"When this monster entered my brain, I will never know, but it is here to stay. How does one cure himself? I can't stop it, the monster goes on, and hurts me as well as society. Maybe you can stop him. I can't."

- Dennis Rader, known as the BTK Killer (standing for "Bind, Torture, Kill") murdered 10 people between 1974 and 1991.

Chapter 19 (grab some tissues)

It had been a week since Even Parkers body was found and I was still trying desperately to recover. I had found nothing more in the files that shrouded my room and Vans hadn't found anything amongst the whispers of the prisoners. My father, who was recovering quite quickly, would be back to work in less than a week.

I had a feeling he was deeply disappointed in me for not making any progress on the case. But, when I complained that the replacements wouldn't allow me to see George, he had called up the prison and made it clear that I was allowed access to question all the prisoners. And all the prisoners included George.

I was giddy with happiness as the sun rose on the horizon and shone golden over the sparkling dew grass. Now that the Welshes couldn't stop me from seeing George, I finally had the chance to save him from further prosecution. All I had to do was prove he was nowhere near the two victims at the time of their death and hope that he had an alibi.

The prison was dark when I arrived, darker than usual.

An atmosphere of death clung to the air like decay. No one whispered a word about the body, but it invaded their thoughts like the plague; latching its cold hand onto their brains and twisting the soft matter in its fist.

The cells, which had been recently cleaned, could not brighten the mood with the whiteness of their mattresses. Instead, they served to remind the inmate's of the pitiful life they lived, where the only bright source of light came from a cleaned bed.

I quickly decided that it was not the day to be seen by the prisoners; they didn't need me to remind them further of the fact they were faced with every day; one way or another, they would die at the gloved hands of an official with a needle. So instead of going my usual way, past the cafeteria, I used the elevator that led directly up to the office level, walked through the upstairs, and came down another elevator at the other side of the prison.

I walked at a brisk pace, my heeled feet screaming in agony, to reach the cell that held Uncle George. Comforted by my fathers phone call, I knew no one would stop to question me about what I was doing. But, I knew the cell would be heavily guarded, as they were holding him there until further evidence could be gathered about Harvey James, so it would be hard for me to have a private word with George. I had to be more cautious about what I said to him, or I needed to find a way to speak to him without being heard.

There were questions I needed to ask that would be dangerous if heard.

As I finally rounded the corner to the highly guarded cell, which looked much like the other grey cells, my breath was caught in my throat by the skinny fingers of anxiety.

What if he didn't want to see me?

What if he hates me for not getting him out?

What if everything I did was for nothing?

The thoughts zoomed within my mind like tiny racecars on steroids. The only thing that stopped me from crumbling to the floor in messy heap was the penetrating gaze of the guards that lined the walls.

I straightened suddenly, not wanting to appear weak. As I rushed forwards, the guards stepped aside, revealing the face of the man whose innocence I had been fighting for.

George looked like a living hell. He was nearly unrecognizable underneath the bruised swelling of his skin. He was crumbled onto the cell floor, hands around his knees, cheeks unusually plumped, lips blackened with old blood, and eyes shrouded by swollen eyelids.

Disgust swelled in my stomach as I realized who was responsible; the guards. No doubt, they got bored on their watch and decided it would be fun to beat the man who had been framed for murder. They beat the small until the numbers begin to add up in their mind, making them feel like bigger men for having conquered so many little ones. But it doesn't make them bigger or stronger, it just makes them wicked.

"Emily?" George's soft voice broke through the air like a sugar cracker, a sweetness long awaited.

I rushed to the cell door, griping the bars fiercely in my hands, before crumbling down to my knees. He reached for me, his rough hand curling over my own around the coolness of the metal bar. 

I rested my head against the metal, feeling George do the same, and sighed. Relief and sadness mixed in the cauldron of my stomach, stirred together by our reunion, provoking my eyes to fill with droplets of water.

George's hand tightened around my own as the first droplet fell from my eye and onto the floor, the spot turning the cement into a darker shade of grey. His hand warmed my own and I forced myself to look into his beautiful eyes. Like the sea, they told of a thousand stories, good and bad alike. Somehow, they made me love him even more.

I tried to smile, to comfort him, but I knew I failed when his own face fell into a deep-set frown.

A throat cleared from behind me and I stood quickly to face one of the guards. Brown hair swept over his eyes and a beer belly that stretched his uniform, he seemed both awkwardly out of place and out of mind.

I bit the inside of my cheek before making a quick decision; to speak before they did.

"I'd like to speak to him alone, please. My father would like me to ask him some confidential questions." It wasn't exactly a lie, there were some things I needed to ask, but I desperately wanted a moment alone with the man who had cared for me for so many years.

He stared at me, wide eyed and mouth aghast, but didn't make a move to leave. He turned to the other guards, who shrugged, unsure of how to react. I pushed again, knowing I could win the fight.

"I wont free him you idiots. You know I am here and there is footage if I do." I gestured to the cameras about the hallway.

They still didn't budge.

So I tried a different approach.

"Leave us or I swear I will get you fired. Ill tell my father how you beat an innocent man beyond recognition and I'll have the recording to prove it." I jabbed my finger towards the security camera above my head, frustration clear in my voice. I knew I was abusing my power, but so did everyone else in the prison, so I didn't care.

Finally, after passing gazes to one another once again, the brown haired guard nodded and began to recede down the hallway. The other two soon followed, passing looks of worry over their shoulders, as they left me alone with a criminal.

My chest lifted when it filled with oxygen and fell as it was suddenly released. I turned sunk back down onto the cement in front of George's slumped form. Through the bars I reached to grab onto his hands, which were clenched into fists in his lap. Sensing his anxiety, I squeezed his hands in my own, careful not touch any stray bruises on his hands or knuckles.

"George, I—"

"Do you remember when I taught you how to use your tape recorder?" My heart tightened at the memory, the tears beginning to collect in my eyes once again. I knew he was changing the topic to avoid answering the questions he knew I had to ask, but I didn't stop him from talking.

"I remember it like it was yesterday. You rushed into the cafeteria with it in your hand, crying, because you didn't know how to play back your recordings. You darn nearly broke it as you smacked it down on the table," He laughed roughly, "but I calmed you down eventually. I gave you my waffle didn't I?"

I nodded slowly, shaking shoulders jolting the tears out of my eyes.

"Then I showed you how easy it was, and you couldn't stop smiling when you listened to your first recording. You hugged me and a guard saw. He punched me in the face because he thought I was going to hurt you. But I didn't mind, it was all worth it. To see you smile like that... well, I would do anything to see you do that again."

"George..." I gripped his hand tighter in my own as a tear slipped off of his stubble-covered chin and onto the floor.

"I would, Emily. You're always frowning now, never smiling. I just want to see you happy again, like you were when you were younger."

"Things are much more complicated now." I smiled sadly, but he refused to look at my face. He only shook his head as he continued to stare at the ground, tears rolling off of his face soundlessly.

The air fell silent between us, heavy with words that needed to be said but did not want to be heard.

I nibbled the inside of my cheek and shuffled closer to the bars, unsure of how to word my next sentences. I reached into my pocket, fingering my tape recorder until I found the record button. Pressing my thumb firmly onto the little red square, I reached back out to grab George's hand.

"I know you are innocent, George... But I need to hear it from you." I stroked the back of his hand with my thumb, hoping to coax some answers out of his frail throat.

"I'm not innocent, Emily. I've committed crimes before." He mumbled, withdrawing his hands from my grip to run them down his face.

"I know, George, and I don't care. The only thing I care about is helping you get out of this horrible cell. But before I do that I need to know one thing; did you kill Harvey James?"

I watched him as his hands stopped running down his face and he rested his forehead in the palms of his hands. When you know someone for so long, and it is your job to observe and record your surroundings, you are able to interpret what their body language is telling you. 

At that moment, I knew, right down from his ridged shoulders to the sweat collecting on his collar, that he was scared. He was about to tell me the truth, and I don't know if I was ready for the answer.

"I don't know." His voice, barley audible in the enclosure of the cell, sent a wave of electricity down my spine, shocking my nerves, bringing my heart to a stand still.

"What?" The whisper escaped from my lips before I could stop it. Unknowingly, my hands had begun to grip the bars tighter than I knew possible, tearing the skin from my palm.

"I—I black out. I lose time sometimes... its what happened when—when I first did what I did to get in here, Emily. So I don't know—I don't know if I killed him." His words snatched a hold of my own, leaving me speechless and uncertain.

His words, which had been broken apart by sobs, sunk into my bones as he began to cry. Shoulders shaking and head heaving, the noises that left his throat were both alien and heartbreaking. He rocked himself back and forth as his mouth was left open, giving his tongue permission to spill his emotions into the air. 

The tears that rolled off of his cheeks were accompanied by the fluids that leaked from his nose. As each drop made splashed onto the floor, my shock was watered down until it liquefied.

George, the man I had known since I was a child, was a murderer. There was no doubt to that fact, only the time that existed between his last kill.

I was left, bear and cold on the cement, with one utterly important unanswered question.

Did George kill Harley James?

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What do you think?

(Ps. This chapter was cut in half because it was so long. The other half will be updated soon)

(PPs. Sorry it took me so long to update; I struggled to write this chapter to the emotional level I wanted it to be at. Did you feel teary?) 

xx Charli