It's Been 20 Years

a short story i originally wrote for the "your story" contest in writers digest

            “The prosecution calls Margaret Thomas to the stand.”

            “No need to take the oath again, Mrs. Thomas.”

 

 

The scene replayed in her mind, as it had every sleepless night.

 

 

            “Is it true that you and these five men,” the prosecuting attorney pointed to the defendants table, “boarded your boat on September 28^th for a tour of the lake?”

            “Yes, I already told you…” She said apprehensively, before being cut short.

            “No need to use that tone Mrs. Thomas, it won’t get you anywhere. Just a few simple questions,” Margaret rolled her eyes, “and then you can be on your way.”

            “Whatever.”

           

            He looked at her, studied her, saw straight through her. He had seen this before; it wasn’t his first murder case.

           

            “Now is it also true that along with these five men, onboard your boat, there was a certain Michael Smith?”

            “Yes.” A subtle note of disdain rang throughout the courtroom.

            “Ok. Now, if you will, describe the scene on the boat.”

            “Again? I just described it to that other lawyer.” She held back screams of panic.

            “Just to clear up any details.”

            Margaret felt as if she was breathing lead, trying to remember the scene she had described. She had no counted on having to do so again.

            She could remember the scene clearly, how it had really happened. An ice-cold morning, the late September rain echoing dissonantly throughout the boat, leaving a demon mist suspended on the lake. The five men, now sitting at the defendant’s table, thinking they were going for a tour; fingerprinting the scene of the crime to come. She had looked Mr. Smith in the eyes when she strangled him at the back of the boat, watched his stare go blank, thrown him overboard, taken off her gloves.

            “We were on our way back from the tour, and ummm… I don’t know what happened, I was driving the boat, everyone else was up front.”

            “Wouldn’t you have heard the splash? Noticed someone was missing? Seen signs of a struggle? That gets me wondering, why didn’t you think to call the police?”

            “Ummm…” Margaret panicked; her eyes darted around the room, searching for something to say.

            “We’re waiting Mrs. Thomas, why didn’t you call the police?”

            She knew that he knew; his voice was too calm.

            “Ummm…”

            “Describe the scene again, if you will, then answer the question.”

            “We were on our way back from the tour, I was driving the boat. When we got back to the shore I didn’t even notice that the 6^th man, Michael Smith, was missing from the boat.”

            “That’s funny, Mrs. Thomas, I recall you describing the splash that you say you heard to the other lawyer.”

            She choked on her next breath; she could feel the lawyer’s grip around her throat, as he watched her stare go blank. He knew.

 

 

She stared at the bars in front of her; trying to squeeze her-self through them, squeeze the scene out of her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to sleep, hoping to finally feel the lawyer’s grip let go of her throat. She could see Michael Smith’s face, his eyes going blank, those eyes which once looked deep into her own and said, “I do”.

 

 

            “Mrs. Thomas, how do you plea?”

            “Not guilty.”

 

            “Tell me Mrs. Thomas, how did it feel to watch him die? Was it worth all of this?”

            Margaret stared silently at the table in the interrogation room; it was a silence the echoed off the walls and the two-way mirror, leaving a demon dissonance in the stale, recycled air.

            “Some witnesses seem to think he was having an affair, tell me, how did that go over?”

            The silence continued to echo.

            “I hear that you walked in on them? Did his mistress wink at you on her way out?”

            “Yes, she did” The words were quick and short; they felt like hands in her throat, choking her from the inside.

            “Is that why you did it? To hear him scream like she did?” He looked straight through her fading eyes, and paused for a second, “Oh, no wait, you didn’t want him to scream, that’s why you strangled him.”

            “You don’t have any proof.”

            “Oh! Those famous last word! If I had a nickel for every time I heard those then I’d be a rich… Well, I’d be a rich man anyway…” He laughed at his own humor, “but all the proof I need is right here.” He raised his voice and slammed his hand down against the table, “Its all RIGHT HERE!!” He yelled, pointing at each of Margaret’s temples. “AND I’M GONNA GET IT OUT!”

            “No! Its all his fault!” She started crying, bawling, raindrops from her eyes, a rain that echoed dissonantly throughout her mind. “He was going to leave me for that w***e!”

            “So if you can’t have him no one can?! Is that how it is?!”

            “He said he would be with me ‘til the end! He promised at our wedding!”

            “And so you made it that way?! You kept his promise for him?!”

            “I did what I had to do!”

            “You KILLED him!!”

            “I had to!”

            “YOU KILLED HIM!”

            “I… I…”

            “YOU KILLED HIM!”

            “YES! I killed him!!! I DID IT!!”

 

           

            “I DID IT!” the scream echoed dissonantly throughout her jail cell.

            Her cellmate turned over, yawned, “Get over it... It’s been 20 years...” and fell back asleep; knowing she would hear that scream again, and again, and again.

Author's Note

this is the first draft of the revised version of this story, i re-wrote it from the original which i submitted to the "your story" contest for writers digest, for the month of october (contest is long over, this was one of 600 stories, it didn't win)

please point out any typos you find
any grammatical errors
any anything thats bad

Reviews

[J Carly]

I really enjoyed this story, John. I agree about prompts...I never follow them all the way through, either. In my opinion they are there, only to spark the writer's own creativity, and once that is done, the writer has creative license on where the story goes from there. I think you did a wonderful job. I only found one error left by the time I got to finish reading this (my life seems to allow me very little time to read and review at the moment).

"He did not see me, so I decided to not handle anything myself, but to have to cops meet us at the dock. "

I think you meant 'but to have the cops meet us at the dock.'

Other than that typo...it's great. Well done, my young friend.

[Ellen Hammond]

This is one of those stories that captured my attention and held it all the way through. I love the ending! It sends the message loud and clear that when we have a conscience, anything we do to hurt another, can haunt us for a life time. Thus, we sentence ourselves to life even though the courts might give us 20 years or so. Very well written! It holds our interest, never a dull moment. Hope the you do well in the contest.

[Sarah Marie]

wow john i love this story. this was absolutely amazing and the last line "You gotta get over it," her cell mate said, like it was a habit, "its been 20 years.", left me speechless as do all of your writings.

but i found a small error.

"Now is it also true that that along..." you repeated that.

keep writing john and good luck!

[Lizanne]

The story was good, the only things I would change is the gossamar mist on the lake. Change to the ghost like mist, ....gauzy mist.......veiling mist,..... At the end have the prosecuting att. disappear into the haunting shadows. Good writing, kept me reading and good luck in the contest!