I sat in the woods by myself, well, not exactly by myself. The woods chattered all around me as the sun set. It felt like they all knew about my dirty little secret. They knew about what I had done. Maybe I’m just feeling guilty.
I fidgeted as I sat on the log sipping whisky from my canteen. The sun had started to set and I picked up my flashlight and walked out of the clearing and into the woods themselves. The shovel was where I had left it, propped up against the tree next to the hole I had been digging for the past couple of days. I started praying as I dug. It was the only option I had, but I still felt guilty. I decided then that I would confess to Father Almeda when I returned to the city. I prayed and I dug until well after the sun had set. My watch said it was nearing 2 am by the time I was ready to call it quits. My mind was on Shirley. I’d never see her again. I’d done it to save her, but she’d never know. To her, I’d always be a murderer. It’s strange how someone who’s done so much to hurt her still means so much to her.
Sometimes that’s the way it has to be. Sometimes they’re not meant to know how their loved ones hurt them. I wasn’t supposed to know. Shirley would grow up not knowing what her mother tried to do to her. Not knowing how her mother tried to smother her with a pillow only hours from bringing her home from the hospital, how as much as I tried I couldn’t stop her from being killed without killing her mother.
I can’t just waltz back into her life as if her mother wasn’t missing. This is time I can’t make up with an alibi. I’d rather have her wondering about me for the rest of her life than knowing every day that daddy was a murderer.
Maybe, one day, I’ll call her, when she’s older, I’ll stop by and say hi. Of course she’ll have questions and maybe by then I’ll have some answers.
Sometimes, some killings are justified.