Joe Victim: A Thriller

“I’m fine.”


“The others are talking about a protest on Monday,” her new best friend says. “They’re going to the courthouse to support the death penalty. I want to go, but don’t think I will. I should go, but . . . but I think it’s all just too much for me. I’m not sure if that makes sense. Does it?” And, without waiting for an answer, she goes into her next question. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“I want to clean up first,” Melissa says.

“I don’t mind waiting.”

“I’m fine,” she says. “Really, please, don’t worry about me. I think I just . . . just need to be alone for a little bit.”

“Of course,” Fiona says. “I know how you’re feeling.” She opens the door, pauses in it, and turns back. “I don’t really know if I got anything from any of this,” she says, “but I think I’ll come back next week. Will I see you here too?”

Melissa nods.

“Maybe bring your husband,” Fiona says.

“I will.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you later,” she says, as both women walk out of the bathroom.

Others are heading their way to use the bathroom, others are heading out of the hall, Raphael is stacking chairs. Some are drinking coffee. Everyone she passes stops to talk to her to ask if she’s okay. She tells them she’s fine. The others are talking about the protest on Monday. She has left her jacket over her chair, so she walks toward it and toward Raphael.

“Are you okay?” Raphael asks, and up close he smells of musky aftershave and reminds her a little of her father—only a much handsomer version. It makes her realize how much she misses her parents.

“I’m sorry about my outburst,” she says.

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

“I’m sorry about your daughter.”

Raphael nods. No doubt he’s sorry too. He carries on stacking chairs, but does it in a way that he doesn’t put his back to her.

“Do you ever think about how it would feel to hurt the man that took her away?” Melissa asks.

The chair Raphael has in midair he returns back to the floor. He puts both hands on the back of it and faces her. “Let me ask you something,” he says. “Why are you here?”

“Why is anybody here?” she asks. “To find some sense of understanding. Some closure.”

“There is no closure,” he says. “Often there’s no understanding either.” He stares at her and she stares back, and she’s impressed at how well he’s hiding the darkness behind his eyes, but it’s there. No doubt about it. “But these are just things we say because we need to hear them. What I’m specifically asking is why are you here? Who was your sister? Was she a victim of Joe’s?”

“Yes,” she says, and immediately knows she has made a mistake. He’s going to ask her who her sister was.

“Who?” he asks.

“Daniela Walker,” she says, going with Daniela since she met and killed Daniela’s husband earlier today, which means there’s one less person to be able to call her a liar.

He doesn’t pause, doesn’t show any signs that he knows she’s lying. “I’m sorry about Daniela,” he says.

“Why did you really start this group?” she asks.

Now he does pause, just for a fraction, but long enough to make her doubt whatever he’s going to say. “To help people,” he says. “Why do you think I started it?”

“To help people,” she says. She wishes she could just come out and ask him to help her kill Joe. He’s the perfect candidate. Would it be that simple? “I guess I came along because I wanted somebody to tell me that no matter what happens, Joe will be brought to justice.”

His jaw tightens again as he slowly nods. “He will be.”

“Are you voting for the death penalty?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says. “We’ve been organizing a protest over the last month,” he says. “We spoke about it while you were in the bathroom. You’re welcome to come along.”

“You’re protesting against it? I thought you said—”

“We’re protesting against the people who are protesting against it,” he interrupts. “There’s going to be a gathering outside the courthouse of people not wanting the death penalty reinstated. We’re going to be there to be heard too. These people, these humanitarians, they have no idea what it’s really like.”

“Yeah, I know,” she says. “And if the bill is passed and Joe is sentenced to death, it could take ten years.”

“That’s quite possible,” he says. “Probably even likely.”

“Can you live with that?” she asks.

He frowns and angles his head slightly. “Are you suggesting an alternative?”

“I’m just after closure,” she says, treading carefully.

“And what does your husband think?”

“He left me,” she says. “He says I haven’t been the same since my sister died.”