Before I begin, I'm going to describe her to you, the way I see her. I suppose that a lot of people will disagree with me and say that I flatter her too much, and I suppose that's true. But this is what she's like, the way I see her.
She's beautifully curved, like a sculpture made of white marble. Not a model body; she's too curvy and too short to qualify to be one, and I know because that's what she wanted to do, model. She's 5"5, just an inch below model requirements. It always used to drive her mad, that one inch she was missing. She blamed it on her mother, who left her for her father to pick up at the hospital, never to be heard of again until hours before her mother was found dead; she blew her own brains out in a motel 70 miles away. The autopsy said her she was 5"4.
I'm getting off topic, sorry. But there's just so much about her that I think you should know. Just know she existed and this is who she was.
Back to her appearance. Her face is oval shaped, but her chin comes to a perfectly square point at the bottom of her angular and symmetrical face. She had hit her chin on a wall corner when she was little and, testifying to the event, there was a tiny scar on the underside of her chin where she split it open on that wall.
Her cheeks and lips were eternally rosy, even in death they retained colour. The coroner said it was because she had been left lying face down, so what blood was left pooled there. That made me sick; to think that some awful person had left her face down.
Ah, I loved her lips! Particularly her lower lip. It was round, soft and pouty. The first time I saw her was at the Christmas talent show at our highschool. She sung Santa, Baby. I watched that pouty lip of hers the entire time. Her voice is beautiful too, with an alto-soprano range. She wanted to be in broadway if she couldn't be a model.
She had long, pale eyelashes, the colour of wheat. If you looked at her closely you could see the way they touched her rosy cheeks when she closed her eyes, which were the colour of maple syrup. She hated her eyes; she wanted to have blue eyes, like her mother did. The one trait that her mother had that she wanted wasn't passed down to her. But I loved her eyes, and that made her cheeks dimple as she smiled at me. She had a wonderful smile too, did I mention it already? I might mention it again. Tell me if I do. Because, no matter what was happening, if she smiled at me, I'd just feel pure elation
(except for that last smile it made me retch what a sick smile that person had given her)
Except for the way she was smiling when she was on that metal tray. The coroner said someone had pulled her face like that just after she died and they put her face down in the crate.
I burned that crate. They stopped holding it for evidence and I asked for it. I wasn't really expecting to get it, but I did. Maybe the psychiatrist had something to do with it.
Oh! I've forgotten her hair
(there was some in the crate when i burned it and oh god the smell)
It was a pretty auburn that both reflected and absorbed sunlight. It lit up when sun hit it, and the sun seemed to reside in her hair for hours to come; it glowed in the dark in a way.
(but was it glowing when she was on the metal tray was it was it no because that person had kept her in the basement that basement five blocks away)
At least it did to me. She gave me a lock of her hair once and I have it with me right now.
(i burned her hair the hair from the crate why why didn't i get it out of the crate why)
I put the lock of hair in the ring she gave me; it's one of those pill box rings, the kind old women keep their pills in for when they go out. Mine is silver with emeralds inlaid into it, and it resides on my wedding finger. It was her grandmothers on her dad's side who had arthritis so it fit her swollen woman's fingers and fit my slender male wedding finger. I rather like her dad, I always have. I'm worried for him right now but he's strong. I think he'll keep on going even if he doesn't keep that liveliness he had before
(before it was done before that awful smile and her horrible open sightless eyes that followed you as you ran out of the morgue to retch in the linoleum hallway as people passed you and snickered because they all thought it was you was it you was it you because they still think it's you it's you who dunnit that's what the detective said to you are you the killer are you shane are you a killer)
she was put in the crate. He still has his mother and his father alive so he's not alone.
Right, I'm off topic again, sorry.
So I've gone through her body, her face, her eyes, and her hair, and my ring.
I gave her a ring too, she was wearing it when it
(oh shane what a child you are you still don't want to say what it is do you well I'll say it she was killed and was it you shane are you the killer are you)
happened. Ironically it was my grandmother's engagement ring. Of course, we weren't engaged, we couldn't have been because I'm 17 and she's
(silly silly shane abbreviations don't make it any better it's she was she was not she's because that's an abbreviation for she is but she isn't don't you know that silly shane because she's dead silly are you the killer silly shane)
16, but I gave her the ring anyway. Its silver, like mine, but with a small diamond in the middle. It has little amethysts around the diamond and on the top of the band. She'd giggle when people asked her about it, and her giggle was so cute it made you smile. It made everyone smile, and she giggled around me a lot so I smiled a lot. It hurts my face to smile now.
I think I'm done describing her now because I don't want to waste paper
(she hated when i wasted paper because she wanted to be the president of greenpeace and meet david suzuki why didn't i make it happen oh why)
(and they're coming for you silly shane don't you know that you have precious minutes to write it silly shane silly silly do you really care about paper because are you the killer silly shane are you)
and the police are coming, I think, because they think I did it. But here, on this paper, I need to write this, because-
I'll just write what the coroner and the detective told me.
They reproduced a semi-accurate telling of what might have happened.
(but it happened and you know it did because are you the killer silly shane are you)
She was walking home from work (the local Black's Photography kiosk) when she met up with someone, probably someone she knew and recognized. They went off course and started walking to the west instead of northeast.
Five blocks off of her route home they went into a house, 1126 Yale street. I'll never forget that address.
It was the house of a 97 year old man who lived alone with no living relations left. The neighbours said he was senile but harmless. He was found upstairs, lying in bed, dead of a heart attack. The coroner told me he died 5 days before she and that person even entered the house, and that he smelled awful.
Anyway, they watched TV for a while and the person made her some macaroni and cheese, which was her favorite food. Two hours afterward her dad tried calling her cell which had the batteries taken out, apparently without her knowledge, because she broke the 9 key and the 1 key by pressing them as hard as she could an hour before her dad called, minutes before she died.
She and the person went down to the basement, and she showed signs of resisting when they hit the 1st landing. The person was carrying her on their shoulder and she was kicking and scratching; her nails, painted red at the time, were stuck in the soft wood walls as she tried to claw the wall to get away. The neighbours said they heard screaming and assumed it was the TV.
The person tried to force her in the box but she bit them; there was flesh and blood in her mouth and under her nails, so the person took her by her squared chin and round forehead, and snapped her neck.
It took her 10 minutes to die, slowly suffocating, her limbs useless in paralysis. Then the person pulled that smile onto her face and lay her face down
(face down with a smile the best smile she had silly shane you know why because she was dead and that made me smile are you the killer did you kill her did you)
in a crate from her father's soap manufacturing business, Jameson Soaps & Co.
The person nailed the crate shut.
A day later a caretaker came to visit Mr. Andy Housser, the 97 year old man who was dead in bed. The caretaker found him. The same day a demolishing team started cleaning out the house when they found her.
The coroner told me the flesh and blood under her nails and in her mouth matched someone. The hair on the couch matched the same person, along with the fingerprints on the remote for the TV and doorknobs.
The detective told me that they matched me.
(that's right silly shane they matched they matched)
But that can't be me!
(are you the killer silly shane)
I can hear sirens now
(they're coming to take you away ha ha)
but I need you to know.
My name is Shane Trow and I loved Tammy Salton.
(but I have no name and you are the killer because I am the killer and you know what silly shane we're the same the very same and I'm laughing because I can hear the sirens too and we killed her shane we killed her shane we did it and you are the killer you killed your love tammy salton and I'm laughing at you silly shane silly silly YOU ARE THE KILLER SILLY SHANE WE ARE THE KILLER WE ARE)