After I was fetched by a police officer from the interrogation room I was put back to my prison cell. A cell with two metal beds attached on each side of the corner walls and a sink and toilet bowl that looked like it was seldomly cleaned. The smell inside was not too awful but by the way I used to make my room as clean as possible— comparing to this now is rather horrible. I sat on my side of the prison cell, the bed foam is quite thin and uncomfortable to lay my back on. It had one pillow and a small blanket that smelled like it was not replaced and had been used by the previous prisoner who maybe got out already. I sighed as I stared at it, but I thought to myself this is still much comfortable than having none at all and to sleep at the ground cold and dirty.
I grabbed the pillow and turned it upside down and patted, a portion of dust flew from the inside outside its case. I just shook my head and took a deep breath and picked the blanket and put it on top of the pillow and laid down. I clasped my hands together intertwined on top of my chest and stared at the ceiling. As for now, I will have to endure this tribulation then soon enough I will get out of here and prove my innocence.
As I lay there, my mind was kept busy by the thought of our previous session with Stephen, I went over the event again and again trying to remember what could have gone wrong, but as I spent my time thinking about it, I realized a single session no matter what the outcome may have been could not possibly result in killing a client.
I was not able to meet his wife during that time, but I felt sorry for her, she would have been devastated by the loss of a husband, knowing that she cared for him for the past two years and even took over managing their business for him. They were fresh from marriage, and they were happy together as to what Stephen described, unless that grin he saw from his wife when he fell down their stairs meant something else and not just some dizzy hallucination. I should tell my lawyer about it.
Then I went further back and thought about when I had bought the coffee, yet still there were nothing suspicious I can recall that ever happened, and if it was that small restaurant that was responsible for the poisoning of Stephen then I would have died too as well as all other customers who had bought the same as I did that morning. If that was all, then everything could be narrowed down to just inside his mansion, that it was in there that caused his death.
But, despite all those myriads of events that I have put together. One question arose above all of them. What if I have not made that mistake? Maybe Stephen is still alive, and I might still be in my office doing therapies and sessions with my clients. Having that in mind, it's haunting. Technically then, I should be guilty of killing Stephen Walpol.
"You'll get used to it soon enough."
Disrupted by a raspy hoarse voice, I twisted my head toward the other corner side of the cell. I did not even notice I had a cellmate when I was put in here. He was lying on his side looking at me.
"You'll get used to it soon enough." He reiterated. I just stared at him and took a scan of him. I wonder how many years he's locked in here. His hair is all already white, and his physique is slim, not healthy slim but more like a malnourished one. He wore an orange shirt which had a large letter P printed on it, and I had just realized I wore the same kind of printed shirt now.
"I don't wish to be used to 'it'." I turned my body back to facing the ceiling stretching my arm and placed my head above my hands.
He laughed, it sounded like it could tear parts of his lung doing that, but he was pleased with it.
"Yeah, you'll get used to this."
I was kinda annoyed by this guy repeating the same sentence three times now so I ignored him, but I could see that he's still looking at me as if it is really entertaining to him watching me overthink and uncomfortably lying in here.
"So, what's in it for you, how'd you manage yourself to have a reservation in this fine hotel?" He asked in a terribly exasperating manner, all without losing that pestering smile in his aged wrinkly face.
"I thought you only knew one sentence." He laughed making a wheezing sound that I know hurt him because he scowled yet he carried on laughing.
"You're fun." He grinned, making his yellowish unpristine teeth show. "I'm glad I have someone to bother talking to from now on."
"Sorry, but I won't be here any longer" I responded without even looking at him.
"Well, I hope you rot in here." He responded abruptly, that made me instantly look at him and I witnessed his grin again, this time I was terrified not annoyed.
Though I was bothered by what he just said, I chose to ignore him again and put my attention and studied the ceiling as if it had remarkable details on it aside from just the dilapidated concrete. How is this old man like that, having no regard for others' feelings and worse even laugh about it. Was he just like that or did this cell house numbed him through the years of being locked and having no one to actually socialize with? If that arrogant lawyer couldn't get me out of this case and fail to clean up my name, I hope I don't end up like him.