40 Distinguish Her Follies (2/2)
Yes, it was lucky she cried. How I hoped that I could cry. At least she would get the chance to grieve.
She had become friends with Lawrence's parents, I found out. Her tears were accompanied by information about her relationship with the young man. She cried because she thought of him like a son. Her daughter had left for college and her husband had passed away, she had an empty nest and this man had given her hope to live. And now, she had embraced the idea that he was gone and she cursed herself for not calling the cops earlier and save him.
”There was nothing you could have done.” I told her. It took me hours to convince her that it wasn't her fault. I learned to accept my grief, as well. I never cried, but it was okay to cry. I thought. It didn't make me weak.
.
I had followed Sebastian to the morgue, witnessed as the parents had flown in on the first flight to see their deceased son. They were not allowed a proper farewell, there was not much left to bid adieu to. I found myself listening to their gut-wrenching cries asthey cursed their son for his bad decisions, as they threatened death on the murderer.
I heard the interview of Dorothy Mitchell. I was fascinated. I had come to know how to spot a killer, the look in their eyes gave them away. But it make me think about what really made a murderer. How did one recognize the monster in others?
I had not seen the monstrosity in her eyes. In Dorothy's eyes. The glamour and lights and cameras had hidden it well, but she had finally revealed her true colors to the world. When she sat in the interrogation room, her hand handcuffed, the layers of her facades gave away to raw emotions. She was not, in the least bit, remorseful of the crime she had committed; she sincerely thought that her money and fame would get her out. I realized that there could be monsters of different types. The ones with consciences and the others who had been stripped off it.
She was an example of the latter. Her fame had consumed her to the point where she could no longer distinguish her follies. It had made her believe she was invincible.
And then there was me, trying to accommodate my monster, trying to suppress my urges so that I could not become what I feared.
It made me wonder what exactly I was.
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