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The Confession

Dr. Hyacinth Chung looked at me with the classic psychiatrist combination of compassion and clinical curiosity. She was the last resort of a baffled police department. A desperate ploy to loosen the tongue of a possibly guilty man.

"It's not a confession Martin," she said in response to my earlier question, "the police just want to know the truth."

"They know the truth."

"They only have suspicions and your lack of response isn't really helping them move forward."

She reached across the table and cupped my hands in hers. Silently she beseeched me with bright, questioning eyes. I lowered my gaze, signaling my submission.

"I killed Danica Smith," I said with a sigh.

She squeezed my hands in approval and nodded to the officer keeping watch outside the door. I could only assume he would be going to inform his cohorts of their change in fortune. They had no idea.

"And Jane Miller," I added.

Her smile faltered.

"Jeniffer Munroe, Karine Vault, Mitsy Josephs and Diana Chung."

She leaned forward again and searched my eyes for what she hoped was a fallacy. Finding none, she asked, "Diana? My Diana? I've been wondering for so long what happened to my baby when she disappeared from college..."

I cupped her hands in mine and looked into her eyes, now cloudy with tears. I smiled ruefully before replying,

"I know."

Story by:

Karen Heslop

@kheslopwrites

24 November 2016