Elise

Trigger Warnings: Sexual violence, substance abuse, physical violence, gore, or abuse

There’s something you need to know about me, my best friend died almost 40 years ago. She was murdered. Murdered in cold fucking blood. She was found in a park covered by leaves and dirt. The state that her body was found in was horrible. Unspeakable almost. It’s one of those things where you think, “this will never happen to me.” She was found naked and gagged. She had bruises around her neck. Her blood vessels were popped. The bastard who did this to her carved the word ‘whore’ on her underwear line. Other defaming words were found on her biceps, thighs, and forehead. It was so difficult to imagine her in that state. I can’t imagine being the poor jogger who found her. Shit, I can’t even imagine thinking about it.

Elise’s death was ruled a homicide immediately, but this investigation wasn’t going to be open and shut. See, Elise wasn’t a cut and dry girl. She wasn’t squeaky clean. Her brother followed in their parents’ footsteps, drug addicts who didn’t care about the baby girl in the house. She was left with her grandparents. Now, her grandparents weren’t bad people. They did what they could for her, gave her love, fed her, put a roof over her head. This wasn’t enough for Elise though. Elise wanted to live like the influencers she found out about from social media. She wanted the mansions, the designer bags, the lavish vacations. She wanted to live a life of luxury. She went to drastic measures to attempt to achieve it. She went to the streets. I did everything I could to talk her out of it, but once she heard how much money somebody could make, she wasn’t turning back.

She was introduced to this scene when she was just 16. She and her brother’s girlfriend went out together and got men through the night, but once Jason’s girlfriend got enough money for drugs, she left Elise alone. Now, Elise was good at this. She was young, pretty, skinny. She had the perfect body, and she knew how to use it. She was bringing home a thousand dollars a night. After she started, she came to me for advice. She told me about this guy who offered her a deal: she would work under him and make triple what she was making now and be able to travel the world Iike she wanted. I told her it was a bad idea. I was open with her about how dangerous this was since the beginning, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She wanted something she never had growing up: fame and money. 

After that night, she wanted me to leave her alone, but I wouldn’t. I told her that to get me to stop caring about her, she would have to get a restraining order against me, so she did. Then a few months later, she showed up dead. Like I said, the investigation wasn’t easy. There were so many people who could’ve been out to get her. So many people where they would’ve gotten something if she had shown up dead. She was only 17. We were one year away from graduating. One year away from her being able to escape this life she got caught up in.

My first interview with detectives was pretty standard. They led me into a room with a couch and two chairs, offered me some water. They made me feel secure and at home. They let me know they were doing everything they could to solve this case and that they wouldn’t stop until they found out who did this to Elise. I informed them that I would do everything I could to aid in the investigation. I wanted justice just as much as her grandparents did. She was my best friend.

After the niceties, they got into the questions. It wasn’t anything crazy, not yet. They asked me how long I had known her, what our relationship was like, what she was like. Then we started talking about me, specifically, where I was. That night, I was at home, by myself, sitting on my parents’ couch watching late night TV and stealing beer that I didn’t think they would notice missing. My brother was out with his girlfriend and my parents were on a date. It was a typical Friday night since the restraining order. It took about two hours and then they let me go.

The second interrogation is where I started to get suspicious. It was in an actual interrogation room with the metal table and two chairs, one on either side. They weren’t as hospitable as they were before. They were pointing holes in my alibi. It’s not my fault no one was home that night. They asked me about the restraining order for stalking. I explained that I was just worried about her. I wanted to help her. Do what I could to avoid this exact thing happening to her! It didn’t seem like they believed me.

I went home after this one and broke down in front of my parents. I was only 17, how could I have done something like this to my childhood best friend? How could anyone think I was capable of doing something like this? My parents stuck by my side throughout the entire thing. Not only was I grieving, it became clear that I was a suspect in this case. Elise’s pimp was cleared, he had an airtight alibi according to the investigators. The clients that were looked at seemed cleared, but there’s no way they looked at everyone. Her parents and brother were out of the picture. Her grandparents were at home and were able to vouch for each other.

The third interrogation was my last. I went in with my parents. I refused a lawyer because guilty people get lawyers, I wasn’t guilty. My parents were enough to make the investigators uncomfortable with what they were about to do. They asked me if it was true that I was following Elise around in the days leading up to the restraining order. Yes, but it was because- he held up a hand. Is it possible you were jealous of her … career. What the fuck, no, she was like a sister to me. The investigator nodded and wrote some stuff down. We talked in circles for a long time about this stuff. I never wavered on my innocence. At the end of the interrogation they handcuffed me and told me I was being arrested for the murder of Elise Watkins.

Those words made my world shatter. I couldn’t believe what I heard. It took everything in me to continue standing. As I was escorted out of the room and I passed my parents, they held each other and collapsed to the ground staring at me. They couldn’t believe what had just happened. Their own innocent son, arrested for the murder of a girl they had known since she was a kid. 

I spent a week in a jail cell before my parents made bond. They had to take out some loans and my dad sold his spare car. I felt horrible, but grateful. I wasn’t cut out for jail life. One kid was in for drugs, one was in for killing his sister, and there was one in for drunk driving. I wasn’t like these kids. I was good. Innocent. 

As soon as I was back home, my parents hired the best defense lawyer they could find. He was a good guy. He believed my innocence and said he would do what he could to prove it. While he was off putting my case together, Elise’s funeral came and went. I wasn’t allowed to go. Her grandparents didn’t want me anywhere near her body. They allowed her fucking drugee parents and brother and not me. They were convinced that I did it. They were convinced that I was obsessed with her. Stalking her. Then I had enough of her seeing this new guy and killed her in a jealous rage. They believed the story that the investigators told them. I can’t blame them though, if I was in their shoes I would’ve believed the cops too.

My lawyer asked me about any other suspects and I told him the exact same thing I told the investigators. He always shook his head at me and told me, despite them being bad people, they were all cleared of her death. There was nobody who saw me at the house until well after the time of death. My alibi was shaky. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would want her dead if it wasn’t anyone in the scene. We were banking on somebody coming forward or that the jury would see me as I am, a concerned friend who wants justice. 

The lead up to the trial was the darkest period in my life. I did nothing but stay home and watch the news. My parents were arguing more. My brother stayed up in his room, hunched over his computer or having sex with his girlfriend. Elise’s grandparents released a conference where they said they wholeheartedly believed I was the murderer and they wouldn’t rest until I was behind bars. This shattered me. Again, I don’t blame them, but they had become a second family to me. I had known them for 12 years. They did admit to a reporter that they never saw me as a violent kid. My lawyer said this was good. We can use this along with how everyone else around me saw me: an even tempered kid who was grieving the loss of his best friend.

It was a year before the trial finally came. It lasted three days. The prosecution claimed I was a secretly jealous, hormonal, single teenager who didn’t approve of her lifestyle. They accused me of being controlling. They said I despised the way she made her living. They said I wanted her to myself. They brought up the restraining order. They attacked every part of my character they could think of, but none of it was true.

My defense said the opposite. They argued the truth. True, I wasn’t in favor of her prostitution. True, I did follow her around after she stopped talking to me. But I was like this because I cared about her safety. I was afraid she’d end up dead if she didn’t listen to me and now here we are. They also pointed out that we were just close friends. I didn’t care about who she slept with as long as she was safe. She was like a little sister to me, I had no romantic feelings towards her. 

Her grandparents testified about my ‘erratic’ behaviors that lead to the restraining order. They said I had been exhibiting stalkerish behaviors, but they also testified that I never violated the restraining order. Once she had taken it out on me, I stayed out of her way. I knew I couldn’t afford to throw away my future over violating a restraining order.

Then it came to my parents and brother. Despite my parents’ rocky relationship, they never wavered on me. They said I was loyal and honest. I never lied. I cared so much, maybe too much, about everyone close to me. They knew Elise just as much as her grandparents knew me. They knew I would never do anything to hurt. I couldn’t do anything to hurt her. My brother admitted that we hadn’t been the closest since he started college, but he still knew me. He still knew how I would never do anything to hurt those I cared about. I wasn’t capable of doing it, let alone do the things to Elise that had been done.

Fingerprints were never taken at the scene once they zeroed in on me. They couldn’t find the knife that was used to carve the words into her skin, but they think it was a hunting knife. I wasn’t known to hunt. When they searched my room and car, they couldn’t find anything. Nothing was buried next to her. There was no physical evidence that tied me to this case. All they had were theories.

With this information, the jury was let go to deliberate. I couldn’t stop shaking my leg. My lawyer was confident that I’d be innocent. He assured me there wasn’t anything that could tie me to her murder. I was cooperative and nobody had anything bad to say about me. I kept stealing glances back at my family. My mom was gripping her skirt so tight her knuckles turned white. My dad looked expressionless and empty. My brother was biting his lip and looked away every time I tried to meet his eyes. 

After five hours, the jury came back. I watched all of them file in and make their way back to their seats. My hands were balled into fists on top of the table. A puddle of sweat pooled at the bottom of my back. There were drops of sweat falling off of my forehead and down my face. I felt my eyes well up with tears. Not only had I lost my best friend, I was on trial for her brutal murder. I was looking at 50 years in prison at the least and life at most. I wanted neither. 

I felt deaf with how silent it went. The judge asked whether the jury found me guilty or not guilty. It was such a short amount of silence, but it felt like 50 years. They found me not guilty. I broke down in tears. My lawyer rubbed my back. Elise’s grandparents glared daggers between me and the jury. It hurt, the way they looked at me. My family rushed over to me. My parents hugged me so tight that they almost snapped my back. My brother stood off to the side and smiled. I couldn’t believe it. It was a rush of different emotions. Happy, sad, mad. It was a whirlwind.

But there was one thing: there was no justice for Elise. I was devastated. Her killer was still out there and her grandparents still believed that I was the one who did it. My lawyer told me I should work on grieving and moving on. I asked my parents about hiring a PI, but they didn’t want to put any more money into this. I didn’t know what to do and time passed and eventually her case was closed and unsolved.

I went to her grave every day until graduation. I sat and talked to her. I brought her gifts. Every now and then I would see those words written in the dirt or drawn on her tombstone and I cleaned it all off. After graduation I moved out of town and visited her grave once a year on Christmas. Then it turned to none. Elise Watkins became a memory to me. I moved on, bought a house, got married, had kids. Life went on.

Then the accident happened a few weeks ago. My brother was drinking and driving. He flipped his car and he was in the hospital in critical condition. I went to see him immediately. He was hooked up to a bunch of different tubes and wires, going in and out of consciousness. The doctor told me and my parents that he probably wasn’t going to make it. He snapped his spine and bashed his head in. If he did make it, he was going to be a different person.

One day, it was just me and him in the room. He was in and out once again, but he looked at me. He blinked slowly and asked me if I remembered Elise. It caught me off guard, but I nodded my head. He smiled and pointed to his bag. I grabbed it and handed it to him. He pulled out an old, beat up, college ruled notebook and handed it to me. Told me this would answer all of my questions. 

I opened the first page and there it was, written in his own, scribbly handwriting, “I killed my little brother’s best friend.” I went silent as I sifted through the notebook. It was an entire confession. He became one of her regulars. They went to a hotel. One day his girlfriend found out about him and threatened to report him unless he got rid of the problem. 

I stormed out of the hospital room, drove to the same police station I went to so many times during her investigation, and I turned in the notebook. They had an entire confession. They wanted to search his room and take fingerprints and exhume her body. Justice could finally be served. Her grandparents could rest peacefully next to her now in the ground. They were ready to take this seriously this time around. But a few days after he handed this over to me, he succumbed to his injuries and passed away in his sleep.

I had some closure now, but now I was left grieving all over again. I finally had answers for Elise’s death and now I would never see justice be served for her because my dumb ass brother screwed up and was willing to let me take the fall for the horrible crime he committed all those years ago.