doorknob and slowly pushed the door. She was welcomed by the beer odor of the room. The light from the window was enough that she can see everything in the room. Cans of beer where on the floor. A pillow also was on the bloor.

She went close to the sleeping Sam. He looked rugged. Hair on his chin showed he has not shaved for a week now. She sat beside Sam. The bed moved but Sam was still sleeping like a baby. She moved her hand and stroke his hair. The guy he loved.

Sam was awoken with the feeling that he was not alone. And true to how he felt, someone was stroking his hair. He opened his eyes. Somebody was sitting on his bed, beside him. He thought it was his mom. He closed again his eyes to adjust from the light. He opened them. He saw Sophia.

“What are you doing here?” A tone of happiness in his voice. It really was his wife stroking his hair. She was looking at him intently. She was smiling.

“I am very sorry, Sam” her voice was shaking. She took a deep breath. She tried to control her emotions. But her tears were stubborn. They were starting to build until her eyes can no longer contain them and they fell.

Sam’s hands moved and tried to dried her tears. He was happy. The happiest man. There was a smile on his face. “It’s okay,” he said.

“I did not know,” she said.

“Shhhhh,” and he placed his finger on her lips. He pulled her to him. He embraced her tight. “Thank you for understanding. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

Nancy, who was at the door all the time, slowly pulled the door. She was happy. She was happy for her son and for Sophia.

——–
Epilogue

Back to Sam and Sophia’s house, in the private room of Sam, the journal was lying on the floor. It was flipped at the last page. The journal read:

The idea of killing two girls just to complete my two short story was a horror to me. I’ve drunk and drunk and spent most of my time drinking. Many times had I thought of surrendering to the police but I found no courage. Until one day, I decided to have an appointment with a psychiatrist.

My sessions went okay, until she recommended me to have a whole physical check-up. The less shocking discovery was I’ve got a tumor in my brain. It was not maligned. That was something less shocking compared to killing. It was discovered later that I have symptoms for schizophrenia.

The girls I though I have killed were products of my imagination. They did exist in my brain. I made sketches of them in case, just to remind myself.

I still am going through the same problem; the make-believe people in my realm. But now, I always make sure they actually do exist. I ask other people if they see the person I am talking to. If they act like I am a freak, I know that supposedly tangible person, is but a hallucination.

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