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They had called him in the middle of the night, woken him up from his uneasy sleep. On the one hand he was grateful for it, as his sleep had not been easy or refreshing for the past years, on the other hand, he was furious, as this could have waited for the next day.

They had offered to come and get him, but he had opted to come in on his own, that way he at least had some time to get his act together.

Now he was walking down this blant corridor, passing one door after the next, until they arrived at a nondescript door. The agent to his right reached for the doorknob but hesitated to turn it.

“We have to ask you, as it is standard practice, do you have any weapon or otherwise dangerous object on you right now?”

His voice was calm but insistent, as he looked into the tired man’s eyes. He shook his head and patted the pockets of his jacket and pants.

“No, just my wallet, keys and my phone. I was in a bit of a rush, you know?”

He answered truthfully and the agent to his left pointed at a small container on the cupboard next to the door.

“Would you please leave them there? We will guarantee their safekeeping while you are in there, with him.”

He nodded slowly and pulled out a worn down, thin leather wallet, his phone and a bunch of keys from his pockets and with a metallic clatter he deposited them in the container. The Agent closed the lid and the clasps on either side. With that done the first agent turned the doorknob and pulled open the door.

Behind it there was a mostly empty room with greyish white concrete walls, ceiling and floor. One of the walls was mostly covered by a big mirror and the single fluorescent tube on the ceiling bathed the whole room in a cold white light, eliminating all shadows, but a fuzzy spot underneath the steel table that was bolted to the floor with heavy bolts and a shackle to tie someone down to it. The chairs were also bolted to the floor, as if to prevent one from using them as a weapon or something like that. It was one of those interrogation rooms, like in the TV-Shows.

Slowly he entered the room and took a look around. The one supposed to be in there obviously wasn’t as of yet. Hesitantly he went over to the table and took the seat which had no shackle. One agent followed him in and came up to the table but did not sit down.

“We caught him last night. He is actually a small fish. Drug dealer. Nothing special. But a DNA sample led us to this old case… Well, it is a perfect match.”

The sound of the folder hitting the steel table sounded awfully loud in the small echoey room. He reached for the folder that among other things bore the name: Olivia “Ollie” Pierce. There was a big red stamp over it saying: Case closed, but the seal on its side was broken and so he opened it.

The moment he looked inside, he wished he hadn’t, as from the first page his daughter's face looked at him. Her empty stare bored right into his head and he winced audibly. The expression on his face was petrified as he closed the file again, not willing to look at the rest of it, as the pictures and details were still painfully present in his memory.

He needed no reminder on what had happened to his little girl almost eight years ago now. Back then all lead went cold after a while and as no new leads had been found, they had closed the case eventually, leaving his family to fend for their own. From there everything had gone down the river in a handbasket. His wife had left him, as she blamed him for what had happened. He had lost his good paying job, because of his depression. He had to sell the house, to pay out his then ex-wife and for a while it had looked like he would want to end it all.

In the end, it had turned out he was to rational a man to give in to suicidal thoughts and had kept on going forward. He had fought tooth and nail to claw back every semblance of a somewhat normal life. For almost seven years he had struggled and now he had a small apartment, a job that afforded his life, and he thought he had moved on…

Well, obviously he had not; and so hadn’t the authorities, as they had captured the one responsible for…

He did not dare to finish the thought, as it tied his intestines into knots and he felt his jaws grind. Slowly he pushed the file away from himself and looked at the agent standing next to him with a pained expression on his face.

“Why exactly am I here?”

He asked, his voice hoarse and still filled with tiredness. The agent let drop another file, it looked fresh, was much thinner and only the name tag was filled in. Anthony “Tony” Murdock.

He grabbed the file and slowly pulled it towards himself. He was unsure if he wanted to look inside, but before he could open it the agent held his hand over it.

“Well, you know the governor and his zero tolerance policy. The suspect has already confessed and plead guilty in all but one charge. He will be presented to the judge later this day. The trial will be a short one and he will be sentenced to the death row, that much is certain. And knowing our governor, the sentence will be carried out almost immediately.”

The agent said in a calm and controlled manner, while looking down on him.

“This might just be the only time you will be able to talk to the guy that took your daughter’s life.”

He added and took his hand from the file. The tired man looked at the file and with slightly trembling fingers he opened it. From the first page a young man looked at him. He held the typical black slate with his name and a random assortment of letters and numbers in front of him, in that stereotypical mug-shot. He had an assortment of little tattoos on his neck and did not look older than late twenties. There was a sad look on his face, as if he knew what was waiting for him. This was the stereotypical photo of a drug dealer, if he ever had seen one, but not the picture of a brutal murderer, he had imagined, when it came to the one who had ended his family.

He turned the page and read through the first paragraph.

“Tony” Murdock really was just a small fish. Dealing with mostly pot, had one or two other offences. His biggest gig up to that point had been a robbery of a small back water gas station, and even that had gone down without any violence. He had been identified by security camera footage and had been apprehended shortly afterwards. He had a short stint in a county jail and had been released afterwards with a fair warning not to stay on his path down the thug way of life, but he had never managed to veer back onto the path of righteousness again. He had stayed on his way, kept on dealing and it was then and there when they caught him again.

To his dismay, nowadays, they took DNA samples of every assailant they arrested, not only his fingerprints. It was this DNA that had linked “Tony” to the unfortunate series of events that in the end ended the life of one Olivia Pierce.

The look on Mr. Pierce’s face was stoney when he closed the file again and looked up to the agent.

“Ok, send him in, I want to ask him a few questions.”

He said in a quiet voice, underscoring his request with a slow nod. The agent standing next to him nodded.

“You will have to agree to a few little details first, though.”

He replied and took the folder from the table.

“Go on.”

Said Mr. Pierce and waited for the rules of engagement that were attached to this opportunity.

“Well, naturally we can not have you assaulting him. You are allowed to talk to him, scream at him, let your steam blow off, no problem, but you are not allowed to lay hands on him. He will be restrained, and if he so much as sniff at you, we will take care of him, but you will not be allowed to hurt him physically. Do I have made myself clear Mr. Pierce?”

The agent asked and was rewarded with a slow but earnest nod.

“Of course you have. I have no intention of laying hands on him. I just want to know why.”

His voice was toneless and hoarse. Taking in his answer the agent nodded once more and went to the door, knocking on it.

“Well then, it will only be a moment. We will be back shortly.”

The door was opened and the agent left him alone in the room. He took a deep breath and sank back against the chair, letting his hand drop onto his lap. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure anymore, if he really wanted to meet the man who had taken his daughter’s life, and especially he was not so sure, if he would be able to hold back, if the man would show no remorse towards his deed.

If he would not show respect toward the man, whose life he had thoroughly destroyed, he was uncertain if he could keep his cool and not surge over the table to end his misery then and there.

He was certain they would not leave them alone, surely at least one police-officer or an agent would stay with them in the room at all times, how would they be able to assure either of their safety.

However, he had not to ponder over these questions all too long, as the door was opened again and “Tony” was brought in. He wore the typical orange overall, most inmates wore nowadays, he had cast his gaze to the floor and his hands and feet were shackled with cuffs and chain. He came over to the table without a word and carefully sat down. His cuffs were fastened to the table and only then he dared to look over the table and face him.

Mr. Pierce took a deep breath as he saw the eyes of the assailant. Their deep blue color was a sharp contrast to the reddened eyes, he had a couple of smaller tattoos dotted around his face and neck area. None of which made any sense to the man sitting across the table. Random numbers, words, ornaments and symbols. Sure, those were marks of the gangs he had belonged to, or something like that. Other than those, there was not much of note about this man. He was of average height and build clearly had caucasian roots, but somewhen in the past some latino genes had found their way into his genepool. His five o’clock shadow was somewhat uneven, like he hadn’t had the opportunity of a clean shave, but had to make due with what resources he had had. There were some almost healed up bruises on his cheek and neck, most likely from the apprehension, but no scars or other injuries he could see.

He looked younger in person, than in the pictures in the file, and he looked like he knew what was coming for him. He had an eerie calmness about him, but there was no smugness, no bravado or any form of pride, he looked like a man who knew what he had done, and now knew he had to face the consequences for his deeds.

“Tony” Murdock slowly folded his hands, the clanking of the chains against the steel table pulled Mr. Pierce out of his thoughts. Their eyes met and before he could do or say anything, the prisoner took the stage.

“Mr. Pierce, please allow me to express my utmost sincere regrets to what has happened.”

Said the man in orange in a low tone that actually sounded like he meant it. He fiddled nervously with a chainlink that he had taken between his fingers and looked at the grieving father, whose expression was petrified. He was genuinely stunned by the words spoken by his daughter’s murderer. How could he sincerely regret what he had done then and there, why, if it was so regrettable, had he done it in the first place?

Deep inside himself he had wished for the man sitting in front of him to be a stereotypical thug, being smug about his deed and boasting about it, then it would have been so much easier to just hate him and wish for his death. But the young man sitting across the table was just a little heap of misery that would sink into the ground if it would be able to.

He took a deep, trembling breath.

“Tell me… Mr. Murdock…”

He began, but he was interrupted by his counterpart.

“Please, don’t call me that… it is Tony… it has always been just Tony…”

He nodded softly.

“Well then, Tony, tell me… tell me why…”

He demanded, his voice breaking with the last words and his eyes burning their gaze into “Tony’s”. The young man swallowed and you could see how his mind was racing to formulate an answer. Obviously he was struggling to find the right words for what he was about to tell the man on the opposite side of the small table. He was entitled to hear the truth, but the truth was equal times disturbing as it was enraging. When he finally took heart and began to talk, his voice was barely audible, a quiet whisper and his fists balled white knuckled around the chain binding him to the table.

“Mr. Pierce, I… I can’t tell you why… it is not that simple…”

He began, but before his counterpart could interfere he continued.

“... I… I want to be honest with you, since you deserve the truth… The short and simple answer is, your girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and ran into a couple of young men, high as a kite…”

He said and took a deep breath before looking at his hands, still clenched tightly around the chain.

“We were on a hard trip, enough to knock a rhino out cold, but being used to drugs makes you more resilient to its effects. We were out in the search for some “fun”. The sort of fun that does require at least one more person… and well… when we came around the corner, your girl ran straight into us. She never had a chance…”

He said in a calm tone, and looked back at Mr. Pierce, who was seething inside.

“Well, we took her with us, and she knew better, so as to not struggle. At first it was really just having fun together. Sure, she was not happy about it, but we made sure not to be too rough. In the end… when it happened… well…”

He looked down on his hands again.

“... I wish I could say I was not aware of what I was doing… but I was… I knew exactly what I was doing… and there is no excuse, no redemption for it.”

He concluded and sank down on his chair, as if telling this to the father of his victim had taken every ounce of courage and strength he had in him.

On the other side of the table, the man was boiling. He saw how taxing this had been for the small time drug dealer, how much it had taken him to tell him this, but at the same time, it felt so casual, so nonchalant, how he just told him, that first raping and then murdering his daughter was just a matter of her being at there… being the first female they met that fateful evening. A target of opportunity so to say.

Yes, he was right in saying that there was no excuse, no redemption for what they had done. No amount of apologizing would ever bring her back. Nothing would ever repair the damage their deed had caused.

He had to seriously hold back, not to just jump over the table and beat the living shit out of this convict, even if he knew, ultimately it would not help him in his grief; but maybe it would serve for a moment of satisfaction, a brief relief from his constant pain.

He took a quivering breath and looked at “Tony” intently.

“If you knew what you were doing… then why didn’t you stop?”

He asked in a low tone.

“Up until then, it was “just” rape and assault. Why did you murder her? Why did you end her life and subsequently yours with it?”

He added and his counterpart lifted his gaze upon him. He shook his head, his lips were trembling and his eyes were reddened.

“I could not stop myself. I was coming down from my high, I saw what we had done, and I was afraid. What if she called the cops, as she should have, no doubt about it. She would have pressed charges, sure she would, as it would have been the right thing to do. I was barely eighteen back then. I was not ready to bear the consequences. As weren’t the others. I had to silence her, at least that was what I talked myself into.”

He said, still in a quiet tone, more whispering than speaking.

The Bang, as Mr. Pierce’s fists slammed on the table made him flinch. And the volume of his screams made him wince and whimper.

“AND THEREFORE YOU KILLED MY LITTLE BABY GIRL! YOU SAW FIT, TO END HER LIFE, JUST TO COVER UP YOUR SAVAGE URGES! YOU STRANGLED HER, AND THEN DISMEMBERED HER, DUMPED HER AND RAN!”

He screamed from the top of his lungs, his veins pulsating on his neck and forehead, his head red from the rage and anger, barely contained by the stern look of the two agents standing left and right behind the convict.

“Tony” nodded, there was no use in lying, he had already confessed and pleaded guilty. Mr. Pierce panted in his rage, but slowly came back down, as he knew it was of no use, no help, to keep his anger going, instead he looked at the younger man pleadingly.

“Do you even have a concept, an idea, what suffering you have caused by your deed? Do you even have a conscience?”

He asked, his voice now hoarse and devoid of power. Leaning forward, his hand cramped around the edge of the table, awaiting an answer, a reaction, anything, but the young man in the orange overall chewed on his lips, obviously contemplating over the accusations thrown against him by the older man. His posture was tense but submissive, emanating guilt and humility.

“M… Mr. Pierce, how can I have an idea of what suffering I have conjured up by my deed? I never experienced a loss of that magnitude. Sure I have a conscience, and it had always weighed on my shoulders like a heavy rock, but I also knew, if I ever confessed to the police, that my life would have been over in an instant. So I ran, hid, lived in constant fear, moved out of state, tried to establish a new identity, but my roots always followed me. I never found a footing in society, was never able to settle down and start a real life. I never had a job, never had a steady income. I needed to revert to crime, petty crime, theft, drugs, even if I never took any ever again after that night. And well… it was of no use.”

He explained and looked at his hands, sifting the chain through his fingers.

“I was always chained to that one fateful night. I knew at one point it would reel me in, like the hooked fish I was.”

He looked across the table into the fathers eyes, something like hope and resolve in them.

“In a way, I am happy that they finally caught me. In a way, I am glad that it is finally over. No need to hide anymore, no need to try to live a life based on a lie.”

He said and there really was relief in his voice, but before Mr. Pierce could interject something he continued.

“I know you will not be able to forgive me, I myself can not forgive me. I know, no amount of apology will ever be able to bring her back, make the last eight years miraculously be just a bad dream, or will ever be able to serve some form of restitution to you and your family. All I can do now, is to express my deepest regret for everything that has happened and to face the consequences for what has happened.”

He concluded and clenched his fists around the chain once more, while his opposite sat there and stared at him. It took a moment before he was able to answer, as he needed to collect himself and try to stay calm. In the end he took a deep breath and let his shoulders sack.

“You are right. No amount of apology will ever be able to make what happened disappear. There is no way to make amends for what has been done all those years back. I can not forgive you for what you have done, nor can I forgive the others for being part of it and not stopping it from happening. At the same time however, no amount of punishment will ever bring her back either.”

Mr. Pierce said quietly, his anger subsiding more and more, giving way to grief and suffering once more. They both cast their gaze down on the table, whose brushed steel surface offered a moment of respite in a room that otherwise only offered memories of a terrible deed. In the end it was the divorced father who found his voice again first.

“For all it is worth, maybe I will be able to find some closure, now that I know her tormentor is caught.”

It sounded final, even though there was no force in his voice. “Tony” nodded, not able to look the man in the face.

“I hope you will find closure and peace at some point, as I am afraid that my closure and peace will be served to me shortly.”

He muttered, pressing his lips together, as he knew what was in for him, as soon as he was presented to the court and its judge. There was no way around that, he had committed murder.

One of the agents placed a heavy hand on the convict's shoulder, bending down slightly.

“I think it is time to go…”

The lawman said just loud enough for both of them to hear, and Mr. Pierce raised his head instantly.

“Where will he be brought?”

He asked the agent, who stepped to the side to give “Tony” a bit of room and his colleague the chance to lose the chain from the shackle on the table.

“He will be sent to the courthouse’s jail and when the time for the trial is set, court will be held and judgement will be given.”

The agent’s soft but serious tone was underscored by the clinking of the chain when his colleague opened the lock and let the assailant stand up from the table. The clinking of the chains and the soft rustling of the overall was all that was audible for a moment, as Mr. Pierce watched the man get up and turn to the door. He felt compelled to say something, anything, as he knew that this man would soon walk his last mile and would end up in the gas chamber. Now was most likely the last real opportunity to send some words to the one who had taken everything from him.

Deep inside of him, something old, dark and evil demanded him to curse him, to wish for him to suffer, to go to hell, where he belongs; at the same time something at the back of his head urged him to be the better man, to accept the apology from an already condemned man, to at least take that burden of his shoulders.

*What has already happened can not be undone, can never be repaired and is already lost. He has already suffered and will get his sentence. He is already punished and will die for his deeds. If anything, don’t burden yourself with not forgiving him, and carry this weight with you for the rest of your life.*

The voice in the back of his mind said and urged him to stand up. His face was stoney as he looked up at the convict and with a nod, the man turned fully to the door, which was opened by one of the agents. The chains did not allow “Tony” to walk fast, and so he had still a moment to intervene. Indeed his hand twitched a few times in a motion to stop them midstride, but in the end he did not say anything until they were already through the door.

When the door clicked shut, he raised his hand and gasped, but they were already gone.

He slumped back on his chair, alone in the otherwise bland and empty room, he looked at the now empty chair where only moments before the murderer of his daughter had sat. He breathed heavy, as the stress in him built up fast. All of a sudden he felt the urge to say something, to hold them back, but it was already too late, they had taken him away and he would not be able to talk to him once more. His mouth felt dry and he gasped for air, he brushed his hand through his mottled grey hair and took a handful of it before leaning forward and propping his head up on his hands on the table. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt his blood rush in his ears, he felt hot and bothered and yet his forehead was wet with cold sweat. He tried to swallow, but there was nothing to swallow. He stared at the table, trying to get himself back under control, while his legs trembled and the urge for moving became almost unbearable. His body wanted to pace, to burn off energy that was welling up inside of him, but he was unable to coordinate his limbs.

He sat like this for a while, but time was relative, in a room that had no windows, no clock, no nothing. It felt like an eternity, and yet it was most likely not more than maybe five minutes.

When the door opened back up and one of the agents came back in, it felt like he had not seen a human being in years. He lifted his head from his hand and looked at the agent, who looked back at him with a calm and collected expression.

“Are you all right Mr. Pierce?”

He asked in a quiet tone and took the few steps to the table, leaning slightly against the steel frame of the furniture. Mr. Pierce looked up at the young man and shook his head in disbelief.

“No, no I think I am not all right.”

He confessed and leaned back against the chairs back. He felt exhausted like he never had before. Not even the drill sergeants in the army had managed to beat him that hard. The agent only nodded and silently took the seat on the opposite side of the table.

“You managed well Mr. Pierce. What you are experiencing now is called post traumatic stress exhaustion. The situation you were in has drained your body of all energy, and you feel the symptoms of withdrawal of endorphins. Headaches, ear ringing, numbness of limbs, the urge to move, the inability to do so, chest pain, sour taste… all those are typical symptoms. They will pass soon. Do you need a coffee, water, tea or sugar?”

He asked in his calm but serious tone, looking him in the eyes, but he shook his head again.

“Suddenly I feel I should have said more, done more…”

The older man whispered and rubbed his arms, while the agent nodded.

“That is normal. But to be honest, what else was there to say? He will get his trial, and since he has confessed and pleaded guilty, the process will be a short one. The sentence is more or less set in stone. There is not much to say or do here.”

The agent explained and gestured slightly with his hands, mimicking the scales of justice.

“Justice will be served, as it should, don’t you think?”

He added and raised his eyebrows, to which the grieving man could only nod.

“That is true. Justice has to be served. But, I am unsure… something in me wants me to curse the man who killed my daughter, and at the same time my conscience urges me to forgive him, as what has been done can not be undone, and I should not carry the weight of not being able to forgive him on my shoulders until my death.”

He said in a distressed tone, looking over the table in a desperate plea for advice and help. The agent pressed his lips together and tilted his head, his left hands fingers thrummed on the tabletop as he looked at the heap of misery on the other side.

“Well, it is a bit late for that I would think, the only opportunity left to clear your conscience now would be at the trial itself. Until then, Mr. Murdock will be held in confinement at the jail, no visitors allowed there. The trial will be public, but as I said, since it is pretty much a done deal, it won’t be a long or big trial to follow anyway. They will pretty much read the charge, he will once more confess and plead guilty, the judge will confirm this and will set the sentence, which will for all intents and purposes be death, and that’s that. There will be no objections, no public outcry or otherwise initiative to stop it from happening, since the case is clear and no one will miss a drug dealer, not to mention a rapist and murderer.”

The agent explained leaning back against the backrest of the chair, crossing his arms before his chest and Mr. Pierce could only nod.

“I thought so. Another missed opportunity… like so many in the last ten or so years.”

He said softly, looking at his hand, slowly closing and opening them a few times.

“You always ever know what you had, when you already lost it, you know?”

He added, looking at the agent.

“What do you mean?”

Said agent answered with curiosity in his voice, straightening up a bit.

“Well, you know, after Ollie died, I suddenly felt there were so many things I would have wanted… should have told her when she had still been with us, but it was already too late then. I should have told her how much I loved her. I mean she knew I loved her, she was my only daughter and I loved her to bits, but I never really told her. She had such a nice, natural smile, such a warm and happy personality. I can remember anyone not being happy to be around her. I should have told her how much I respected her for the hard work she had put into her college degree, since she knew we were barely able to afford it.”

He explained and the agent nodded.

“Yeah, indeed. That is always the case. We think it is obvious, but in the end, when everything is said and done, there is still so much left on the table and the ones we wanted to tell are gone…”

The agent agreed, and now it was Mr. Pierce who nodded.

“And it is not only my daughter. As you surely know, my marriage broke after this had happened. My wife accused me of being too passive, of not doing enough to find the murderer of her little baby girl. I can’t argue with her, I pretty much let the police do their work, figuring there was not much I could have done to help.”

He continued and the agent agreed.

“As you should, interfering with police work will in all likelihood only slow things down, or will result in the police not cooperating. Not interfering is the way to go, even if it does not feel right, or make you feel powerless or helpless.”

Mr. Pierce pressed his lips together and shook his head softly.

“She left me, took everything that was left, our son, the house, everything. I did not interfere, I never did interfere. In a way she was right, for once I should have stood up and fight for something, but I let her go… let so many things go unspoken… just like today.”

He said quietly, collapsing in on himself, while the agent nodded just as quietly.

He had seen this happen countless times before when they had brought the bad news. Slowly the agent leaned forward and pushed himself up to his feet.

“Well, Mr. Pierce, there is nothing more you can do here. All I can recommend to you is, to keep an eye on the schedule of the court and when his case comes up, you can come in and offer your word to him then and there.”

He offered and looked at the door, still open, inviting them to leave this dreary room. Mr. Pierce looked after him, when he stood up and then to the door. The hint was clear, they had shown him what they had wanted to show him, now it was time to go home. He could understand that, so why staying here when there was nothing more to do or say. The case was closed, this time for real.

He thought for a moment, hadn’t “Tony” always talked about them being more than one person?

“What about the others?”

He asked the agent and was rewarded with a knowing nod.

“He has ratted them out to us, but either they are already dead or are in hiding, just like he had been. Currently we are still searching for one of them, but so far there are no further leads we can follow. We have names, aliases, known addresses, all we can now do is keep eyes and ears open. All forces are in the know about him, and as soon as we know anything, he will be apprehended as well. But that has only distantly anything to do with the case of your daughter, since “Tony” has assured us that this last remaining guy never as much as laid a hand on your daughter.”

Explained the lawman and Mr. Pierce shook his head.

“No, no, it is not that easy, if he was with them, if he knew, he is equally as guilty for not stepping in and stopping them or at least calling the police on them.”

He exclaimed and pushed himself off his chair, but he stood a bit wobbly before the agent, who looked at him expectantly.

“And you want to tell me, how and where I shall look for someone, who has not shown up anywhere in the last two years, is that so?”

The agent said in a calm but very intense tone looking him straight in the eye, making him fall silent in an instant. Mr. Pierce took a deep breath and swallowed his renewed anger before shaking his head.

“Thought so. I can assure you Mr. Pierce, we will do everything in our power to find the missing culprit, but as you surely know, there are something like 25.000 cases of murder and manslaughter in this country each year. As tragic as the death of your daughter was, and still is, there are many others out there that need just as much help. We will never be able to solve every case and apprehend every criminal out there.”

He explained in his eerie calm voice. There was no anger in it, just the resignation of a man that knew no matter how much he would give, he would never be able to win the fight he was fighting. It was only a matter of not giving up, else the bad people would win, and even if he would not win, he would not let “them” win either.

Mr. Pierce nodded slowly, as he was very much able to understand that notion, it was just so frustrating and it got under his skin that they now had at least one of them and yet there was at least one more still on the run. He had to admit defeat and count his losses.

“I… I understand that. It… it is just so discouraging, knowing there is still one of them out there… able to do more harm, and we are powerless to do anything about it.”

He said, his voice a mere shadow of itself, not more than a hoarse whisper. The agent nodded softly and hinted at the door.

“We are not powerless, but are no superheroes, able to be everywhere at once. Rest assured, we are doing everything the laws permit us to do and we will get him at one point.”

The agent gave back and led the older man out of the room. Outside the other agent waited and held the small container with his belongings. Mr. Pierce looked inside the little box and took his phone, keys and wallet, while nodding slowly before looking at the two federal agents.

“Ok. I think I'll go home, there is nothing for me to do here anymore, right?”

He asked and was rewarded with reassuring nods from both men standing next to the door to the interrogation room.

“That is correct. For the moment there is not much else for you to do here. As soon as we get any new information, we will let you know for sure.”

That said, they escorted him out of the office and sent him on his way.

…

On his way home, he contemplated how he should move on with what he knew now. Surely they had informed his ex-wife too. Somehow he was wondering why she hadn’t been there. Sure, she had yelled at him that she never ever, under any circumstance wanted to see him ever again; and she had made it crystal clear before the judge who had divorced them back then, that he would never see his son again. And indeed he had not seen him in person. Through her parents he had seen some pictures and had left presents for birthdays, christmas, easter and the like, but he had not yet seen his son again.

But her not being there today made him wonder if they would bring them together later, or if she in fact had said she would not want to see that dude at all. Then he remembered, they had not told him exactly why they wanted him to meet them in their office. They had said that there was new information concerning their daughter's case, but no specifics.

Well, he would find out eventually, maybe.

He decided to go to the cemetery, where his beloved “Ollie” had been laid to rest. He did not visit the grave often, as too many painful memories were associated with it, but today he felt the need to visit her, talk to her, ask for her guidance from beyond the veil.

…

When he parked his car at the gate, there were no other visitors visible. A lonely father, visiting his deceased child, only thing missing was the rain to make the scene picture perfect. But the weather did not play along to fulfill all the clichés, as there were no clouds anywhere and the sun stood high in the clear sky.

He took a deep breath and got out of his car, taking a look around, only to see that indeed he was all alone at the rather small cemetery. He locked his car, turned to the gate and started walking. The cemetery was pretty small, as the town was not particularly big either, so he would not need to walk all too far, but with each step he took he felt more and more gloomy.

As he passed through the rows of graves he felt like a weight was pushing down on his shoulders and as if something would constrict his chest more and more the further he went. When he crossed the last small graveled path and entered the row in which Olivia laid, he had trouble breathing and every step was like wading through thick morass. Laboriously he set one foot in front of the other and neared the neat little gravestone they had set upon her resting place.

They had chosen a smaller, simple but not bland stone, with a subtle structure hewn into it and her name in bronze letters with a stylized rose underlining it.

As he stood before it, it took his all not to fall on his knees. A whole cavalcade of feelings welled up in him and threatened to overwhelm him. His breath came in deep trembling puffs, as he tried to steady himself and not lose control.

“They caught him, Ollie…”

He said softly, his voice trembling like his breath.

“They finally caught him…”

He sounded hoarse, rough and his voice choked on his tears, as he could no longer hold them back.

“After all these years, you can finally rest in peace.”

He continued and sniffed, barely holding back a sob, as the feeling of relief and closure fought inside him over dominance, while his own conscience sat in the background, making him feel the weight of the still unspoken words on his shoulders. He let the feelings wash over him, sulked in them for a moment before taking another deep breath and steadied himself a bit.

“I… I need your help…”

He whispered and looked down at the grave, while he tried to sort the chaos of feelings. He closed his eyes and pushed his anger and fear aside, as he concentrated on the feeling of closure. The case was closed, again. They had the man, he had confessed, he was allowed to let go, and yet he was not able to.

“Ollie… he has asked for forgiveness. He said he regrets his deed. He knows that no amount of apologies will ever make his deed go away, undo what he has done, but he wants to face the final judgement with his deed being forgiven.”

He said softly, letting his shoulders slump.

“I don’t know if I can forgive him, if it is the right thing to do… please Ollie, give me a sign…”

He pleaded and looked at the stone bearing her name, but there was no sign. No sudden gust of wind, no thunder, no sudden shadow or the call of an eagle overhead.

There was only silence, and a man standing at his daughter’s grave grieving and questioning his conscience. He waited for another moment, a timespan that seemed to last forever, before he took another deep breath and pressed his lips together. He would not get any answers here.

He raised his gaze and looked over the graveyard, it was still empty, no one had come to keep him company. With a deep sigh he looked down at the stone one last time.

“Love you, Muffin…”

He whispered and turned away.

…

The court held trial over Anthony “Tony” Murdock three weeks later, and as predicted, the trial was short, uncomplicated with an outcome that was set in stone long before the convict had even entered the courtroom.

The judge, a man in his sixties, mild mannered and with intelligent, gentle brown eyes, had listened to the charges, as the district attorney presented the case and had then asked “Tony” if he had anything to say about what had been recited by the attorney. He had risen from his seat, still wearing the orange prison uniform and was still cuffed on both hands and feet; he had raised his gaze at the judge.

“Your honor, there are no words to describe the regret I feel for what I have done, and weren’t for the fear of exactly what is happening right now, I would have stepped forward much sooner and confessed. I do not plea for mercy, as I deserve none, but I beg for understanding for my fear, as I know what sentence awaits me. There is no forgiving the sin I loaded on my shoulders, for I ended a life out of fear for the consequences of my deeds. I lay my fate in your hands.”

He had said in an astonishingly calm tone nodding at the judge, before silently sitting back down, next to the lawyer he had been assigned by the state. The judge looked at him and nodded, before sorting some papers on his desk. When he took the stage moments later his firm, booming voice washed over the gathered crowd in the court room.

“By the power vested in me by the state, I hereby pass judgement upon thee Mr. Murdock.”

He began, and “Tony” stood up again, accompanied by his lawyer and the attorney.

“For, among other things, the rape, misstreatment and subsequent murder on Ms. Olivia Pierce, followed by the dismemberment of her remains and the attempted disposal of said remains, and your attempt to avoid prosecution, I am forced to sentence you, according to the laws of this here state, to death. The judgement is final and there is no possibility to appeal this ruling, as to the law of this state, this sentence is final. You will be transferred to the state prison first thing in the morning, where you will await the carrying out of this sentence.”

The judge concluded, his voice filling the room and leaving no room for any doubts about the judgement. When the gavel fell and the knock sounded, it almost felt like the drop of the guillotines blade. “Tony” held the gaze of the judge and nodded grimly as the verdict had been spoken, sealing his fate.

“The defendant has the last word.”

The judge said, looking at him almost expectantly. He nodded once more.

“Your honor, in a way I am almost relieved, as a torment lasting more than eight years ends now.”

He said quietly, waiting for the guards to take him back into custody. The two men in uniform came silently, but with brisk strides towards him and he held his cuffed hand out to him, letting them lead him to a door at the back of the room.

In passing he saw a familiar face sitting in the back row of the audience, looking at him with a petrified face, but when the large double door slammed shut behind them, the last chance for forgiveness passed…

… and so he was unforgiven.

Concept and Idea by

El Poyo Diabolo

Characters by

El Poyo Diabolo

Written by

El Poyo Diabolo

Edited by

El Poyo Diabolo

Published by

El Poyo Diabolo