I Think About You Ronnie Anne

17

       "Hey kid, your house has a basement, right?" I nodded because I knew he would find it so I shouldn't set up a lie for myself. "Where is that basement? Would you show me?" Crap, Ronnie Anne's body is still down there. I have to trick him into giving me a bit more time. "Okay, I will. You didn't check the attic, right? It's a bit messy so I'd be embarrassed if you did see it." Like I planned, saying that moved his suspicion to the attic. "Don't you worry kid, I won't judge! Just a little attic, how much could you really hide in there?" Hah, and off he went. I rushed downstairs and picked up Ronnie Anne's limp body, racing to put it somewhere. Where do I put a whole girl's body? I have to think quickly. Decisiveness is key. Somewhere you wouldn't expect a body. The fridge. I sprinted to the fridge and stuffed her inside, making significant noise but he didn't hear it, with his head being in the attic and all. Everything is re-hidden. The cop came back down, I showed him the basement, he commented on how creepy it was, and then we went back up to the kitchen together. He sat down and his weight hit the chair like a brick. "You got anything cold I could have?" I went to the sink to fill up a glass of cold water, but he stopped me. "No no no, I mean something from the fridge. Something fruity." I shook my head. "Sorry, we don't have anything but tap water." He groans. "Alright well, as much as it pains me to say it, it looks like you're not hiding any girl in your house. So, I suppose I should be leaving." He stood up and yawned.

       "The only thing I need now is a snack for the road. Got any lunch meat?" I told him no, but that didn't stop him from reaching for the handle of the fridge, pulling it open as my hand reached out in a desperate attempt to stop him. Out falls Ronnie Anne, blood pooling at the bottom of the fridge, and dripping down several shelves. The cop stumbled back. "What the..." He looked at me. "You... you're a monster. I knew it. I knew you were the devil in disguise." He touched a thing on his chest and spoke into it. "Need extra units at 1216 Franklin Avenue, as well as an ambulance. Found a dead body. It's the girl who was kidnapped. Looks dead; not breathing." Somebody on the other paged him back and said, "Sending extra units and an ambulance." The cop took out his gun and pointed it at me. "I should just shoot you right now. Sit down and don't move. We're both gonna wait for everyone to come." The next hour or two was a blur because my brain zoned out almost entirely. Red and blue flashing lights... a spinning siren... policemen crowded around me, and a couple of medics knelt down trying to find a pulse, which they could not find. One of the cops told me to stand up, cuffed me, and read me my rights. I was led into the back of a police car and my mom finally arrived home. She was horrified and broke into tears after a cop told her what had happened. Some of the cops near me asked each other questions which I overheard. "Will the mom be charged for neglect or anything?" one asked. "Probably not, but she might be hated by the jury for being so oblivious," said another.

       The cop who initially found the body was kept around at the scene and questioned, while the cop in the driver's seat of the car I was in, was another cop who I hadn't seen before. "Am I going to jail?" He said I was. "How long will I be in jail?" He said it depended. I asked him "On what" and he didn't answer. The next week was a lot of walking in and out of different rooms and lots of people asking me questions. "Why did you kidnap her?" a man with a scruffy beard asked. "I don't know." He furrowed his brow and squinted at me. "What do you mean you don't know?" I told him once again, "I don't know." I then moved to another room where two men sat across from me and alternated in asking me questions. "I bet you kidnapped her because you were concerned for her safety, am I right?" The other man then added, "Yes! You did it to save her, didn't you?" I told them that I didn't know, and they both got angry. Finally, I went into a room where a judge and a jury watched two men question me. The man who was supposed to "defend me" instead tried to give me a lower amount of time in jail. The other man asked me questions with a very stern tone. "You kidnapped her, yes?" I nodded. "There you have it ladies and gentlemen of the court," the man said. "He is guilty! Let us not waste our time!" It all ended with the jury leaving and then coming back. The judge asked the jury "Do you have a verdict?" One of the men whom the jury unofficially elected to represent them stood up and said, "We have your honor. We the jury, in the case of The State of Michigan versus Lincoln find the defendant guilty on the charge of kidnapping." With that one sentence, my soul gives up. No hope, no determination, and no resolve. The resolution to the story—my story—fails to end happily. I'm shut into a dark room for days—months—years. My family is gone, and I never see them. They're too afraid to visit. The guards know what I did, and they hate me for it. My face is in the paper and on TV for a couple of days, which makes even more people hate me.

Everybody hates me.
I'm a monster.