Epilogue 1
Twenty Years Later
“You've got one hour.” The prison guard warms. I know. I've been doing this once a month for twenty years. I answer with a single nod, and I begin making my way to our designated visitation room.
Twenty years. It seems so strange to say out loud. Twenty years ago, Andrew Miller, my Andy, was sentenced to life in prison for premeditated homicide. Twenty years ago, I had to watch the love of my life be taken away in handcuffs out of the courtroom as I sat and cried in the audience.
You may have heard about his trial; it was all over the national news. People from across the country came to sit in the courtroom to see the fate of the “Valentine's Day Strangler.”
The trial was fairly short. Andrew confessed to everything he did to Zane that night.
The jury and American viewers at home watched in shock as he explained how he murdered my ex-boyfriend in cold blood, as if he were explaining how to play a common chord on the bass.
To say it was spine-chilling would be putting it mildly.
He didn't bat an eye when the opposing lawyer displayed the bloody stone cross or the tangled and damaged electrical cord. He never denied a single action they pinned against him when we all gasped at the gruesome crime scene. I’ll never forget how badly mangled Zane’s face looked in those ghastly photos.
Andy just looked at me, as he always did.
Like I was the only person in the world and everything he did was for me.
“I'll do anything for you.” His words still echo in my mind as if I heard them yesterday.
Even after my constant protests, Andrew refused to plead insanity.
He explained he knew exactly what he was doing when he followed us to the coffee shop and then again from my house to Zane's.
When he was asked by his court-appointed attorney why he committed murder, his answer was simple: it was the kiss that triggered his anger.
That damn kiss. It's what caused my whole world to turn upside down.
They've put him in a single cell due to his “good behavior” during his stay. I can only imagine what it looks like. Probably drawings and doodles taped on the walls, as well as poems and lyrics he's written over the past two decades.
“You're in here today.” The guard stops before opening our private room. “Someone will bring him in soon.” He smiles politely before shutting the door.
“Thank you.” I don't know if he heard me before shutting the slate metal door behind us, but he nods when he passes the small window near the top.
I've done this before, so many times, but the butterflies never go away.
Adrenaline buzzes under my skin like a thousand espresso shots shooting through my veins.
The tiny hairs on my arms stand on end when I hear his loud footsteps come closer, and a glow that won't go away until our hour is up and we have to say our goodbyes.
The metallic sound from the chains on his handcuffs grows louder, and I know he's right outside the door. My heart beats faster in my chest as I listen for the knob to slowly turn.
“You have one hour,” another guard signals to the empty seat next to mine as he widens the open space enough for Andy's giant frame.
“Thank you.” His voice will always make my stomach so somersaults.
Andy walks in, and the door slams behind him. He's gotten stronger since my last visit. His biceps seem to cling to his orange jumpsuit. I follow his body with my eyes as he carefully sits next to me in the brown folding chair.
He moves his now long-grown-out hair away from his sapphire eyes, displaying the new permanent ink that paints his neck. He grabs my hands and rubs the pad of his tattooed fingers over the top of my hand.
“Hey, Andy.” I beam, holding tighter to his hand.
“What's up, Candi?”