The Dead Don't Speak | Open Novella Contest 2020 | ✔

Chapter 11: The Dead Don't Speak

That fucking monster.

"I... really didn't plan for it to happen. I'm not even sure what exactly triggered it. But during those riots, I was running, to somewhere or someone or whatever. I had a weapon. I think I was high. It was chaos. I... remember making eye contact with him when I ran past the bathroom. And he was standing there, maybe a bit disoriented, and I swear I saw him smile."

There was anger in Dane's broken voice, disgust with a hint of fear and maybe a pinch of self-loathing. But not remorse. Never remorse.

"I don't remember killing him. I don't. It's not a clear memory. All I can recall is that it was so easy it scared me. When I realized what had happened... I don't know, Bails. There was so much blood, I couldn't even tell if it was his or mine. But there was a lot of bloodshed that day, even though only one man died. I kept my mouth shut and in that whole mess, they never could or did pin it on me. Maybe they were even happy some poor girl offed him for them, because then it wasn't their problem anymore. A deadly riot's bad publicity, but not acting against a sexual predator is worse."

I'd seen the counselor's ghost, how badly his body had been lacerated. His chest torn open, blood staining him all over, painting his bleached smile red. Dane's knife had left gruesome, savage wounds, fuelled by an animalistic, subconscious desire to end a wicked man's existence. Justice for the victims whose lives he must've ruined.

"I got my shit together not too long after that. Cleaned up my whole damn act. Couldn't let anything like that happen again."

Had Dane done the right thing by killing Taylor? I didn't think so. But had it been the wrong thing? I didn't think so either. Mark Chen's words echoed in my mind. Nasty bitch got what he deserved. A painful death, an eternity of malice in his afterlife. If I had to name anyone who deserved that, given that Dane's tale was the truth, it would've been the counselor with his evil eye. But did that justify his violent murder?

"You should say something." Dane turned her head to look out of our barred window. I supposed that was easier than looking at me on the hard floor. "I don't care what you think of it. What you think of me. But if you've got anything to say, you might as well tell me now."

Did the murder make Dane responsible for Liz's death? If she hadn't murdered the counselor on impulse, his ghost wouldn't have haunted that cursed bathroom. Or was the counselor himself guilty as charged, for possessing my friend, leading her to her untimely demise, and for being a despicable, dangerous monster in life? Was I responsible, for roping Liz into the mess while I could've left her alone? Or had she done it all to herself, because she'd decided to help me and had insisted on taking my place as medium?

I didn't know. I didn't know anything anymore.

Leaning forward, I sighed. "It happened. There's nothing you can do to change it anymore. It's just the past now. Nothing but a memory."

"A memory." My cellmate's fingers tapped a slow rhythm against her mattress. "I remembered him, you know? When Liz... When Liz tried to kill me... Fuck, I damn well saw his face in hers. It's been two years, but I can't seem to let it go."

"Guilt's catching up to you, maybe." I wasn't fazed. Couldn't be fazed. I'd dealt with death so much, I'd become indifferent to its sting. We were in prison, where nobody was perfect and everyone guilty. I could sit and debate morality for hours, but in there, it would've been a waste of my time. A hopeless quest for an answer that just didn't matter.

I wasn't Liz. I didn't need answers for a lifeline. And Dane was my friend.

"Guilt?" Dane's eyes darkened, a cold creeping into them once again. Cold like a cataract in a face it destroyed. "I don't think I'll ever come to terms with the fact I've killed someone, Bails. But if that's the way it is and someone had to go, I'm nothing but happy it was him."