Fifty-seven

An icy, dead numbness descends to my stomach. I struggle with the edge to run back to her and beg her to take me home. My hands and feet are numb. I feel like a stature, can't move. But my heart hurts severely. Shouldn't I be immune to pain since I can't feel my body? Why can't I move? Why can't I speak? I should be shouting her name right now, begging her not to forget me. But I'm hopeless.
Before I turn the corner my feet stop abruptly. Then I turn back to look at her, the tears I have been fighting erupt from my eyes, my sobs are uncontrollable. The side of her face is laying against Ali's chest. She clings to him. Desperate.
Ali is standing there, holding the pieces of his future daughter-in-law together. His strong face looks calm and in control but his eyes... his eyes betray him. They show the pain and suffering he's going through. He is not crying now but I know, when the world is bathed in darkness and his wife is asleep, he will cry. This is the first time I see he cares for me. This is the first time the first layer of resentment I have for him crumbles. I hate him for introducing Aunt Dahab to cocaine.
"This is the final boarding call for passengers Benjamin and Brodick Newton and John Addas booked on flight 67J to Kabul. Please proceed to gate 1 immediately. The final checks are being completed and the captain will order for the doors of the aircraft to close in approximately four minutes time. I repeat. This is the final boarding call for Benjamin and Brodick Newton and John Addas. Thank you."
I can see it in her eyes, Wendy doesn't want to let go. She doesn't want to look away. She closes her eyes for a second, looks up towards heaven and mumbles something to God. Knowing Wendy as well as I do it wouldn't surprise me if she's asking God to keep me safe for her. I take a step forward. I want to run towards her, then I think better of it and stand still, biting his lip. If I go to there's no way I'm getting on that plane.
I look at her, torn. The mother of my unborn baby.
Will I ever see her again?
One of my hands reaches towards her, my fingers outstretched. I wish they were long enough to cross the distance between us.
"Don't go," she chokes out, fighting the lump in her throat. Her hand reaches toward mine across the wide space. "Please," she says. I take another step towards her. She break free from Ali, hopeful. But I stop, ice shooting down my spine.
I force myself to look away and with my back turned to her, I hit the curve of my hips three times and then lift my index and middle fingers, to form a V, it's a gesture Clara and I came up with. It says I love you. The V says both of you.

Jones stares at me. It's official. He thinks I'm crazy. Which was the plan.
"Wow, John really loved Wendy." Jones nods as he speaks.
"He did."
"Why'd he kill her then?" He swallows hard as though he's recalling a bad memory and glares into the wall behind me.
Straight face. I'm either going to laugh or cry. I pinch myself as I answer. Cry. Which is much more appropriate than laughing. "It was Satan. He told him so."
"Satan?" The wheels must be turning. Shit. Shit. I'm dealing with a madman. There's a prolonged pause and then he says this: "As in the... bible Satan."
"Yes."
"Oh boy." Jones sighs. Stress lines paw his forehead. "The diary speaks of an accomplice — Gabriel?"
"Yes."
He examines me with an unusual curiosity. "What's his last name?"
My brows furrow. Mock disbelief. "You don't read the bible? I don't know."
His face freezes in a hostile battle between pity and horror. "That Gabriel?"
"Yeah."
"Urrr... Okay?" His voice catches on the word
Damn Clara is good. This interview is going exactly as she said it would.
My twin reads a lot. She found out that abused kids sometimes develop multiple personality disorder. A way to cope with all the trauma and that's the card we're playing right now. The victim.
People love fixing... Things.
They are especially fond of fixing other people. Other people's problems.
It makes them feel supreme.
I can just see it. The conclusion of the trail. I won't go to prison. Instead I'll be shipped off to a mental institution. Where Clara will arrange for me to break out. Even if I don't break out of the asylum it'll still be comfortable. It'll be a month or three and then I'll be out. Subjected to monthly evaluations. I'll play crazy perfectly during the trial. The judge will have no other choice but to think something doesn't click.
I'll laugh when they ask about the murders. Attack my lawyer when he says I'm crazy, chanting: "I'm not crazy. I'm not fucking crazy."
Oh and that piece about John being so in love with Wendy. I took five pages off the Romance novel: Me + U.
Copy and paste. Piracy.
I Googled: Military Romance. I tweaked a few things. Changed characters names to correspond with the people in my life.
Got to applaud the internet, not only can you find the love of your life, but you can find your next diary entry (apparently).