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She wanted to make a difference in the world; they all did. I wondered how long it would take her to realize that I was a lost cause and that we all were.
Gerald leaned back, watching us, but I paid him no mind. All I could see and think about was Amara. Maybe he was testing her to see if she could hold up under pressure. Perhaps he wanted to see how she would react in the same room with a killer.
Whatever his reasoning, it didn't matter. Amara was here now, and she consumed me.
"You're being charged with the murder of Keith Rollins," she began. "Did you do it?"
I smiled as she glanced at me, gauging my reaction as she studied me.
"What do you think?" I asked.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked at her papers, flipping through them as she shuddered.
"Why did you kill him?" she asked.
"Does it matter?" I grinned. "I'm not sure the state cares why."
"Humor me," she challenged. "I see here he had an extensive record, mostly sexual assault against minors. Were you aware?"
I gnashed my teeth in disgust. Keith was the worst of the worst, and I couldn't hear him boast about the children he hurt anymore. He told anyone who would listen that he was getting out soon, and if the judicial system wouldn't stop him from hurting another child, I sure would.
And I did.
"You were," she answered, searching my face. "Do you feel the killing was justified?"
I lifted my gaze to hers. "Yes."
Her head tilted slightly in curiosity. I knew it would be her downfall; she was too interested in criminology, too curious for her own good. Gerald was disgusted when I told him why as if Keith was a saint and I killed a good man.
"Do you think it's right to make yourself the judge, jury, and executioner of your fellow inmate?" Amara pressed.
"For pieces of shit like that? Yes," I admitted. "The justice system failed his victims. He was going to do it again. Now he can't."
Her eyes rounded in understanding, and she glanced at Gerald. He nodded, confirming what I said was true, and she looked at me with new eyes. Like I wasn't the monster people painted me to be.
Like I was someone she could save.
"We can work with this," she nodded, stacking her papers neatly. "I can tell the judge and jury about his past record and how he was at a high risk of reoffending. You'll still get prison time, but everyone hates child molesters. You might just get manslaughter, which is a lesser charge than murder."
Something stirred inside me, a part of myself that I thought was long gone.
Hope.
Manslaughter had a minimum sentence of five years, and it would be over before I finished my sentence for killing my sister's rapist. I wouldn't get any additional time, and I could live some semblance of a life, getting out when I was thirty-six.
Gerald looked between us. "By God, I heard of a woman's touch, but I didn't believe it. I never got close to this far with him," he muttered toAmara.
"Maybe stop assuming all prisoners are irredeemable," she rebutted, smiling to quell the sting of her words.
She turned to me, picking a few papers from her folder before sliding them to me.
I looked at them. They were self-reflection worksheets customized to fit prisoners with violent crimes.
"Mail these to me as you finish them," she said. "I can come to see you every week, and we can delve into the why and how things could've been different."
"I don't regret what I did," I warned, giving Amara a pointed look. "Not for Keith, and not for that coach."
She hesitated before sighing, looking at Gerald and then at me. "They were bad men, Mr. Ricci. I can understand your lack of remorse. What I want you to understand is that it wasn't your job to kill them. We have systems in place for that—"