It was the first time I killed a man. I know killing is wrong. But, killing someone who has done more wrong than right I believe needs to be dead, right? Was I really wrong to kill him? It just had to be done.
I sat in the enclosed room with the two detectives, Detective Johnson and Detective Quinn for an hour now. I was in shock of what happened. I felt if I told them they wouldn’t believe me. They stood in silence for a moment. A video camera was pointed toward my blood stained face and clothes.
“Start at the beginning. Tell us what happened. You may come out of this situation as we gather evidence and truth outside your story. You just need to speak.” Detective Quinn stared at me. I looked up into his eyes and the tears flowed down my cheeks.
“I had just moved into that house about a year ago. Things were going pretty well. I finished my schooling. I had my job working at the psychiatrist office for about 8 months. I was even working on having my own business. At least that was the plan. ” I started wiping the tears away. The two detectives began to scribble down notes and intensively listened to my story.