Murderer?

I am a murderer. More specifically, a serial killer.

Yes, yes, I know what you are thinking. Why am I telling you this? Are you serious? A killer?

Well, let me tell my story before you judge me too much.

Let’s get the facts straight. My name is Jade Valerie. I am 17 years old and in my senior year of high school. My mother is in an asylum, My father was a murderer and is now dead, and I have no siblings. A have a long, winding background that is absolutely none of your business, and I know that this story is none of your business either.

The story starts on the first night that I visited my mom since she was put in the asylum. I was in her room. Heartbroken. My blond-haired mother was stricken-faced. Her hair was muddy and looked teased. Her eyes were bloodshot and her thin body, which was showing her ribcage, was strapped to a white-sheeted bed. She wore a thin white dress, and I notice how, if I brush her hair and feed her a little bit, she would look pretty.

“Honey.” Her voice was raspy as if she hadn't had a drink of water for months, “The wall, brick, green star, admission to, Griffin, stole it..” Apparently, she had no reason to talk before now, so she hadn't. I process what she said, and fill in the blanks. I look to the wall, studying each and every brick. I was looking for a green star. Walking around the room, I see one spot where a brick is blocked from view. I tear a rocking chair from the corner, and I see the green star. I feel the brick.

“Open.” My mother rasps from the bed, so I pull the brick from the wall. A small cubby is revealed. The next thing my mother had said was “admission to”. I knew what that meant. 

I know I told you that the winding backstory was none of your business, however, some of it must be explained for your understanding. My mother was part of a cult, which was run by, my mother’s next word, Griffin. The admission would be on a tape, which, I assume, she had stolen. 

Inside the cubby of the wall, I pulled out a tape labeled, “Mariah Valerie”. When I stood and replaced the chair, my mother nodded and gulped. I pulled a bottle of water from my bag and gave her some, feeling bad for her even though, for the last year, she had not been much of a mother to me.

My mother finished half the bottle before she looked at me and began to talk, “Watch it, honey, maybe it will help.” She paused, gulping, “Griffin… might have left clues.” I knew what she meant. Clues to where he was now since he still had not been caught. I was working to solve this mystery and I needed all of the help I could possibly get.

* * *

I put the labeled tape into my VCR Tv. I hit a small button with a sideways triangle that represented the “play” button. A pale, younger version of my mother came onto the screen. She was looking across the room at someone the tape did not show. I assumed it was Griffin.

“Tell me about you. Worries. Hopes. Everything.” Said a drawling voice from across the room.

“I have a dead husband who was a killer. I have a daughter who is in high school. She scares me. She is too much like her father. She has the genes.” My mom’s eyes grow wide, “MAO-A, also known as the serial killer genes. They run in my husband’s family. She has them. She’s going to be just like him.”

“Is that... All you have to say?” Drawls Griffin from the hidden side of the room.

“You will help me and my daughter?” 

“Of course.”

* * *

It is impossible.

I am clearly not going to be like my father.

I am not a killer.

Research. That is the way I cope, I assume. Because, a matter of fact, that is what I did. 

Millions and millions of websites have information on this topic.

So, to cut the story short.

Here is why I am definitely a serial killer.

Usually, serial killers, in their youth, kill animals: I killed squirrels with rocks in my backyard when I was younger.

Serial killers, in their youth, kept track of their lives, such as journals or diaries: I have journals stored under my bed that plot back all the way back to my first year of middle school.

Serial Killers, in their youth, oddly drew images of dying people: I found similar drawings in my journals.

The list went on and on. All that remained was that I hadn't killed anyone.

But, the fact is, maybe I’ve even done that.

Murder in the asylum! Murder in the asylum! Hello, it’s me, Alison Rein, your newswoman. I am here, on the property of the Wayward Asylum, to tell you what went down last night.

At 7:45pm last night, Mariah Valerie, wife of the famous Forest Killer, was found dead with her nurse, Hally Ore, also dead. Two more nurses were found dead, and one more was injured. 

“I heard the nurses yelling and screaming so I peeked into the room. The girl was telling their dead bodies to not disturb her. She was sitting and brushing Mariah’s hair. I went in and she attacked me. I pretended to be dead and that's when she left.”

The number one suspect is Jade Valerie, Mariah’s daughter. She visited her mother at 7:00pm last night, and the descriptions given to us by the injured nurse match Jade.

If you see her, call 9-1-1 immediately, basing the information from her father and this attack, she is very dangerous. Not afraid to kill, look for a blond-haired teen with bright green eyes. Some people describe them as cat-like...

I turn off the Tv and grab my bag. It looks like I will have to go on a little “road trip”.