Chapter 12: Closer to the Truth

I was frozen for what felt like hours. He murdered her friend. The words repeated several times in my head before I said them out loud.

"He, JJ murdered Stacey?" I asked meekly.

Mom nodded confirming I heard her correctly.

"Why?! Why?! Would he do that?! What happened mom?!" I found myself screaming angrily. I felt protective of Stacey. I felt as if she was my friend too and I was furious at what I heard.

"What happened?!" I persisted.

"No one really knows what truly happened," mom responded calmly. "All I can do is tell you the versions JJ gave us and the one that the police put together."

"Versions?" I questioned. "JJ told different versions?"

"Yes," mom clarified. "He began with one story and then changed the information several times."

What she was saying didn't make sense. I listened closely as she explained what she was initially told by JJ, the version he "sold her on" she clarified. But, after a few minutes I couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop!" I shouted. "Stop talking! You're making this up!" I insisted. "None of what you are telling me could be true! You were all friends. Why would JJ do this?!"

By now I was hysterical. I was crying so hard that I couldn't catch my breath. Mom put down her water and pulled me into her arms. We sat there together while she stroked my hair and hushed me softly.

After a while, I stopped crying. I looked up at my mom and saw she had been crying too. I wiped away my tears and grabbed a few tissues.

"That's enough of this," mom said. "You know all you need to know."

"No! No!" I yelled in disagreement. "You can't do that! You can't tell me all about them and not go on! You can't tell me about what happened and then stop! I need to know everything! I couldn't possibly just leave it there! Please Mom!" I pleaded.

Mom pulled more tissues from the box and blew her nose. She closed her eyes slowly and shook her head back and forth.

"It's too much honey. It's just too much," she whispered.

I could see how worried she was about me. I needed to show her I was strong enough; mature enough to handle whatever it was she had to say. I reached over to her leg and placed my palm on her thigh.

"I am okay Mom. Really."

She looked at me, rubbed her hand under my chin and smiled.

"Okay," she agreed. "But I need to explain to you more about me first. Who I was then and what I was experiencing. I have to do it this way before I tell you anymore about what JJ did."

I nodded and replied," Okay. Whatever you need Mom, just don't stop, please."

She sat up straight and cleared her throat.

"I thought I was in love. Well, as much in love as you can be at sixteen. When you are older and you learn what true love is, it makes what I felt and how I allowed myself to be treated so completely ridiculous."

I wanted to interrupt her and ask her what she meant about allowing herself to be treated, but I needed to be patient. This was very hard for her. She was reliving a time she wanted to forget. I needed to let her tell her story her way.

"I was so young and very foolish," she continued. "I was manipulated into thinking love meant conditions needed to be met. And that proving your love was necessary."

I wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"I am sorry Mom, but I don't understand. Who manipulated you? Who was it that made you prove your love?"

She sat quiet for a minute and instead of answering, she sorted through the collection of pictures that were spread out in front of us. She picked up a photo and shook her head slowly, then handed it to me. It was clear the picture was taken at a concert. I could see a blurred stage in the background and colored lights. My sixteen-year-old mom was standing facing the camera with her head cocked to one side. She was dressed in a pink t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and jeans. She looked happy. She had a big smile on her face that made her dimples standout on her cheeks. Her hair was long and feathered back. She looked really pretty. Behind her stood a boy with his arms around her waist. His head was snuggled up next to her neck, but his face was turned revealing only a profile view. I squinted my eyes and pulled the picture in closer. I looked back at mom and then again at the picture. I scanned the floor searching for the first picture mom showed me, the one with the eight of them on the bleachers. I lifted up the photo and then laid them both down side by side. The blonde curls were unmistakable, it was JJ.

My mother had been in love with a killer.