48. Celine
Celine
A woman dressed in a gray pant-suit approaches us, nodding at Amelia and Vince in a silent hello before turning to face me.
“Miss Monroe?” she asks kindly, keeping a professional, yet empathetic expression.
“Yes,” I reply hesitantly.
“My name is Detective Samantha Carmichael, and I’ve been assigned to this case. May we go somewhere more private to speak?”
“Oh, shit.” The words immediately leave Vince, causing Amelia to shoot out of her chair and cover his mouth with her hand. My focus turns back to the detective, and I give her an innocent nod, then stand to follow her.
Detective Carmichael walks us down the short hall to the cafeteria and gestures for me to take a seat at the corner table, away from other guests. I know why she wants to talk to me. It’s because I killed Father Keaton.
I’ve watched too many true-crime documentaries with Amelia to know that just because you say that it was self-defense, you don’t always get away with a slap on the wrist. No matter how obvious it should be that you had to choose between saving yourself and being murdered.
But if she thought I was guilty, then I would be arrested and taken down to the station, right?
I suck in a deep breath and brace myself for what she has to say.
Once she sits down, she gets straight to the point.
“When I started the investigation on this case, and after I reviewed the crime scene, I was alerted by the police that some members of the convent were taken to the hospital. The officer you spoke to gave me your statement, which you had indicated that you had no choice but to act in self-defense when it came to the death of Father Keaton. Is that accurate?”
“Yes,” I admit.
She nods and continues. “I was able to search through Father Keaton’s office and came across a notebook that he had hidden away very well.
It had a list of his plan… in detail.” She clears her throat, clearly disturbed by what she read.
“Making it clear that he had some kind of sick, sadistic fascination with murder and had convinced himself that God told him to act on it, and admitted he would go to any extent to make sure he killed every woman in that room. In the entire convent.”
At the mention of the other women, the ones who most likely would have been in that room later in the day or maybe the next, my heart skips a beat knowing that they won’t have to deal with the horrors we did. They are safe.
“Not only were his plans about killing the other women, but also you and Father Alexander. I was able to question every priest involved, and they all, surprisingly, admitted guilt and gave a hand-written confession.”
Good. They can rot in a prison cell.
“At the station, they did a thorough search of his computer and found some unsettling images and videos of him with two of the women in the convent.” My teeth clench together at the reminder of what he did to Joanna and Bekah.
“They also found videos and images of you with Father Alexander. I have to ask, did he force you into anything?”
I’m quick to shake my head. “No, he would never force me to do something I didn’t want to. Our relationship… it was a mutual agreement between the two of us.”
“Okay.” She nods, seeming to believe me.
“Regarding your self-defense claim specifically, and based on all the evidence collected from the crime scene, the notebook, the priest’s confessions, and your injuries, it has been officially confirmed that Father Keaton’s mental state was irrational, ruthless, and manic; ultimately justifying your use of deadly force was in fact an act of self-defense. ”
“So, does that mean I’m not going to jail?”
She lets out a breathy chuckle and shakes her head. “No, Celine. You won’t be going to jail. You not only saved your own life, but also Father Alexander’s and the lives of many other women in the convent who would have had to endure the same things you went through.”
I finally let out a deep sigh that I’ve been holding in. A surge of energy awakens in my veins, steadying my hands as heat rises to my cheeks. I’m starting to feel like myself again, very slowly, but I’ll take it. It’s better than the numbness I was holding on to.
I understand that this is going to be a tough path moving forward, and it’s going to be a lot of work to heal both physically and mentally, but I’m grateful to be alive, and I’m so thankful for Alex. And at this very moment, I’m even more grateful to not be going to jail tonight.
When I open my eyes, Detective Carmichael is peering over my shoulder towards the doors of the cafeteria, and the corner of her lips rises. I look behind me to see Amelia and Vince watching us. Flashing them a smile as if to tell them I’m okay, I look back at the detective.
“It seems that you have good company to keep an eye on you. Having loved ones around will be really beneficial during your healing process. Keep surrounding yourself with people who are supportive and people whom you can trust. Which brings me to my next point. Even though you’ve been cleared of any charges, it is court-mandated that you attend a weekly therapy session for a year. ”
“Oh,” I say blankly.
“A lot of the time, even though you may have friends and family to support you, they don’t truly grasp what you are going through.
And it may be hard for them to understand the real impact that it might have on you in the long run.
Which is why it is important to have a safe space to talk to someone who has worked with many survivors in situations like this. ”
Her eyes are filled with empathy, and the pity in her stare causes me to look away.
“You’ve gone through Hell and back. You fought for your life. You are not only a survivor, but you’re also a warrior, Celine. Please remember that and take time to completely heal.”
My eyes snap back to hers at the words she uses, and I nod in understanding. She hands me her business card and tells me to call her if I need anything, and that someone will contact me soon with more information for scheduling sessions with a therapist. I thank her as she stands and leaves.
Within seconds, Amelia and Vince sit down next to me and envelop me in a hug. I’d normally love the affection, but it seems that since I’m feeling human again and not a robot, this time, I feel the slight pain that their gesture comes with.
I wince. “Ribs. Bruised. Too tight.”
They pull back, looking concerned.
“I’ll be fine.” I try to laugh to make light of the situation, but when their eyes meet mine, filled with distress, love, and a little pity, my laugh turns to a cry.
I think back to what the detective said about surrounding myself with people whom I truly trust. These two, I know without a doubt, will always be there for me and will keep me safe.
They see my pain, not just physical, but the pain from being locked away in the convent, stripped away from them, from society, only to be put into a situation where I had to kill a person to save myself.
And then the heartache from losing Esther, the heartache from watching Alex almost die, and not being able to do a damn thing to save either of them.
I can’t hold it in anymore. I don’t hold back.
I begin to sob, and they carefully intertwine our arms, making sure not to put any pressure on my ribs or the cast. They lean their head on my shoulders to comfort me, letting me cry without saying a word.
And that’s exactly what I need.
We sit in this spot for what feels like hours, but I know that it was only a few minutes. Once the tears subside, we remain silent. They want the details of what happened, and I get that, but it’s nice to just sit here and not have to talk about it. To not have to replay the horror I endured.
I hear one of their phones vibrate on the table, and when I open my eyes, I squint to see a notification from the local news station. With a whisper, I read the title out loud.
“Mother of Possible Victim Claims this is a Hoax.”
“Oh… you don’t think it’s…” Vince begins to say, but trails off.
Amelia chews her lip and says, “It couldn’t be.”
I stare at the screen, the headline of the story in bold letters.
“It’s one hundred percent my mother.” They look at each other, and just as Vince is about to flip his phone upside down, I grab his hand and stop him. “I want to see it.”
“Are you sure?” He asks cautiously.
Not really. But if it is my mother, I want to hear what she has to say about this.
“I’m sure.”
He unlocks his phone, clicks the video link, and presses play. Behind the reporter, I see my mother in the background, looking like a madwoman. Vince hands me the phone to hold, and I turn up the volume.
“We are still waiting for more information about what happened at Grace Community.” The woman announces. “We have been informed that there are multiple deceased victims.”
“Excuse me! Hello!” My mother walks into the frame and tries to take the reporter’s microphone, but the reporter snatches it back.
“Hi, I’m Teresa Stark, reporting live with the local news,” she introduces herself to my mother. “Do you happen to be related to one of the victims or are you trying to get information on a possible victim?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I’m extremely concerned they have this whole situation wrong. My husband and I know Father Keaton personally, and he is a priest. A man of God. He would never do something this horrendous. It is a shame that people are speaking ill of him. This is–”
Teresa interrupts her, “Just to clarify, how did you know the priest?”
“Well, we met him when we sent our daughter here. He said he would help guide her to God and grow her relationship with Him. He said she was doing much better, and now this is happening, and I- I just don’t understand.” She shakes her head.
“Your daughter is currently attending this convent under Father Keaton’s authority?” The reporter questions. “Has she been able to share any news or updates when you spoke to her?”
“Huh? Who?” She sighs dramatically as her head continues to swivel, taking in the scene surrounding her.