Staring blankly at the dark gray walls, I pulled my hair back into a sleek ponytail. I shifted in my chair, noticing how cold the metal felt against my skin. A hardened looking man entered the room. As the door shut, the light flickered. He sat down, took out a notepad, and clicked his pen.
“Now, tell me everything.”
Growing up, my family was in a constant state of dysfunction. My sister, Sam, used to run away to a friend’s house to escape. I remember wishing she would take me with her. When she turned eighteen, she moved into an apartment with her boyfriend, John. I had always hated John. He was charismatic, but selfish, irresponsible, and impulsive. He would hit Sam, verbally abuse her, and she informed me that he had pushed her down a flight of stairs three winters ago. He soon turned to controlling her and holding her back from advancing in life. He didn’t allow her to attend college after her high school graduation. I later found that he had been cheating on her as well.
Sam was admitted to an Adult Psychiatric Unit soon after. They said she was a risk to herself. She was kept, locked away, for a month. When she was released, it was under one circumstance. She had to return home to her family. However, her return was not received with open arms. There were many conflicts around the house. Sam and I got along every so often, but she constantly felt as if I had betrayed her. Perhaps she was right.
After having months to get used to the audible fighting around the house, I was taken by surprise, one day after returning home, to find a blood soaked piano room. My brother, James, had locked himself in the bathroom, while Sam was screaming at my mother. I could barely make out her face, through all of the blood and swelling.
From the piano room, my mother called my father. She shuffled around with bloody tissues and her car keys, pushing Sam towards the door. She called my father again, telling him to drive James to the hospital in the other car after they leave. I tried asking questions but I received nothing. Then, I tried my luck in joining them in her car, but Sam refused to go if I joined. I remember watching her face as my mother drove away.
I walked back inside, careful not to hurt my bare feet on the ground as I padded back up the long, black driveway. From the second my toes crossed the threshold of the house, I was knocked to the ground by my father rushing past. He leaped off the porch, disregarding the few steps underneath him. A distant weeping tore me away from observing the car. I hurried to the bathroom.
There, I found James sitting on the edge of the toilet. He had multiple groups of three bloody lines covering his face, neck, and chest. From behind his ear to his clavicle, four lines bled down to his shirt.
I asked him what happened and he inhaled deeply before answering. Between words, James croaked out apologies. He had said that it started over a minute conflict but it turned into him expelling all of his anger on her. He had broken Sam’s nose and cheek bone, but James left with only scratches on his face. It was clear that he was the attacker.
Quickly following his weeping, my father ushered us to the car before speeding to the emergency room. On the way, James lashed and yelled, calling Sam a drug addict and an alcoholic. My father and I kept our heads forward, not showing any emotions while James thrashed around in the back seat.
I don’t remember much the emergency room, but I remember Sam refusing to look at me. Besides that, I don’t remember much other than Sam refusing to press charges on James. Three days later, Sam committed suicide, leaving me with nothing for an explanation. I know now it was because of John and James.
“So, that’s why you killed your brother and Sam’s Boyfriend?”
“My only regret, Officer, is that I didn’t do it sooner.”