First of all people need to stop telling me it is my fault. I did not even know the man was alive, so really it was not my fault. I did not even know he existed, well that might be a lie, but the rest is true. I created him from paper. That's right I wrote someone to life. I created a character named John Kneats and I had him die at the very end of my book and then two days later, of course, there is a body found with my written description. Six foot three, nearly bald, a tattoo of a raven on his left arm and another on his back. He had a right pierced ear and a long beard that reached to the tip of his chest. In my book, he died because he had been a witch so he died by being burned at the stake. How was I supposed to know my character came to life and then died? I tried to tell this to the police, but of course they did not listen to me.
"Right, so you did not know this man?" they asked with their eyebrows raised.
"No, I'm saying I created him, he is in my book," I said and the two interrogators looked at each other and then threw me into prison.
"So how did you get in here, pretty face?" asked a large black woman sitting in the corner of the cell.
"I didn't do anything," I told her.
"I'm innocent too, my name's Jamiera," she said nodding towards me.
"Rumor is that she killed someone," said a woman to the right of me in a heavy New Jersey accent.
"You lie," said the woman who had introduced herself as Jamiera.
"No, I didn't lie. You would not get it," I said and the other new Jersey woman came closer to me.
"Come on, try us," she said.
And then I told the story of how I created a character he came to life and he died because he did in my book.
"Liar," said New Jersey.
"Whatever," I retorted trying to pick up on how the prison girl's acted towards one another. I had to survive somehow.
"There is one more way we can find out if you are telling the truth or not," said Jamiera.
"What's that?" I asked.
"We get you to write," said Jamiera.
"With what?" I asked.
"Humph. Did you have any other characters out there in your book?" she asked.
"Sure. The guy who killed him," I answered slowly realizing that maybe John's killer was out there right now, while I was in jail.
Then came the police officers and an FBI agent, we watched them come to my cell.
"Alright story-teller, come on," said the police officer and he took me out.
"Where you taking me?" I asked.
"Get in," he said and they put me into the interrogation room.
"So you were telling the truth, you literally wrote this guy into the world," said the agent as he sat on the corner of the desk.
"Yes, I did and I might as well killed him too," I said and then immediately regretted it.
"Are you admitting something Ms. Barry?" asked the FBI.
"No, look if I wrote John to life then the killer is probably still out there you want to look up Walter Hank and see if he exists too, he could be killing right now and instead you are sitting here with me," I said and then the FBI agent pulled out my soft cover book from his jacket.
"The man was short and lean, but he moved quickly and swiftly as he lit the fire around John," read the FBI agent aloud. Then he looked at me expectantly.
"Yes, that's the guy and that's how you found John all burned and everything to the detail," I told him and he smirked.
"We need you to kill him," he said with a serious face.
"What? I am not going to kill someone," I responded in horror. Was this guy serious he wants me to go out there and kill my serial killer, was he crazy?
"Yeah, you are," he said and he produced a pen and notepad from his jacket.
"You want me to write him off?" I asked.
I picked up the pen and stared at the paper.
"What writer can't write?" he asked.
"No, I'm still in captivity," I told him and he nodded.
"You will be until you write that damn book," he said.
"Then I need my tea, otherwise i am not writing him off, he can keep killing and killing," I started and before i could go into the gory details he cut me off and went out the door and got me the cup of tea. I calmed down and I started to write my favorite villain out of existence.