After at least 40 minutes, a rather unusually long time for my wife regardless of what she was doing in the bathroom, I began to panic. I walked over and knocked. No one responded. I jiggled the handle, found it locked, and grew even more anxious — if that were possible. Jessie started shaking. At the first sight of her seizure starting, I decided now was not the time to be gentle. With all of my force, I shoved my shoulder into the door and broke the latch in one toss of my body weight. Inside was normal, but Amy was gone. No body, not in the shower. However, she was still there. In the mirror. Staring back at me, mouthing the words help over and over, tears streaming down her face as a glare from the ceiling light distorted her reflection. Although it was not a reflection. Amy was IN the mirror. And behind her?
In the reflection, my wife was standing before Jessie as Jessie put a sharpened fingernail to her mother’s throat and sliced. I screamed and charged the mirror. I yelled Amy’s name repeatedly and stared helplessly as the life faded from her eyes. Jessie’s reflection was gone, and Amy dropped from sight. I turned and looked at the seizing body of my daughter, lifted my pistol, and emptied every chamber.
I write this from the inside of my prison cell. They keep my in isolation, left to the dark reaches of the insanity ward. Despite my testimony, the cops refused to believe my daughter’s seizures caused my wife’s disappearance and my neighbor’s murderous tendencies. I told them, killing her was the only way to keep people safe. But they don’t listen. I hope this reaches someone — someone who will believe. It was the only way.