“Oh my god, the doc is dead?!” exclaimed Parks. The kid turned to him and with something of a glint in his eye said, “Yes. It was a very brutal murder. Terrible it was. There was a lot in the papers about it.” the kid seemed to be quite calm while narrating to us his life story but it seemed odd to me though, the way the kid had narrated that part of his life to us. The people who were listening had increased by a large number. It seemed like all the inmates wanted to hear what the kid had to say. I guess it’s to do with human curiosity. Everyone was probably wondering how such a young kid had gotten into death row. He seemed detached, so unaffected by all that he was saying. During the course of our stay here he had been the one who seemed so full of life, the one who had taught us to hope. I still didn’t understand how he had made it in here. I still couldn’t understand how the doc fit in either. It really didn’t make too much sense to me. There was more to this kid’s story than he let on. He hadn’t told us all of it. Of that I was sure. I wanted to hear the rest. Parks wanted to hear about the murder of the doc he had worked with but it had to wait because our time in the exercise yard was over. Steve and Parks both made the kid promise them that he wouldn’t go on till they were all there. The kid smiled and said, “Don’t worry; I only play to a packed house.”
That night, I thought about what the kid had said. The poor kid seemed to have had the perfect childhood. Then something had gone wrong. From what the kid said, it had to have something to do with the doc. There was something about the doctor that bothered me. I couldn’t quite place it but there sure was something.
The next day, we were waiting for the kid to come so he could resume his story. We discussed all that had happened until then. Everyone had their own take but the general consensus was that there was something that was not right about the doc. Some loose end had to be tied up. No outsider would have believed that this was death row. No one seemed to bother about their dates. People were actually bothered about the kid. People didn’t just sulk in their cells, they looked forward to the next day, they wanted to know what had driven such a kid to do something so horrible that he had landed up on death row.
The kid walked up to us and everyone waited for him to begin. He looked at Parks and said, “Parks, you want to know the details of the murder of Lisa’s dad, well here goes.” The kid sat down next to me. He ran a hand through his thick hair. There was something about the kid today. He was not himself. Something had come over him. He seemed different. Parks couldn’t wait for him to start. The kid looked at Parks, smiled and said, “It was the bloodiest murder ever. The cops had received a call from Lisa and she just seemed too dazed to answer their questions. As soon as the cops reached there, they found Lisa sitting on the porch steps, her hands bloody. They ran in looking for intruders but all they found was Dr.Patterson. He was found in his private clinic lying face down in a pool of his own blood. It seemed like someone had tried to make him a human pin cushion. The medical examiner had been called. The victim was thought to be Dr.Patterson. The face had been so badly disfigured that there was no way he could be identified without checking dental records later. The coroner’s preliminary examinations revealed that the victim had been shot first and then repeatedly stabbed. The nature of the crime disturbed the cops a lot. This seemed like a murder that was motivated by passion. The face was a bloody mess. The victim had been stabbed 57 times after being shot in the back twice. From the bullet hole, it seemed like a 9mm was what the coroner said. He told the police chief he’d have to take the body back to the hospital to get a proper idea if the victim had died off the gun shots or if the stab wounds had been the cause of death. The surprising thing about this murder was that there seemed to be no sign of forced entry. No door or window in the house seemed forced. They couldn’t understand it; the doctor was a well known doctor, why would anyone want to kill him and why in such a brutal manner? The police looked for clues around the house. They couldn’t find the gun and the knife that had been used in the murder.
The papers had a field day. They made a lot out of the fact that Lisa had been alone and she hadn’t been touched. Certain papers even hinted that she was the one responsible. Fortunately some friends of the doctor had taken her in. they looked after her and kept her out of the glare of the media. The cops didn’t know what to do. They had a badly disfigured body that had been identified as Dr.Patterson. The coroner said the two gun shots to the back had been enough to kill the doctor. The first one had punctured a lung and would not have been fatal but the second had hit home. It lodged in his heart. Then it seemed that the murderer had gone mad. Out had come the knife and he had gone on stabbing the doctor. He had kept stabbing him again and again and again. Preliminary examination had relieved that the doctor’s pants seemed to have been undone at the time of the crime. This led the coroner to think that maybe the murder was sexually motivated. It totally fit in with the brutal nature of the murder. Only a murder that was sexually motivated could have such a brutal nature. There was some semen found on the doctors pants. Tests determined that it belonged to him. His clothes when sent for testing revealed traces of blood and semen. Both belonged to him. The cops were stumped. The doctor had been either in the process of personal sexual gratification or he was in the act of doing something when the murderer walked in, found him and then shot him twice in the back. Then the murderer seemed to have gone mad. The murderer had then picked up a knife and gone at the doc and carved him up real good. Then as no clues seemed to surface, the cops played their last card in an act of desperation. They called in Lisa for questioning. The lawyers tried to get her out of it but there really was nothing they could do. She was the first person to see the doctor after his death. She had called the cops. Her first statement had simply said that she had been playing outside and that the doctor normally spent a lot of time on his own in the clinic. She had heard two bangs but hadn’t thought much of it. Then it had started raining and she had gone inside and when she didn’t find daddy she had looked in his clinic. She had seen him on the floor in a pool of blood and had immediately called 911. She had tried to go back to where daddy was but the whole sight was too much for her to take and she had stayed out. The cops tore her apart. They said that the story was fabricated. It had started raining by 4.45 that evening. The time of murder had been between 5.50 and 6.15. So if she had run and looked for her dad when it had started raining then how could she account for that gap of 55 minutes? Where was she? How come she hadn’t seen or heard the killer. Besides there was no sign of any sort of a forced entry so how had the murderer entered? Things were changing very fast. They stated that Lisa was a suspect. That’s when it started getting odd. The next day the police received an anonymous phone call telling them that the gun was the doctors own. The police had seen the collection of guns in the doctor’s office and had thought of checking them for prints but all the guns seemed to be in place and the lock hadn’t been tampered with. Now that Lisa was a suspect as an accomplice it was possible that she had opened it for the murderer. Immediately the guns were taken out and tested for finger prints and sure enough the 9mm that the doctor owned showed up fingerprints and a bullet had been fired recently from that gun. The fingerprints belonged to a child but they weren’t Lisa’s. Now the cops were even more stunned. Another kid? Who? Why? Where was the motive? It had to be Lisa. There was no other explanation. Then again there was the problem of motive.” There was this look on the kids face, something I had never seen before and it scared me. It looked like he was reliving something. Like he was seeing something happening and then it fell in place. Everything just did. There it was as plain as day. Another kid had done it. Who else could it be? Who else could it possibly be? But then again what was the motive for the kid? What would have driven the kid to do something that crazy? Something that mad? Why would he have killed the doctor? I looked at the kid and realized that he had stopped talking. He was looking at me. They were all looking at me. Then he said, “So Al, you finally figured out who killed the doc? Surprised?” and he seemed to almost laugh. I couldn’t understand it. I looked at him and then at the others. They hadn’t seemed to have figured out who the killer was. I looked at them. How could they not know? Wasn’t it obvious? “Ok, Alex here is going to tell you who the killer is” said the kid putting his hand around me. I flinched at his touch. This kid that I had cared about was a psycho. He was stark raving mad. He had killed the doctor apparently for no reason. I looked at him and the kid I had known seemed to have disappeared, instead some stranger was standing there. I looked down and then without any feeling at all I said, “It was him. It was the kid that got the doc.” I sat back down. I didn’t want to hear the rest. It didn’t seem to matter now. I don’t know what I had expected but I thought that somehow the kid must have been wrongly accused or implicated in some way. I almost laughed at myself. I was hoping for a miracle.
The kid didn’t seem to have finished. He was telling them, “You guys want to know what happened?” What drove an eleven year old to do the horrible things I did? Don’t you want to know why Lisa seemed to be very quiet and reserved around her father? Don’t you want to know why I didn’t want to go back to his house for that, that therapy. Why I was sore all over. It was his doing, all his doing. That bastard! That Bastard! He, he had been touching me, he always touched me.” I was stunned. The kid was literally shaking; his hands were clenched into fests. He went on, “That Bastard! That Bastard! The first time I went to him for the therapy that Bastard made me take my clothes off. He said it was so that the therapy worked properly. Then he told me to lie down on that cold steel bed. Then he sat back and just looked. I was so scared. I felt so awkward. I pleaded with him. I begged him to let me put some clothes on. I begged him. He wouldn’t listen. He just wouldn’t. He said it was for my good. He always said it was for me. Everything was for me. I tried telling mama but she wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t listen. She took me back there every singe time. The next time he started touching me. Not my leg but touching me. Touching me there.” The kid was shaking. He had his arms wrapped around himself and his voice was trembling. He went on, “He would touch me and every time I tried moving away, he would push me back down. He would force me down. Then when I tried running he slapped me, he slapped me! He would hold my arms down and even tie me up. I hated him. I hated that bastard. Every time my therapy would happen he’d put the light off and put on only a red light. Then it got worse. He would make me sit up and then make me touch him. He’d make me touch him there. He made me hold it. He’d put his hand over mine and he’d make me move it up and down. Up and down, again and again and again.” The kid had his eyes tightly shut and he was crying by now. It was like he was reliving all that had happened. He sat down on the floor and he held his knees close to his chest and he was rocking back and forth. He was shaking. And then he went on, “He would moan, he would moan. It was so scary. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want him close to me. I wanted to push him away. Away, away from me. When mama tried to come with me once, something I had been praying for, he didn’t let her. I wanted to scream out, “Mama…… mama….. Please. Please tell him to stop. Please tell him to stop. Stop him. Why did you let him do this to me? Why? Why couldn’t you stop it? Lisa knew, she knew. He did it to her too. He did the same thing to her too. She told me. She showed me the marks. The places where he’d hit her if she didn’t touch him. He would hurt her. He would climb up on her and he would hurt her. Every day. He would hurt her. He was raping her. He was raping her. Again and again he was raping her. He was her father. How could he rape her? Then he started doing it to me. He would ask me to turn around and then he’d enter me. He would hurt me if I shouted. I would bleed so much but he wouldn’t stop. He just wouldn’t stop. He would go on and on. He would keep entering me and he would say things. Say dirty things. When I tried to fight he would slap me. He’d hit me. He’d hit me.” the kid looked at us and said, “You don’t know what it feels like. To have that dirt inside you. Inside you, running through you all the time. That dirt inside, you feel like clawing yourself, like tearing yourself apart in an attempt to get rid of it, to lose it.” he was clawing at himself, at his hands, his neck, his leg. “I can still feel it. It’s his dirt inside me. Inside me, in my blood. I couldn’t let him do this to Lisa. I couldn’t let him just keep doing this. I had to do something, I had to. That day when I went to Lisa’s house he was there. He was doing it to her. He was forcing it down her mouth. Gagging her, choking her. He forced her, he threatened her. He made her do it. I don’t know what happened, something in me just snapped. I knew where he kept his guns. I got the keys, got his gun and I went in there and I shot him. Then I picked up the knife and I stabbed him, again and again and agiain. I stabed him, each time I did that I was hitting him, stabbing him, hurting him, stopping him. I turned him over and then went on stabbing him. He seemed to be looking at me. I gouged his eyes out, I tore his face apart. I couldn’t take him still looking at me that Bastard. That dirty, slimy bastard.” The kid was in a bad state. His hands were shaking and his eyes were wild with a fire in them that could only have come from pure hatred. No one budged, no one said a word. He just sat there and we sat there watching him. Each of us alone with our thoughts. Thinking about what must have gone through the poor kids head. I tried to think of this happening to a child and how much it must affect a child. I sent up a silent prayer that my Angie didn’t have to go through any of this. I felt so terrible for being such a hopeless father to Angie. I walked up to the kid, put an arm around him and he turned and hugged me. He held me so tight. Just like Angie would. He was still shaking, his chest heaving.