Homicide Is Murder - Chapter 5: Aftermath

Writing about my sister's murder has been difficult and emotionally draining, so I'm gonna try to condense the rest of this story into one entry and then move on to other horrible shit.

I don't remember what I did with Trip the day after Murder Day, but I remember that I decided the best thing for me to do was to do my newspaper route like normal, and Trip wasn't with me. He had other friends in town, so I imagine he spent some time with them. As I said, I did my newspaper route, thinking work would take my mind off the previous day's events. What an idiot. Of course the story was at the top of the front page: Couple slain in Galesburg home with a photo of Melanie and John right there. I had to look at it over and over as I delivered each paper. As if that weren't bad enough, there were several of my customers who wanted to talk to me about the killings. Most were just wanting to express their condolences, which I can appreciate as an act of humanity and kindness, but all I wanted to do was to hurry up and finish and go get drunk and/or high. Even worse, a couple of customers wanted to tell me that there was something fishy about the whole thing and to share with me their convoluted reasons for believing it couldn't just be one person. I politely told them that the police and I were pretty sure it was just the one guy. One customer wasn't happy that I had disagreed with his amateur analysis and continued to insist that there was something more to it.

Later that afternoon I found out that there are a lot of these assholes who think their baseless speculation should be treated like direct evidence. As soon as I finished up my paper route, I was summoned by the Chief Detective to come in and answer more questions. I obliged without question, anxious to do all I could to help the police catch the fucker who killed my sister, but all of his questions were about my whereabouts throughout the day of the murder. I patiently answered all of them, then asked the Chief directly if they considered me a suspect. He said of course not, then sighed deeply and told me that after my appearance on the news the previous night, several viewers had called his department convinced that I must be involved because I was so emotionless in the interview. I realize that these people couldn't possibly know that after finding the bodies, sitting through hours of interrogation, and having to visit the house again just before talking to the media I was simply emotionally drained, butI still deeply resent the fact that these fucking busybodies were so comfortable passing judgement on me based solely on 15 seconds of video they saw on television and then picked up their phones to denounce me to the police. Of course, I don't know the names of any of these cowardly fucks, so I never had an opportunity to spit in their stupid, ugly faces. When I expressed my incredulity that people had done such a thing, the Chief reminded me that he had advised me not to talk to the media, and this was one of the reasons why. He hated having to question me again, but he had an obligation to follow up on these calls from the public.

From the Sheriff's Office I went to my dad's house to check on him. When I got there I found out that the Chief Detective had called while I was en route and said that Rick had been spotted. The previous night on the local news, the make, model, and license number of Melanie's car had been reported with a request for anyone seeing the car to call the police. After a repeat on the noon news the next day, a viewer called the police and reported that the car was parked at a local trailer park. When police had gone to the trailer park to check it out, Rick had burst from one of the trailer homes, jumped into my sister's car, and took off with several police officers following him.

We sat in silence for several minutes waiting for another call to let us know when Rick had been captured. I started to think about the trial that would inevitably follow. I would have to be in court to testify. I would have to be in court just to see the proceedings through. Being in court would mean I'd have to face the rotten fucker who killed my sister. I wondered if I could manage to suddenly leap over a rail and use my fingers to claw that fucking asshole's eyes out before being restrained by others. I knew that given the chance I would have to try to do something, to do any less would be to disrespect my sister and to fail as an older brother.

When the phone rang again I answered. The chief told me that deputies had pursued Rick at high speed halfway across the county. He told me how Rick had fired a gun at his pursuers during the chase. He told me that Rick had suddenly crashed my sister's car into a tree, and when deputies got to the car they had found that Rick had shot himself and there was no telling whether it had been on purpose or he had inadvertently shot himself while trying to fire at the police. He told me Rick was dead.

I felt immediate relief that I would not have to face that no-account asshole in court, followed by furious anger at what he had done to my sister, to my family, to me. I was even pissed that he had wrecked the car. All for nothing. I was really glad he was dead, but pissed that he couldn't just do the human race a favor and kill his useless self before taking Melanie and John down.

The chief wanted me to come back down to the station. He took me down to the evidence room. Hanging in the middle of it was a long sleeved shirt, mostly covered in blood and brain matter. It had obviously been cut off of somebody. Also cut off of somebody, covered in blood, and hanging in the room was a pair of jeans. The chief had me confirm what I had recognized immediately - they were my clothes. My stomach churned with the sickening realization that Rick had broken into our house and put on some of my clothes so he could confuse Melanie and John when they returned home, putting them off guard so he could kill them without resistance.

The chief next took me to the Sheriff's impound lot, where they had towed my sisters car. I confirmed it was hers, and saw fucking Rick's scuzzy blood and brains all over the front seat. It pissed me off that his fucking scumbag body fluids dirtied my sister's car, it somehow added to the overwhelming feeling of violation that all of his recent actions had visited upon me.

Though the primary (and only) suspect in my sister's murder was dead, the police continued their investigation for several days, making sure there were no loose ends. Rick's family refused to believe that he had acted alone, and they began to call the cops several times a day to share new "evidence" that someone else was involved. Every time they did this, I had to go down to the Sheriff's Department and answer more questions. The Chief always seemed sorry to have to subject me to more. To his credit, he never revealed to the press that there was marijuana in the house. It still got back to my dad, though. A cop who worked at the Sheriff's department had told a friend of my dad's that "the house was full of drugs", and my dad's friend for some reason felt the need to share this with my grieving father. I complained bitterly to the Chief Detective about it, angry that someone in his department had opened his fucking mouth, especially since I was sure that the weed had nothing to do with what happened. The Chief was sympathetic to my feelings, and regretted that it got back to my father, but he suggested that I couldn't say the pot had nothing to do with it, saying that it may have encouraged Rick to commit the crime to gain possesion of it. The Chief may have been correct, but I hated the fact that it had hurt my dad to hear about it, and I was glad it never became widely known because it was more clear to me now than ever that there would be a lot of people who would feel that Melanie and John deserved to die because there were drugs in the house.

The whole time my dad was a wreck, so I handled all the funeral arrangements. Lots of relatives came to town, and every chance I got I spoke to people and checked on their feelings. I spent all day running around taking care of things, then at night got drunk and high with Trip. My Aunt Mary had put us up in a hotel room. I was a pillar of strength for days, up until the day of the funeral. I did O.K. through the service at the funeral home, but at the end of it everyone walked past the open coffin to pay their last respects and when I got to the casket and looked down at the lifeless, cold body of my little sister I lost it. I began wailing "Nooooo!" over and over again. I bawled and hugged my sister's lifeless body. I don't know how long I was there before somebody finally pried me away.

I also went to John's funeral the next day. As I walked by his casket I kept it together, though I was spellbound by the way they had covered up the hole in his face. I knew where it was, and looking closely could see that it was still there, but I was amazed at the fact that it probably wasn't noticed by anyone else there.

It took me a couple of years to really begin fully functioning again, but with help from my cousin Kelly and my Aunt Mary I never lost my mind (though many family members expected me to.) After extended visits to Florida and Canada and a six month stay in Arizona I returned to Michigan and began rebuilding my life. My sister had been the most important person in my life (as my mother had been when she died), and it was hard for me to attach to people for awhile. There was one exception, my (step) brother Andy. Over the next few years he and I became closer than real brothers, closer than best friends. He would be the next most important person in my life. He was young, so I could safely get attached to him.