As soon as the water touched her skin, the
stains of dirt and blood began to fall to the shower floor and they would
disappear down the drain. She was trembling a bit still, shocked by what had
happened earlier. She tried to clean herself with soap, distracting her from
what she had in mind, but she just couldn’t stop thinking about it. She made
the flow of water to run faster, for more water to fall on her. Her unconscious
wanted to drown her, feeling that would be the only way they could keep on living.
But of course, she didn’t drown in her shower. She just stayed there for
several minutes, as if she needed to clean more from her body that only the
dirt and the blood. When she finally closed the water, she stayed there against
the wall, incapable of crying, incapable of feeling anything.
The rest of that day she spent it home. She
had no need or wanted to parade herself around town, not after what had
happened. The images of what had happened invaded her mind every few seconds,
and she wondered if she would ever feel safe and sane again. She lay in her bed
hours and hours, without eating or drinking anything. Her phone rang several
times as well as her cellphone, but she just didn’t answer. She knew it was
office related and she hated to be disturbed by anything related to it on
weekends, even in better days for her. Or maybe it was her parents that had the
tradition of calling her every Sunday afternoon because they knew it was the
slowest and most boring day for her in the week.
When the phone rang again, she was tempted to
grab it but finally decided against it. Talking may have resulted in awkward
reactions, maybe then she would be able to cry or scream and it just wouldn’t
be appropriate, as too many things would have to be explained. Instead, she
decided to head to the kitchen and have some water. She felt dry and a bit
dizzy but knew that she couldn’t hold any food. She went to the bathroom and
tried to vomit but that was a failure. She just returned to bed and lay there
for the rest of the day, in silence, without a single person to help her
understand what was going to happen to her. Because the truth was that she was
scared for her life, as she felt the every single thing had changed.
She hated to admit it, but she did feel
different. Later that day, she went to the bathroom and spent several minutes
looking at her reflection in the mirror. She moved, looking at her every
feature. And as much as she thought that the change had been physical too, she
had no way to prove that. She looked exactly the same, maybe a little but paler
but no other difference besides that. The poor woman passed her hands over her
face several times, as if trying to wake up fro ma bad dream, but she didn’t
wake up. Instead, she decided to go back asleep, something that scared her
immensely as she had no wish of having nightmares.
The following day, she woke up an hour early,
with big bags under her eyes. She showered, put on her work clothes and then
had a big breakfast with toast, scrambled eggs, a sausage and some orange
juice. She was starving from the day before. It was then that she realized that
wanting to be dead didn’t help anyone at all, less of all her. She had to keep
on going and just live like any other person. What she had done had been
definitive, but s many had done it before her and the world was not going to
end because of it. As she had breakfast, she watched the news on her TV but
nothing interesting had happened the day before or that morning, at least as
far as the televisions news world was concerned. When finished, she just
grabbed her coat and left.
Some forty-five minutes later, she was
arriving at her desk, leaving her coat on a hanger on one of the sides of her
cubicle. The morning was cold and everyone had decided to put on their coats
back on, even going as far as putting on scarves or gloves. The morning went on
without a single accident or incident. There was always someone complaining
about the low amount of paper in the copy machine or someone else commenting on
the weather, but that day everyone seemed to be too cold to even speak as much
as they normally did. When she decided to grab a cup of coffee, as she always
did, she realized that something was happening on the ground floor. She could
see people gathering from the twenty-second floor, where she was standing.
Then, a couple of police patrols arrived and
finally an ambulance. Maybe someone had fainted or had been… Yes, one of the
paramedics rushed out of the ambulance as soon as his vehicle had stopped. The
police were putting the yellow ribbon around the place to stop the people from
coming in. In the coffee room, other people had arrived and were looking
exactly at what she was looking at. One of them finally said “Oh my god, it’s a
body!” and she realized that was it. There was a person down there, probably
dead. Maybe he or she had jumped from one of the many floors of the tower or
maybe something else had happened. Any way, their supervisor came and asked
them all to go back to their desks.
At lunch, everyone wanted to know what had
happened and the most skilled people with gossip knew everything about it
within a couple of minutes of being down there talking to other people that
loved to gossip. Apparently, the one who had jumped had been a woman, by the
name of Marcela Jones. Marcela worked in the twentieth floor, in a company that
had something to do with electronics. The point was, she had just run for the
window and fell to her death. So it was a suicide and as our woman heard this,
she felt sick to her stomach and had to run to the toiled. For the rest of the
workday, she felt very sick.
She felt better once the day was over and she
was on a bus home. But maybe the word wasn’t better, but less likely to do the
same thing that Marcela had done. It was crazy but she had seen that woman’s
face once that week and it hadn’t been at work. It had been in another place,
one that she was trying to forget but that kept coming back to her mind.
Worried by these visions, she remained in her room all night, again without
eating. She was thinking about what had happened today and what had happened
over the weekend. The two had to be related, especially after she had seen the
news and realized the state of Marcela’s body. She felt like shit, thinking and
thinking without really achieving anything. She felt guilty and sick to her
stomach.
But by the following morning, she knew what
she had to do and it was maybe the toughest decision she had ever taken.
Instead of leaving for her work, she decided to go to the nearest police
station. There, she asked for someone to listen to her testimony, as she wanted
to confess a crime she had committed. She felt awful, waiting for an agent to
come to talk to her. She gone to the police station by her work, as they knew
more about Marcela’s death that anyone else. Finally, a detective asked her to
follow him to an interrogation room and then he asked if she could state her
name and profession for the record.
Her name was Linda Bloom and she worked as
business consultant in the biggest firm in the city. She wanted to confess that
on the night of the previous Saturday, she had assassinated a man, whom she
blamed for the suicide of Marcela Jones. The detective was surprised but the
first thing that he asked was about the relation between her actions and Marcela.
Linda explained that Stuart Carter, the man she had killed, had brutally
assaulted several women for the last few months in the city. She knew this
because she had managed to escape and, after killing him with a hammer, she had
seen some pictures in his house, from where she recognized Marcela’s face. The
officer asked her for the address of the house where she had killed Carter and
left her there.
Hours later he came back, and she was
officially arrested. They had found the body where she had told them that they
would find it and also the albums of pictures the man took of the women he had
apparently assaulted. They had no proof of this just then, but with time they
would find out that the man was a monster and that the only person that ever
stood in his way was Linda. She had been able to grab the hammer after she
escaped his “studio” and just hit him in the head with it several times. She
did it until he stopped moving and then just ran out, covered in blood and
filth from the place they were in.
Linda had to wait for a trial until all the
evidence was gathered and, by the time they decided to convict her, at least
six months had already passed. Although it was revealed that she was going to be
the man’s last victim, she had failed to report the murder sooner and had
neglected to tell the police about the pictures she had seen, which could have
prevented Marcela’s death. Linda was condemned to five years in prison and that
time was enough to make her loose all her will to live. She died behind bars
only a year after entering the penitentiary.
