Accused by R.T. Adams (little red riding hood ebook txt) 📕

“I have no reason to, and I didn’t,” I said. We walked out, following Emma. Of course, I had to escort Emma, my cousin, and two other officers to my apartment. Once we arrived, I unlocked the door and opened it, letting in my cousin first, then Emma, then the two officers, then closing the door behind me as I entered.

“May we begin?” my cousin asked.

“Feel free,” I said. They all dispersed into different rooms as I sat in a chair behind my desk, which was positioned in from of a window. I came here after coming home from a case to examine the evidence I found. Today, however, it was to wait for them to uncover nothing. It only took a few minutes for Emma to come back to me.

“What’s this?” she asked as she tossed a black coat and a mask onto my desk. What was this? No, rather, whose is it? That was when my cousin and the two officers walked in, as well.

“What the hell?” I said, “Whose is this?”

“I found it in your bathroom, laying on the floor,” she said.

“As much as it may seem, it isn’t mine,” I said. However, she didn’t buy it. One of the officers grabbed me and pulled me up. I knew it would be pointless to resist, so I went along with him. I put my hands behind my back, then he put a pair of handcuffs on me. I was escorted out of my own home with the black coat and the mask. We arrived at the police department shortly. Once I was escorted to a specific room, I was sat down in a chair. The officers left the room, along with Emma and my cousin. I sat there for a few minutes before Emma re-entered the room. She took a seat across from me, glaring at me.

“Why?” she said quietly.

“I assure you, it wasn’t me,” I said calmly, “What reason would I have to kill your father?”

“Who said you needed a reason?” she said, “You could have killed him because you wanted to.”

“Though the coat and mask were in my room, you don’t have the knife to prove if I did it,” I said, “There was a stab wound on your father’s neck.” She stood up, walked out of the room, and walked back in moments later with a knife from my kitchen that had blood on it. It was the perfect size for the stab wound.

“How do you explain this?” she said.

“Someone broke into my house?” I asked myself, “But why?” I was trying to think of why.

“Is that your excuse?” she said.

“Of course,” I said, “They must have tried to frame me.” I looked up to her.

“Nice try, but that doesn’t sound likely,” she said.

“Of course not, not to you,” I said, “If you look at my notepad, you’ll find the case of the McDonald’s murder. The same person murdered three people there, including the previous captain of the police department. They wanted to frame me so that no one could find out who killed them.” She walked behind me and pulled the notepad from my back pocket, opening it until she found the results of the McDonald’s murder.

“How do you know that it wasn’t someone else who murdered them?” she was persistent on believing that it was me.

“How many people do you see running around in a black coat and a mask murdering people?” I said.

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t more than one,” she said. At this point, she has me cornered. It doesn’t seem likely that I’ll be getting out of this.

“I have nothing left to say,” I said. She stood and exited the room. Shortly after, two officers came in. One stood me up and escorted me out. I was being taken to court, the day of the murder.

Since everything around this place was close, we could just walk, and so we did. We walked to a large building, with two doors as the entrance. We walked across a hallway, to a room which had a strange table, a circle, but it wasn’t enclosed. There were roughly twenty seats, which had already been filled by multiple people. Some seats were empty. Though there were twenty seats, there were only about eleven people occupying them.

“Is this the scum that murdered Erik?” one of them spoke with a deep voice.

“Yes,” Emma said. I was forced on my knees, my back towards the door to the room. I had never known that this room existed. When I looked up from the floor, I saw an old man, his beard white.

“You,” he spoke in a grumble, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I have nothing to state,” I said, knowing it would be useless to argue against Emma, who occupied the few objects to make it seem like I murdered Erik.

“Very well,” he said. Since there was no proof that I had actually murdered Erik to the few in this room, Emma presented the things she found in my apartment, explaining what she believed to be true.

“To conclude this, I believe this man murdered my father, Erik Jeans,” she finished up her speech.

“I understand,” the man said, “Everyone’s thoughts?” At first, no one stated anything. They were unsure, as Emma’s words sounded a bit sketchy. However, one of the people stood.

“Guilty,” he stated. It would seem that they are voting on whether I am guilty or innocent.

“Guilty,” another stood, stating what he believed.

“Guilty,” a woman stood, declaring her thought.

“Guilty,” a stern man spoke.

“Guilty,” it was the same repetitive word.

“Guilty,” they just kept saying it, driving it in my mind, as if to drive me insane.

“Guilty,” it was almost as if they wanted me to confess to murder.

“Guilty,” to confess to a murder that I did not commit.

“Guilty,” they’re all wrong, I didn’t murder him.

“Guilty,” it’s not my coat, it’s not my mask, someone framed me. However, when I looked over to the last person, I had even the smallest amount of hope. My cousin stood there, staring at me. He just stared.

“Guilty,” from his lips came something I had not expected. Guilty? Was that how they saw me? My own cousin, declaring my fate before me.

“Then it is decided,” the old man spoke.

“Hold on,” my voice trembled, quietly. I couldn’t speak up, no one could hear me no matter what I said.

“This man known as Joseph Lavine is sentenced to death,” the old man stated my fate.

“Please,” I said, “Don’t do this.” I was too quiet. No one had heard me. I was breaking down right before these people, unable to do anything. Why was this happening? Don’t take me, I’m not guilty, trust me. I didn’t murder him. However, these were only thoughts now. I couldn’t speak. It was as if I were choking on my own words. My throat was in pain. Is there nothing I can do to convince them that I am not guilty? However, it was too late. I was already out of the building, being hauled off by two police officers to San Quentin. In a few minutes, I found myself entering San Quentin. I was immediately dragged off to a cell, tossed in like a piece of garbage into a dump. My handcuffs were removed. I stood slowly, dressed in a blue shirt with dark blue pants. Once a detective, now an inmate set to be killed. And for what? I have truly done nothing. I was accused of a murder that I did not commit. I was framed. Someone, please, believe me. I looked around the cell, but I found no one. There was only one bed. They gave me only one day to live until my death, so I thought of what could possibly be better than to sleep until then.

When I awoke, I found myself on the ground, still in the cell. There had been a single officer roaming the halls in which the cells were. I walked up to my cell bars and looked for anything else. I only found other cells, filled with one inmate each. Each cell had a small bookshelf filled with books, as well as a toilet, a bed, and a sink. When the officer approached my cell, he turned to me.

“What do you want your last meal to be?” he asked me.

“I don’t want one,” I said to him. He unlocked my cell and grabbed my arm, escorting me to a specific room with a chair. None other than the electric chair. If I’m going to die no matter what, I’d rather die right here right now than in a few hours. I was sat down in the chair, then bound to it by leather binds. An object had been strapped to my head. By now, I was just waiting. I stared forward, at the white, metal door in front of me. All I could do was wait. And then, a click.

Publication Date: 09-11-2016

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