MY SON AND THE CONSEQUENCES OF DEATH

Dear Diary,

This is my last entry as I will be a whisp before sunrise. I am innocent, yet I cannot prove it. They despise me. They despise my very being. They resurrected the death penalty for the worst offenders in society. I am one of those offenders or so they tell their cronies. I am not a killer. They will realise the truth when I am gone. I do not know who murdered them. I just know the evidence suggests I am the culprit.

You are aware of the bodies which lie in the local morgue. The police were and are still convinced I enjoy killing people. They think I am guilty. I know they do. They do not care about justice. They will never admit their weak investigation led to immoral, illegal and unethical acts. The nation’s legal/justice system provides suspects with a fair trial. I disagree. I was not presumed innocent. My silence was a sign of guilt. Am I different from other suspects? Do I deserve to die when I am innocent? Will the authorities continue to kill offenders when I am gone?

I pray historians will rewrite the past as they learn the truth. Convicted criminals always deny their acts or so I am told. I know I am innocent because I would confess everything to you if I wasn’t. You are my evidence. You will tell the world how crucial information was and is ignored. The do not care whether my statement was forced. They want to kill me. They cannot wait to see my crumpled body hanging from a nail.

I promise you I am innocent. The truth will die with me. Thank you, dear companion. You are the friend I never had on earth.

“Why won’t you tell them what happened?”

“I have. They always think I’m guilty. Yes I know. I cannot blame them. The average person would reach the same conclusion.”

“You know that’s not what I mean. You can’t protect him forever.”

“I’m not protecting him. He needs someone to defend him.”

“How will you protect him when you lie in your grave?”

She is right. Petra is always right. I should listen to her more often. Jacob needs me here not in heaven. He is a bright boy few people understand. He is also sweet with little sense of the real world. I protect him too much.

Dear Diary,

I was wrong. My legal team appealed and the judge gave me six months to live. We have six months to find enough evidence to reverse the decision. I confess I am not as happy as I should be. Six months is not long enough despite what everyone thinks. We need at least a year to find the evidence key figures refuse to divulge. Petra is helpful, yet I must let my conscience rest knowing Jacob has friends to help him. I cannot let them bring him here, yet they will if I do not sacrifice myself.

“Do you think Jacob will thank you when he sees your body lying in a coffin?”

“It is mot about thanking me. It’s about doing what I ought to have done years ago.”

Part of me wants to turn back. The other part knows death will be a blessing because it will set him free. I am not special. I am another faceless mother giving her child a chance. Few people know me. Fewer still will care when my body becomes worm food. God will give me, his humble servant what he knows I need most. It is very much when not if I feed the earth.

Dear Diary,

Petra thinks I am mad. She thinks I haven’t considered the consequences of my actions. She is wrong. I have. I always consider the consequences of my actions. I have spent many sleepless nights thinking. They tell me I have three months. Am I as strong as I must be? It is a question I must answer before my fateful day. Petra knows my plans for Jacob. She also has a list of services he needs to live as he ought to. My team is worried. They try to hide their concern, yet they can’t. Those nagging pieces are almost impossible to find.

I was wrong dear friend. I might be wrong again, although I doubt it. My team says we can appeal again. I disagree. If they cannot find sufficient evidence this time it is not meant to be found. My dear, sweet Jacob tells me to wait and hope. Time is slipping away with every fleeting second. I confess I cry myself to sleep when I know I am alone. The waiting game kills me more than anything else.

Do not be surprised if this is the last entry. I love sharing everything with you and I hope the right person appreciates our words. Please let Jacob find you. He cannot read well enough to understand my scribblings. He will give you to Petra or one of his friends knowing them will read our pages to him. I am on the verge of tears. I will stop writing and pray for another day.

They asked for more time. My lecturer said they request it when they know they can win. I am or was a student lawyer before our saga. It is funny to think I will be forced to leave the profession I want. The seasoned professionals tell me I am not a fit and proper person in their eyes. Even if I live, they will not let me join them.

“Your friend told us some interesting things?”

“I doubt it. Petra would not betray me.”

“I’m sorry. I told them where he lives and why you are protecting him.”

“Why? What have we done to deserve this? All I ever want is help to defend him.”

“We need you to tell the judge what he did.”

“No. They will kill him.”

“It doesn’t matter. My death will bring peace which is what we all want.”

Dear Diary,

I vowed I would not write again; however, I am bursting to tell you everything. They found what they were looking for. They cannot show or tell me where because they need to confirm its validity. I know it is valid. Every part of me knows we have more than enough evidence to convict them. Our quest for justice will end well. We will triumph as we should.

Victory is in our grasp. We face significant obstacles; however, there is every reason to believe death will become a fleeting nightmare. I hope; rather than believe the authorities will set me free. I always want freedom; however, I never want it at my son’s expense. Jacob is everything to me. His father left because he couldn’t cope with his inadequate being. He never considers Jacob as anything other than a sin to be despised at all cost. Petra tells me he often praises God for our demise.

He always lacks compassion; however, I do not think he would stoop to murder. It is always a case of choosing to defend the vulnerable or stay with someone who wants to be respectable at all cost. Society was and still is everything to him. He tells me about the parties he attends and the endless rounds of golf he plays with his cronies. Everyone tells me he is still the charming, social manager I met fifteen years ago.

My mistake cost Jacob his happiness. He does not need a mother who cannot give him a loving family. As I look at the words on the page, I wonder whether freedom is overrated. Perhaps Jacob needs to live his own life? Perhaps I along with the rest of the world underestimate him?

I will end on a sombre note by suggesting my news isn’t quite as exciting I thought. Jacob does not need parents who cannot accept him for who he is. I still think he cannot live without help; however, he is far more capable than I believe he is. Death ought to be natural, yet can it be justified in my case? Are the consequences as serious as I think they are?

“There is more than enough evidence to convict him. Why won’t you help them?”

“How can I when we all know it isn’t that simple?”

“You’re wrong. It is that simple. The sooner you stop being his door mat the better. What happened to my strong, independent, energetic friend?”

“You know what happened. She died a long time ago.”

“Now is the time to resurrect her. I’ll be blunt. If you don’t show some gumption and help, you’ll both, be dead. Do you want him to win?”

The answer is obvious. I never intend to let him harm us. Jacob is permanently damaged because of me. I let him treat us as a punching bag for his amusement. He still laughs at us. His cruel taunts should be enough to walk away. I know I should; however, I can’t. My feet never move. No matter how hard I try they refuse to obey me. Jacobs screams are ignored as I let his fists knock me to the ground.

Dear Diary,

He appears without warning. He always does. Why anyone would let him near us is beyond me. He always tells people we are a close family. He is good at pretending. He always has been. I never bother to tell anyone the truth because he is the breadwinner or so he keeps reminding me. His door mat is nice to look at, yet it soon becomes another possession to be used at will. He does not bother with the facade. I cringe knowing all too well what he intends to do. I feel his sharp nails dig into my arm without the least intention of stopping. I wait knowing his desire for social networks is greater than his distaste of me.

I was right. He has a collection of ancient medical objects tucked away in his cave. I know his secret place and its contents because I spend hours watching him without detection. He put his prize on a small table and gazed at me. He pushed me to the floor and forced me to watch him stick a modern weapon in it. Police guards never protect their inmates knowing it is cheaper to kill offenders than lock them away for years. They let visitors bring guns, rope, drugs, ribbon, scissors, and other kinds of strange objects in to solve their problems.

I am lucky. I am here because a guard saw my pale face and called for help. I do not recall how I ended up in hospital. All I remember is answering a doctor’s basic questions as best I could. I do not remember answering all of them. In fact, the ones I do recall were name, address, family, and my age. I am sitting in a comfortable bed with more pillows than I need. Everyone is kind to me; however, I can’t tell them what they deserve to know. I will tell them when I am ready to convict him for our and other people’s pain.

“You are incredible. You almost died and you still won’t convict him. What do we have to do to convince you to help us?”

“You’re wrong. I will convict him. I need to find what I am looking for.”

“For crying out loud. What may I ask, are you looking for?”

“I know when, where, how and why he kills his victims. I need confirmation to ensure society wins.”

“Are you serious? Why now? Why didn’t you tell us all this sooner? We’ve spent months trying to help you when all you had to do was provide us with what we needed.”

“It’s simple. I am not quite the door mat everyone thinks I am. I must pretend for Jacob’s sake. I must give us a chance to leave him. I have a job. I’ve had it for years. It is necessary to stay until I can afford to escape forever.”

Dear Diary,

I have it. I have what I need to convict him for the harm he has caused us. We are not alone. He killed and maimed people in every state. He even killed his other wives. Jacob has half siblings in the next suburb. There are others. I don’t know where they are. I am not surprised. He was always silent when I questioned him about jewellery or bones I found in his secret den. My suspicions are realised for reasons I will explain below:

They let me out. I am under house arrest until after the trial. Jacob is not allowed to see me until we win or before my funeral. Petra told them why I refused to help. My team know they ought to leave me to my fate. They do not want blood on their hands or their conscience. I have letters, bodies, broken bones, lists, instructions, chemistry books with highlighted pages and more. We have everything we need to convict him.

His letters are the piece I need to break my silence. Any doubt I had vanished when I read them. They are a long confession of his deeds. They reveal a very different man from the one I loved. He has another wife even though we are married. He always intended to kill us. He bought my favourite perfume knowing I would wear it for him. It was or it would have been the last mistake I ever made.

He wants me to hang for his crime. It is easier to encourage a lawful executioner to do his dirty work for him than murder me himself. He always chooses the easier option. He knows they are too busy to investigate his activities. He will marry again and I pray his new wife discovers the truth before it is too late.

“I have everything I need. Let’s do it.”

“Do what? What do you mean?”

“Convict my husband of course. I have every piece of evidence we need to throw him in a dark cell.”

“How do you know you will win?”

“I may not; however, I will be surprised if he does.”

My team is nervous. They try not to show their concern, yet I know they think we’ll lose. They assume the evidence is not strong enough to win. Perhaps I should have helped them? Perhaps my fear for Jacob’s safety will kill us? We will have to wait and see.

The trial was too short. I am not surprised it ended as it did. My evidence is tucked inside an old blue folder. They tell me they couldn’t use it because it is questionable. I know why? It is a shame they ignored it. I did not conspire with him. I was ignorant until we separated. My questions about the bones and artefacts were weak. My team thinks I am exaggerating. You know I am not. The judge has not set an execution date. I hope he delays it until they see my evidence.