An Imprisoned Soul

Had someone asked why he did it, he could not have said. Often, he wondered to himself the reason behind it. Surely there was some purpose? Some hidden meaning that only he understood on a subconscious level?1

Detective Moore sat down on the other side of the table, “Tell me one more time how you did it.” He said quietly.2

For a moment, David said nothing. Unable to choose the words that would describe what was going through his head, he simply stared at the table in silence. Detective Moore waited patiently.3

He wanted to scream and shout that it wasn’t him, to ask for a lawyer, or demand to be released. However, all he could say was in a quiet whisper, barely audible to anyone but Detective Moore, who sat on the other side of the table waiting silently for the answer, “It was something that had to be done.”4

“How?” Moore asked sympathetically.5

“Her death was quick and painless,” David began, “and she had no reason to expect it. She died quickly, painlessly, and ignorantly.”6

“But please… How?” Moore held out his hands helplessly, as though the answer could be delivered into his open arms, and he could carry it away to safety, where none would know but he and David.7

David’s eyes slowly moved to the tape recorder sitting in the middle of the table. For a long time, it must have recorded nothing as Detective Moore sat quietly waiting for an answer, and David remained silent, trying to sort out his thoughts. So much was running through his head. The woman… That night…8

“Why?” David asked at last.9

“Why what?” Moore asked, taken aback by David’s sudden inquisition.10

“Why… how?” David looked up sadly. Detective Moore kept asking David how it was done, without bothering to inquire the why. Perhaps if the question were actually spoken aloud, David would be able to sort out his thoughts, and at last provide an answer? Like an arrow of light, piercing through the darkness, obliterating the evil that was David’s confusion.11

“How?” Moore asked again, this time with a hint of anger in his voice.12

“I… I don’t know…” David answered, holding his hands out on the table and examining each one carefully, “How?”13

Moore sat back in his chair, settling his eyes on David; burrowing into his soul; disrupting his thoughts.14

“It was something that had to be done…” David repeated to himself, still staring at his hands. How could these soft and gentle hands, so accustomed to grasping a pen, have grasped a woman’s neck instead? How?15

“David, if you will not tell me how,” Detective Moore sighed, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, “I’m afraid we’ll have to end for today, and you’ll be sent back to your cell.”16

“How… could I?” David asked.17

“I don’t know, David. I don’t know.” Detective Moore said as he reached over and turned the tape recorder off.18

Two guards walked into the room. David made no resistance as they gently grasped his shoulders and led him out of the room. Walking down the long empty hallway, David made no attempt to converse with the guards, and they made no attempt to speak with him, either. It was an invisible connection, made by the fact that no connection could be made. An understood silence that left them to dwell in their own thoughts as they walked down the hallway, and not to disturb the thoughts of others.19

They led him to the cells, most of which were empty. The room was incredibly small, without many cells at all. These cells were only meant to hold prisoners in for questioning, and then until their court trial. After it was established whether or not they were innocent or guilty, they either were sent to the State (and sometimes, Federal) prison, or walked out of the courtrooms free men.20

David knew he would not be one such man. He’d done something awful and terrible, and freedom was a distant dream to him.21

A terrible and awful deed, made even worse by the fact he felt no sympathy towards the woman herself. What troubled him was that he could not remember what provoked him to do the deed. It had not been anger, nor lust… The motives behind his crime puzzled him.22

He looked briefly at the guards escorting him. Their faces were blank, and David could only guess what ran through their minds. Was everyone as confused and baffled by what he’d done as he was? Once again he felt the need to tell them it was an accident, but the silence between the three of them, so carefully preserved by the lack of communication and lack of questioning, seemed too strong for even David to break. It occurred to him for the first time how things that were not could be just as powerful as things that were.23

They opened a cell door, staring straight ahead and avoiding eye contact with David. As an obeisance to the unnamable bond of silence between he and the guards, David avoided looking in their direction until he heard the echo of the cellblock door being shut and locked.24

As he sat down on the bed held to the wall by chains, he reveled in the fact that this was the first time he had complete solitude and silence; time to think to himself and sort out his thoughts. The cellblock, after all, was devoid of any life. David had to wonder if it was because there was not much crime in Aaronsville, because Detective Moore was able to get confessions quickly, or if perhaps it was only because David was the one who got caught. 25

Really, though, he had surrendered himself. Arriving at the station and confessing to the awful dreaded crime he’d committed nearly an eternity ago. One week, they’d said it had been, but David still thought of it as years. Regardless, he was arrested and questioned. A prisoner of will. A prisoner confined by walls both physically and mentally.26

Images of what had happened danced behind his eyes while he slept. Horrid images in which he oddly found comforting. He had no time to sort this unexpected feeling of glee towards his act of violence when the guards awoke him, and lead him to the interrogation room once again.27

Detective Moore was not at the table this time, but the tape recorder was still recording. David was sitting in silence, the pressure of his own thoughts almost crushing him when Detective Moore sat down. Again, nothing was said, as many of the interrogations went.28

“How?” Detective Moore asked, the anger in his voice clear. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie, “You came here asking for help. If you want me to help you, you will have to help me. We can’t arrest you without proof you did what you say.”29

”I strangled her.” David answered.30

”Be more specific!” Moore screamed, banging his fist on the table, “anyone who watches the news could have told me that! Tell me how!”31

“It was painless,” he repeated as he had before, “and she died ignorantly.”32

”Ignorance?” Moore asked, standing up. He slowly paced his way around the table, “Do you think you are superior? That we are ignorant of your ways? Then educate me. Tell me why.”33

With that, David knew. He knew why he found comfort in the memories of the woman’s death. He knew why it was something that had to be done. Why she had to die ignorantly. How, with the help of sleeping pills and a cold drink, he could have knocked her unconscious and strangled her to death. He knew.34

“I taught her.” He said, smiling to himself. It was a favor, he saw now. How he could see in her eyes the longing for something more. Day by day, she must have grown tired. Very tired. He simply taught her to sleep, and to realize what more there was to life than living. How the lack of life could be just as beautiful as life itself.35

It was in Moore’s eyes, too.36

“You taught her?” Moore asked angrily, mocking David. It was obvious, though. Detective Moore knew the reason all along. It was up to David to help him, just as he’d helped her.37

“Then teach me, David,” Detective Moore said mockingly, “Teach me.”38