How great can love be? One summer's day me and my love were walking in the park, when suddenly a man came and for no reason started talking to my love; I did not know why. The assailant threw my love down and she hit her head on a rock. I immediately called for help, but there was already so much blood. By the time the doctors arrived a pool had formed around her head. The love that I once held was then dead. I couldn't believe my eyes, but it could be no trick, the love of my life laid there cold and motionless before me. Exactly two weeks later after the investigation was considered a cold case because the man who killed her left absolutely zero trace this baffled the police because of the nature of the crime. Couldn’t she have scratched him, drawing any sign of DNA? Could there be any other witness other than myself?
However, there was no scratch, no witness other than myself. I racked my brain for hours and hours trying to remember the face of the devil that attacked wife. I could not recall the man except for the fact that he had black hair and the most revealing detail was that his facial features looked exactly like mine. How could someone who looked exactly like me kill someone I love? Was this simply a coincidence or was there something more.
I became obsessed with the case, I couldn't concentrate on anyone or anything else. She was my one and only love, she was my all, my everything. She had defined me, my existence, since the ninth grade. All I could say to myself was: Why? I started to lose my health, becoming worse and worse every night I was deprived of her. It had to be something supernatural, something in-human, because it could only be coincidence that the assailant looked like me… Or was it?
I was plagued with chronic migraines where all I could see was darkness, numb to my surroundings. I became a prisoner inside my own body. I had these migraines since I was a little kid, but before the crime they had started becoming much worse. Kiley always helped me with them, she gave me a towel for my head and lied with me until the migraine went away. During these migraines, I had nightmares where I fantasized that someone else was in control of my body, but how could this be? Was this possible that there was someone else with me?
This question plagued and tortured me. I began to ask myself if I could have been the one who murdered her, if I could have done such a thing. I asked to see the sketch the police took of the man whom I had described. I may as well have been looking into a mirror. I called my parents who lived a few states away in Idaho about my migraines. They helped me when i was kid, consulting doctors about my condition. My mom told me that I had a small benign tumor in my brain that, which pushed on a certain part, caused me to have brutal headaches where I could feel my whole body throbbing in pain. It was like my whole body had been affected.
The next day I went to the police station, I had taking enough of this torture. I told them that I needed to be studied by a psychiatrist because I thought I could be the one behind the crime, that I could be Kiley’s murderer. I was sent to the San Francisco mental institution where they would watch me and see what happened when I had one of these attacks. The first night there I was in my room, cold and alone in the dark, I began to have chills. My head started to pound. I couldn't stand up. I was drifting in and out of consciousness. I couldn't believe what was happening, someone was taking control of my body. I was not myself.
I could see through my eyes but had no control over what I was about to do. I, or whatever this disease is called inside me, called for a nurse and she came. But she didn't see me, for I had hid behind the door. I leapt out and jumped on her. I watched helplessly as I strangled her to death. I remember the words she said before I killed her: ” Please you're doing this for no reason, spare me”. I felt her pulse slow as her heart began to stop. I remember laughing maniacally and calling for another nurse, taking my position behind the door.
I struggled and finally gained control over myself. I laid there, the patterning of the nurses’ feet coming towards my room. What was I to do with the dead body on my floor? Should I leave it there to be found or should I hide it? I took the body and pried open the window, throwing it out onto the ground ten stories below. As a nurse came in, she dropped her tray in shock from what she just saw. She let out an earth shaking scream.
After that I don't exactly know what happened. I just remember getting stuck with a needle, I was probably sedated. I woke up in a strange place, a windowless concrete cell in which I couldn't lay down fully. I started to think about my wife’s case once more. I remembered the one key detail and that was that of how the man that I described looked like myself. I started to think could I have done this to her. I remember that day in the park I had a small migraine, but it went away after a short while. Could it have come back?
The police said that they had no idea who the man was because the only DNA on her body was my own because she was my wife. This was explainable to the police, though I now began to understand. I began to know in my deepest part of my soul that I killed Kiley, that it wasn't the me she knew it was the me that was inside. That I kept hidden away that could only break loose when I was weakest. How could I live with myself after I knew that I had killed her? I decided that it was too much to bear and that I could not carry on anymore because something inside of me was a murderer.
I had to end my own life, but how could I in a mental institution. I decided I had to wait until I was returned to my normal room so two weeks later when I was put into another general room just like the one I had before. I took a knife from dinner and used it to pry open my window. I am going to have to jump I told myself. I am writing you this letter because I want you to know why I jumped, and do not condemn me for it