crime and craziness

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Chapter 1: assylum day 1
(by Tim, added on 20 September 2009 02:12 AM)

I am not crazy! I know I am not. I don't have a good alibi, sleeping in my apartment alone, but I think I would know if I did this. They "caught" me yesterday, and said I had killed a man, John Weatherby, and then written a full confession in his blood from the stab wounds. I never got to read it of course, but I did hear about it on the news. I sit in this room, with walls made of rubber, alone, supposed to be reflecting, but on what? I didn't do anything, I know I didn't. I am not crazy! I will tell you about that night.

Chapter 2: what "really" happened
(by Tim, added on 23 September 2009 03:23 AM)

It isn't what anyone would call the perfect alibi. I live alone, being that I am only a university student. There is only my apartment building records to testify that I didn't leave, but those aren't too helpful because anyone could have forged my signature (or so says the police). We only have one witness that says I was there, the building superintendant. I went to my apartment, watched a crime thriller on TV, (the police say it's my apetite for crime thrillers and mystery shows that led me to write the confession in the victim's blood), but that isn't true. Who doesn't like a good crime show? I then proceeded to dress in my bathrobe and go to sleep alone, just like I do every night. Nothing special happened, nothing significant. Why would anyone want to frame me? I work in a civil coffee shop, where we all get along well and cooperate. I have no enemies, and am on good terms with my whole family. well i know one thing, they won't get me to talk trick me into saying these things. I saw a movie once where a man admitted something that was untrue to the police just because they kept him in a cell for a week over it, but they won't get me.

Chapter 3: Starting Over
(by NativeRose, added on 18 October 2009 10:02 PM)

I must be cooperative; otherwise, they will automatically assume that I have something to hide. Still, their presuppositions naturally make me belligerent. I know exactly where I was and what I was doing when the murder took place. I'm not violent at all, and any of my coworkers would wholeheartedly testify that I wouldn't do something so disgusting as to write the confession in the man's blood. I mean, that's a Charles Manson type of killing. But will character witnesses be enough? And how can they prove it was me anyway?

Now I am at the police station, I have been fingerprinted and photographed, and I'm sitting in an interrogation room across from Detective Lyndsey Williams and her partner, Jacob Ashley.
"Your name is Kenneth Kelly--is that right?" Detective Ashley asks me.
"Yeah," I mutter. "is this some kind of joke or something?" I ask.
"What do you mean?" Lyndsey asks me.
"You're a blind cop?"
"Yes." she states with determination.
"Look," I blurt out, "how do you people know I did this? Did anyone dust for fingerprints or find DNA? What do you really have tying me to the crime?"
"What a botched job--" Jacob mutters, before he can catch himself.
"First, we owe you an apology," Lyndsey begins, "the detectives who initially responded to this case did a lot of things wrong, so we need to start from the beginning."
"Okay, I don't really care. Just don't target me; don't convict me for a crime I didn't commit. And no, it was not temporary insanity!" I can't help but come across as uncooperative; I mean, they had me pegged from the beginning. They didn't even look at other suspects.

"Mr. Kelly, can you tell us your connection with the deceased?"
"Yeah, John worked at the coffee shop with me, and his sister is my girlfriend."
"Okay, we're going to need to talk to her. What's her name?"
"Leanna. We were all in the same youth group at a church a few years ago. That's before we all graduated from high school. John and I worked at the university coffee shop, and since Leanna is going into music ministry, she pretty much lives at the music center. I was at home when the murder took place. See, I had just gone to see Leanna perform in the play, and then I went to McDonalds for a Big Mac, fries and apple pie. When I got home I went to bed right away, because I had an early class the next day. John was at work that night. I remember that because he told Leanna that he would have to go to the matinee performance of the play the following day to see her perform. Have you talked to my superintendent? He saw me come in that night. You could also talk to some people who went to the play and the admissions folks. They saw me go to the auditorium."
I gave Lyndsey and Jacob names of some friends and the superintendent from my building.
"Thanks for coming in today, Kenny," Jacob said.
"We'll start with these people and get back to you in a few days." Lyndsey finished as we walked out of the police station. I sighed with relief when they turned to go back in. I was certain that they would find me innocent. It didn't occur to me that the perpetrator would do anything to pin the murder on me. I never considered possible danger to me; I never considered just how far the killer would go to avoid being discovered.

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