I shouldn’t have done it! Why oh why did I confess to my psychiatrist what I had done? It had been my own little secret for years but I knew I had to get it off my chest before my acidic thoughts destroyed me. What else could I do? I had tried writing it down on paper as a release and then burning my confession but it didn’t work as well as I would have liked.

I had spent almost a year getting nowhere with my doctor. He was watching me closely and saying nothing as I began my story.

“I had a boyfriend named Darren who treated me like an angel. But I made the mistake of telling him about the baby I had when I was sixteen which I had given up for adoption. Because of this choice, I was able to finish school and become a physical therapist and even my parents didn’t know. But now Darren knew and he kept harassing me to tell my parents and try to find the baby. I didn’t want to. I was happy, making good money and respected in my field. But he wouldn’t let up and I was desperate, afraid that he might tell my parents. It really was his fault because he made me feel guilty as I relived that terrible time in my life.” Tears were coursing down my cheeks as I made this confession to my doctor.

“How did you resolve it?” asked Dr. Ogden.

“Well,” I sighed, “I had no choice but to get rid of the problem. Darren and I were mountain hiking when he slipped and fell off the cliff. The rocks were loose and the authorities agreed that it was an accident. I never knew how terrible it would be to see his crushed and broken body at the bottom.”

“Was it an accident?” Dr. Ogden looked at me closely as I answered.

I knew he suspected that I had pushed Darren to his death. “I won’t admit that I had anything to do with it.” But I knew he had come to his own conclusion.

I remembered feeling a small sense of relief when I burned the paper earlier in which I wrote my confession about giving up my baby. So what could I do? He now knew about Darren. I must ‘burn the doctor’ so to speak. I took out my pistol and shot him. Dead men tell no tales.

My journey took me through the unbearable humidity of the Florida Keys and up through the Carolinas where I almost had you.

I followed you up through New York and into Toronto where you turned around and where I made my mistake of letting you see me.

I should have never let you in on my secret, that was my fault.  But you showed you weren't ready for the truth and now...now after a thousand sleepless nights, I am almost done with my task.  Then work can get started.

I followed you from Toronto to Vancouver and down through to Seattle and Pugent Sound.  I almost hit you in the forests of Oregon but I missed you and it verified that I was no longer a shadow in the night.

I was coming for you, you went through Upper California and instead of heading straight down you took us through Utah and down through Nevada hoping the masses of people on Vegas would lose me.

But I know your tricks and I almost lost you, even when you changed your hair.

I was coming for you but you eluded my mark once again through the daring escape of the chase I gave through Arizona and the Grand Canyon.

We came up at almost the same time when you hit Flagstaff and went for Phoenix but  it was here, here in Scottsdale where I posed as the kitchen staff and slipped the arsenic into your desert.

After it was delivered, I broke into your room after I was sure you ate it.  You were slumped over the chair and the foam had started to come to your mouth.

I sat by you as you took your last breathes and held your hand.  Finally...finally knowing, my secret was safe.  

"Crack" 

"You broke it! You broke it!" Ron shouts. Already sweat is breaking out on his brow. I toss a glare his way to shut him up. Mother will never know. 

"Clean it up. Now!" I snap. His blue eyes fill with fear and he nods. My younger brother by a year and my slave since he was old enough to walk. He knows Mother will be mad if she finds out and we both will suffer. 

The shattered vase on the floor was not Mother's favorite, but it will be missed. Ron squeaks as he cuts his finger. I can only stare at him and wonder how such a fool has ever lived for six long years. 

"Your such an idiot! Hurry up!" I bark. Already I can hear the car tires on the gravel drive.   "And don't say a word to Mother. Not a word," I add. 

Ron nods once again and finishes with the mess. When he turns to face me I see he still holds one piece. Gripping the piece between his fingers he plunges it into to my throat. 

"Secrets are harder to keep with two people. Don't worry, I will make sure Mother never finds out," 

All this time his submission has been an act.  

His lie of five years is gone, but so am I. 

Blood spatter bright,

Beneath the cold midnight light,

Of a late October moon,

Where our love has met its doom,

I weep in profound remorse,

Where my hand has dealt its course,

Of events I had no control,

While the midnight bell did toll,

Your life soon will be ended,

From the mortal wound untended,

Your life's force outward flows from your wound,

Though long since you have swooned,

The perfume in your hair,

Still lingers in the midnight air,

As you die here in my arms,

I still, succumb to your charms,

My hot tears, wet upon your face,

Mixed with my feelings of shame and disgrace,

You never now will know dear,

Just what it is to know fear,

My obsessions now made clear,

My secret now you know dear,

That I have lived two separate lives,

Because I have had two wives.

This crimson blade of steel,

That somehow seems unreal,

Will mix your blood with mine,

Where the sun shall never shine,

In my heart I now impale,

I do this, without fail,

Our bloods of deepest red,

Both flowing like a watershed,

Now too, my life is over,

Beneath this field of crimson clover,

On the late October moon,

Where our love has met its doom.

No remorse. No regret. It had to be done. My life is mine, and mine to reclaim. For years, hidden in the shadows.Years and years abuse. What he got was too good for him. Boarding school was hell. No one else can know what went on. All people like to do is talk and talk. Talk is all they are and I don't want to talk about it. It's done, it happened, it's over, he's gone, and no one will miss him.

(Piece inspired by the song "Headmaster's Ritual" by The Smiths)

Finally my secret is safe! I have been living in dread for the past 23 and a half years, always wondering if my secret would be safe like he promised. He would toy with me, and manipulate me; always hinting but never quite acting. He could have ruined my life at any point, and was just fickle and devious enough to do it. Every day, I would wake up and wonder if today would be the day he would shine light on the darkness of my heinous deeds. Would this be the day that I caused some imagined slight, and invoked him into action?  Every morning, I checked the contents of my emergency escape bag, not knowing if this would the day I would have to try to disappear. 

But, now he is dead, and I can finally relax, maybe even unpack my bag. I can pursue new opportunities, without the fear of having it all disintegrate with a few leaked words. No more living under the haunted fear that my lies will revealed, or my secrets  exposed. All those years, I was at his mercy, and never dared to be too visible, lest I cross his capricious threshold of tolerance and incur his retribution. 

Well, in your face, fate! I've gotten away with it, and can finally start living my life without fear. So where do I start? Finally go on a date? Volunteer for a charity? Apply for a job with actual responsibility? Well, I'm sure not going to the will reading. I'm not going to waste anymore time worrying about what he's going to do.  And, there is no reason I'd be in his will anyway...

Or is there?

I'd better leave that bag packed.

A secret's only safe if the other person is dead. That's what she told me, the day before. But even the dead don't want to keep secrets. Maybe in one hour, or a day or decade, it'll come pouring out of their graves like a macabre waterfall. 

It was a Monday. I woke to the sound of traffic, and I remember being puzzled; we always left the house before rush hour, when the city was still stretching its sleepy limbs. For a wild moment, I thought it was a snow day, until I remembered the mid-autumnal temperatures. Damn late nights and too much caffeine. And so I slipped out of bed, tiptoed along the hallway. Something hung heavy in the air. I found my little sister first. Baby, we always called her, though she was a tall, gangling girl of eleven, with large specks and a wicked grin. In death, Baby seemed more fitting. She looked smaller, tangled in white sheets,  a stroke of red across her neck. Rivulets of blood had congealed down her chest like a perverse bib. Her eyes were closed. Had it been done quietly, efficiently, while she slumbered? Or had she awoken and seen her sister's face, then the knife, then the blur of a hand before she'd pieced the two together? Then a hot, wet, strange, weird, pain, pain, black, choking, dying attempts at speech, and only then closed eyes. 

I turned from her corpse and retched, stomach bile stinging my nostrils. I undertook a solemn procession with three pit-stops: David's eyes were open, both parents' eyes were closed. No doubt she'd been very quiet when crossing their en-suite bedroom. With David and Alexandra, she could afford to be more careless. What chance did sleepy 11 and 12-year old children have against a 17-year old girl? 

Her room was empty. Later I found her in the garage, dead in the car. The easy way out, she teased in her note. She left the letter on the kitchen table. She'd done this for my good. We'd always joked around about 'preventative medicine;' taking antibiotics before falling ill to halt future sickness, or undertaking rounds of Chemotherapy before contracting Cancer. At the time, I thought we were laughing at the terrible logic, the dark, indulgent humor that came from mocking things that aren't funny. Maybe that was just me. She was laughing at something else, something that, with her strange view, seemed so obvious it hadn't needed clarification. This was preventative medicine. Ending it all before the secret came out. Now there was no chance of it ruining David and Alexandra's lives. Only mine, though in her madness she hadn't considered that part. She admitted to each murder, so I wouldn't be convicted. Only I know the secret, now. Everyone else is dead. One day it'll seep out of my cracks like pus, and she'll look down and know it was for nothing. She told me she loved me, in her letter. I loved her, too. 

I knocked on Jonathan's door, my arms full with two medium pizza's from Domino's and a six pack.

"Hey," he said opening the door.

"Here I am, hope you're hungry," I said, stepping inside his apartment.

"I didn't expect this but come on in."

He turned off the television then moved his paperwork from the dining table where we set out the food. We talked about work, the local teams, and who we hooked up with in the last two weeks. Grabbing two beers, I twisted the caps off, and handed Jonathan one.

"Skoal," I said clinking his bottle.

We chugged them half down and took big bites out of our slices.

"Tell me did you really just find it on the sidewalk, no one around," I asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"C'mon Jonathan, Jimmy told me a few days ago."

"Jimmy's got a big mouth."

"I thought we were friends why didn't you tell me."

"WE WERE friends Billy, until that night."

"Jonathan, she wasn't for you and she wasn't for me either, I just wanted to have some fun."

"She was a nice girl."

"No she wasn't, not at all."

"I haven't seen her since that night."

"I've seen her, but enough about her tell me how it happened. Go on finish your beer and we'll have another. Is it true?"

"Yeah, it's true."

"You were walking down the street and you see a lottery ticket and pick it up?"

"Yeah, I put it in my wallet and forgot about it. Three days later I'm at the store and remember I have it. I scanned it and it was a winner."

"How much?"

"What did big mouth Jimmy tell you."

"He said 2 million."

Jonathan didn't answer he just looked at me and smiled.

"You're shitting me."

"Nah, I'm not," he said giggling.

"Where is it," I ask.

"It's safe," wh--, what do you thin--, think I'mmmm stupid?"

"Finish your beer Johnny," I said lifting it to his mouth. As he drank I could see the small trace of white powder mixed in with the amber liquid. Together they disappeared down his throat.

I watched Jonathan's eyes become heavy then his chin fell to his chest. With a gentle nudge his body rolled to the floor. Thirty minutes later, I pulled my car into his driveway. Hoisting him up I carried him downstairs and tossed his limp body in the back seat.

We drove to a secluded area where I dug a hole and buried my friend next to the girl's body. "By the way Johnny, her name is Vicky. You'll have plenty of time to get to know each other."

"2 million dollars," I said laughing at my new fortune. I parked near his apartment and as I approached, standing by the door was Jimmy, an old man, and two police officers. 

"Hey Jimmy, what's going on," I said.

"I found the original owner of the lottery ticket and he's here with his two sons."

 As I sit surrounded in a room full of strangers, I am desperately alone. With so many thoughts streaking through my head, its almost ironic at this moment that time is seemingly standing still. Just as I begin to feel at peace, escaping in my blur of memories; the cold tight steel binding my extremities jolts me back to reality and crushing pressure of panic and anxiety grip my chest like a vice. My God, these self-righteous assholes are actually going kill me!

“All rise!” bellowed the bailiff, “The Honorable Judge Harold Cambridge presiding, the 16th Judicial Circuit Court of Monroe County, the Great State of Florida is now in Session!” Judge Cambridge took his place on the bench and addressed the jury. “Madam Forman, has the jury reached a verdict?” With a solemn look and trembling hands, the old bat responded with a barely audible “We have your Honor.” All I could think was what the hell is she so afraid of; after all she’ll be the one throwing the goddamned switch, not the one sitting in the fucking chair! “Would the Forman please read the verdict.” After a brief pause, juror number four responded “We the jury find Cade Jacobs guilty of murder in the 1st degree.’

The courtroom was a fervor of emotions as the verdict was read, filled with sighs, gasps, cries, and tears. Funny thing is, none of that pomp and circumstance emanated from me. Perhaps its because the truth is, I am precisely the cold blooded killer they portrayed in that circus they called justice. If I have any real emotion right now, its mere disbelief. Disbelief that I actually got caught, how could I have overlooked such a minute yet painfully obvious detail?

I come from a little drinking town with a big fishing problem called Islamorada. My best friend, Danny Lopez and I grew up on the docks, listening to crusty old lobstermen's tales. No, not Jack Sparrow and Spanish gallons filled with gold. I’m talking a bit more recent, think along the lines of Cocaine Cowboys during the 80’s & 90’s and stories of square grouper and cold hard cash literally falling from the sky. Not much has changed from those days aside from the product. No more square grouper washing up either, in fact the only thing you might find floating is a body. Some unlucky prick that either didn’t or couldn’t pay their tab. Smuggling is alive and well in the beautiful Florida Keys and just as lucrative.

Today the product is people, and as far a smuggling goes, Danny and I were two of the best in the business. The problem is, to stay in business your associates have to be able to keep a secret. Unfortunately for Danny, a secret is only safe if the other person is dead. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Danny; we were like brothers, but Danny always did have a big mouth. And, in this business that’s a liability.