THE KILLER

I know how Rosaline Banks died.
I know because I killed her.
I had nothing against her. In fact, she was a sweet young girl. I am certain she had potential to grow up and be a fine young lady. I'd only met her once before, but once was enough.
I murdered her because of her father.
I'm not mentally ill. I'm perfectly sane, I swear. I'm not some crazy serial killer who gets high off of dead bodies and the scent of fresh blood. Rosaline Banks did not deserve her death. I'm the first to admit that.
But her father? He deserved it. An eye for an eye, that's the saying, isn't it?
Let me explain.
Rosaline Banks' father is named Aldrich Banks. He is supposedly the best and most reliable lawyer in all of New York State.
Reliable my ass. Aldrich Banks destroyed my life.
I met Rosaline when I visited her father at their enormous penthouse apartment. It was clear that it was not very lived in, considering the thin layer of dust coating every surface. The silk throw pillows on the leather couch were fluffed and propped up perfectly, the stack of fashion magazines on the glass coffee table stacked precariously and artfully. I doubted that a single one of them had ever even been opened.
"Rosaline, get out here!" Her father had hollered. He was pale, skin so fair that it looked like he hadn't seen the sunlight in many days. His hair was the lightest blonde, and eyes that were a clear greyish-blue. He wore his hair slicked back, and had on a suit that probably cost my entire month's wage. His wife was next to him.
I remember his wife being a puzzle. Aldrich barely spoke of her, but always had high praise for Rosaline. But when I met the family, it was clear that Aldrich loved his wife entirely. She had long, light brown hair that did not look brushed and had paint splattered through it. Her eyes were a murky greeny-brown, and looked exhausted, with purple bags under them. She had paint over her hands and arms and clothes. She was kind, but didn't seem to be all there, if you know what I mean. Saying she was absentminded is an understatement.
And then Rosaline came out, obeying her father. My first thought was that she was a doll. She wore a black dress with a Peter Pan collar, long socks, and a pair of Oxfords. She greatly resembled Aldrich, as though her mother's features had gotten lost on her face. Her hair was long and same same blonde as her father's. Her eyes were wider and bluer, a shy smile on her face when we were introduced and she whispered hello. She wore a locket.
After that, she darted away silently. Aldrich never noticed. And that was the only time Rosaline and I had ever met.
I was her father's client. He was my lawyer on a case that would ruin my entire life if we lost.
And we did.
I used to be fine. I used to have a wife, a son, and a daughter.
Now I have none, and it is Alrich Banks' fault.
But I gave Aldrich what he deserved. Now he has no wife or child either.
Let me elaborate. My ex-wife is named Caroline.
Caroline Reeves. I met her when I was four years old. Four, goddammit. Caroline has been my entire life. Aldrich Banks ruined my entire life.
Caroline was my next door neighbour. She moved in across the street the year we were both starting kindergarten. She wore pretty flowered shirts with long sleeves and lacy collars, with overall dresses, long socks, and Mary Janes.
Caroline had red hair that she wore in pigtails back then. I still remember it. We grew up together, riding bikes down our block, eating Popsicles and swimming in the community pool when it was hot in the summers, building snowmen and throwing snowballs when it was cold. She was my first everything - first crush, first girlfriend, first kiss, first time. We got married, for god's sake.
Caroline and I bought our first house together. It was a small New York City apartment, but it was ours. We ended up moving to a bigger loft when we found out Car was pregnant.
It was a baby girl. We had planned to name her Lucy.
Lucy was stillborn.
Caroline had three miscarriages before our son was born. He was our only child for many years, as it was evident we were rather infertile.
My son's name is Theodore. Theodore James Reeves. He was named after Caroline's brother.
Theo and Caroline were the best things to ever happen to me. Aldrich Banks was the worst.
Theo is smart. He is incredibly smart, and so talented and kind and loving. He was the best child anyone hopes for, and everything he did made his mother and I proud. He looks like Caroline, with pale skin and freckles dotting every surface, his hair the bright red that is a trademark of Caroline's family. When he grew older, he lost the cherished freckles and fiery red hair, adopting a look that is all pale skin and dark auburn hair, his eyes a pretty blue. He is charming and kind.
Theo was an only child until he was eleven years old. Then, Caroline announced that she was pregnant. The pregnancy lasted longer that we thought it would.
But not long enough. We only had our daughter for six years. Six years. There is so much more she could have accomplished if she had her entire life.
We named her Violet. Violet Lucy Reeves. She was our everything, along with Theo. Our baby girl was born with wisps of red hair like her brother, but by the time she was six, she had pretty blonde locks, freckles dotting her cheeks, and wide blue eyes like Theodore.
My daughter was murdered at six years old. Murders are not uncommon in New York - just pay attention to the news every once in awhile. But it wasn't just the homeless man or the tax evader. It was my baby girl, my six year old.
Vi was hit by a car on Christmas Eve. Her pink tricycle, the one with the bell on the handlebars and the streamers, had rolled onto the street. She went to get it, and a car came ripping around the corner. It was a hit and run.
Aldrich was our lawyer. He failed us. He lost the case for us, and the driver didn't pay for what he did. Not one penny.
I lost my daughter. And I thought it was only fair that Aldrich Banks should lose his as well.
After Violet was killed, my entire family was destroyed. My wife, my dear Caroline, was ruined. She didn't get out of bed for weeks. Theo never slept. He's seventeen now, and his sister's death took a massive toll on him. He started failing his classes, which shocked his teachers, as he's an incredibly intellectual boy. And me? Oh, I just wanted revenge. Revenge for Violet's death, revenge on Aldrich Banks for losing the case, revenge for my sweet Caroline deciding she wanted a divorce. And now I'm alone in my apartment, my son and wife across the city in their apartment, my daughter six feet beneath the ground. I'm alone with nothing but alcohol and my haunting thoughts. And if Rosaline was here, I'd tell her how sorry I was. She was nothing but a pawn in my plan. But she's not here.
If you want all the details on Rosaline's death, you'll have to pay attention a little longer. Pay attention to the details. I'm not planning to get caught for Rosaline's murder, and I'm not planning on her body being found either.
We'll just have to wait and see.