(written by a friend of mine)
It was a dark and stormy night. The streets of New York were almost empty as the rain pelted down on the black asphalt. Suddenly, out of the downpour, came a woman dressed in a tan trench coat and black sunglasses.
"Dammit, where is that limo?" asked the woman to the air. "This concert ended hours ago. It's already 3 AM! You would think that a driver could be on time, at least on time for Mariah Carey." She scurried underneath the opening to Madison Square Garden to stay dry.
Eventually, Mariah heard a voice from behind her ask, "Excuse me, but are you Mariah Carey, the famous singer?" Mariah turned to see a girl of fourteen with reddish-brown hair and glasses staring back at her.
"Yes, I am," replied Mariah. "Would you like an autograph? I would be happy—"
BANG! BANG! A gun fired.
"Oh, my God!" Mariah gasped. She touched her abdomen and found her crimson blood covering her delicate fingers. "What… why?" she asked.
"Because, I had to," the demented teen retorted with the most evil of grins. "Say goodbye Mariah. You always want to leave the audience wanting more." Just then, Mariah's knees buckled, and she fell to the ground. As she lay on the sidewalk in the pouring rain in a pool of her own blood, Mariah Carey breathed her last breath.
"Now with that slut out of the way," the cold blooded murderer said, "Derek Jeter and I can finally be together." She paused. "Kristen Patterson Jeter. It has such a nice ring to it." Suddenly, sirens blared and blue and red lights flashed. Kristen quickly turned around to see the NYPD flying down the street.
"Oh, no. They're after me." Kristen ran down the street with the police close behind. The hard rain whipped in Kristen's face and made it hard for her to see. 'I have to get away!' she thought frantically. Kristen's feet flew along the pavement. She had never run so fast before in her life. She knew if she were caught, she would never have a chance to be with her beloved Derek. Her chest burned with an unbearable pain. She felt herself slowing down. 'Keep going! Keep going!' she thought. 'You can't let them get you.' But it was no use. Suddenly, Kristen was knocked down to the pavement.
"You have the right to remain silent," a female police officer said as she put handcuffs on Kristen's wrists. "Anything you say can, and will be, used against you in a court of law." As the cop read Kristen her rights, her head was spinning out of control. 'How could this have happened?' she thought. 'I planned it so perfectly.' She was pushed into the back seat of a patrol car, and two of the "fuzz" got into the front seat. One started the patrol car and rolled away from the crime scene. As the car bounced along the pothole filled street, Kristen realized that her plan and her life had taken a tragic turn.
***
Clang! Kristen looked out from behind the thick bars of the jail cell in Manhattan's 36th Precinct. She knew that her perfect murder had not worked. She was starring at a possible life sentence in "the cooler".
"Hey, honey," a female voice with a thick New York accent called Kristen from behind, "whas ya name?" This woman was big, really big. She looked like a female football player. She was dressed in six-inch spike heels, black fishnet stockings, and an extremely short faux leopard skin skirt with a matching tube top. Her face was heavily made-up. She had on thick black eyeliner and mascara with bright, electric blue eye shadow. Her lips were caked with blood red lipstick and dark brown lip liner.
"Um, I'm Kristen," she replied in a soft voice. "And you?"
"Oh, how rude of me," the woman said. "I'm Bertha. The ass pimp I work for calls me Big Bad Bitch Bertha, but I'm only nasty to him, so don't you worry. Jerk beats up on the other girls…" Bertha mumbled to herself for a little while.
Kristen turned back around and looked longingly at the door. 'What had gone wrong?' she asked herself. Her plan had been fool proof. Kill Mariah Carey in the middle of the night when no one was around. There was a huge storm, so there were no people walking in the New York City streets. Kristen figured that the gunshots would be mistaken for thunder. She was wrong, dead wrong. Someone had heard the gun and immediately recognized it (living in New York, how wouldn't they be able to know what that sound was?).
"So, sweetie, what ya in for?" Bertha suddenly asked Kristen. "As you may have already guessed, the cops picked me up off the corner for bein' a lady of the night. Hey, I've been here before. Worst I got was a year in the slammer. Nothin' major."
"Well, I'm in a little more trouble than that," said Kristen softly. "I'm in for murder." Kristen stared Bertha right in the eye. She wasn't at all ashamed of what she had done, just that she had been caught.
"Really? A sweet girl like youself? Was it anyone you know?
"Yeah," Kristen replied coldly, "it was this slutty bitch who took my man away. The only thing is, he didn't know what was going on. She's some kinda witch."
"Really? Wow. What a world." Bertha shook her head and lay on the bottom bunk of the bed cell. "Listen, Kristen, ya better get ta bed. You might not get a lotta sleep for a while."
Kristen climbed up to the top bunk and lay down. The sweet image of Derek Jeter's face came to her like a dream. She knew that they would be together eventually; her plans, their plans (that he really didn't know all about yet), would just have to be stalled for a little while. Besides, Derek would know all the important details in the letter that she had had written him. Kristen closed her eyes, sure that her plans would eventually work themselves out.
***
"Okay, Patterson, your lawyer's here." It was 7:30 in the morning. Kristen slowly opened her lazy eyes to see one of the cops in the opening of the cell. She slowly climbed down from the top bunk and followed the officer to a questioning area. She sat down at a wide, dirty gray table across from a man in his mid-40s. The man had gentle eyes, almost sad eyes. They were a deep chocolate brown color, the same color as his skin. He wore gold rimmed spectacles and a navy blue business suit. He carried with him a tan leather briefcase filled with legal documents and pens.
"Hello, dear," the man said. "My name is Shawn Jackson, Esq. I'm the Public Defender here in Manhattan, and I've been assigned to your case.
"Well, I must tell you, Kristen, he said, looking at some of his papers, "The case against you is pretty tough." Mr. Jackson sighed. "But, we may have a loop-hole in here somewhere. I think that I might be able to negotiate a plea bargain with the District Attorney, considering you are so young."
"Well, what kind of bargain are you aiming for?" Kristen inquired.
"I was thinking that we have you plead temporary insanity-,"
"I wasn't crazy!" Kristen yelled. "I knew exactly what I was doing, and why I was doing it! I was getting rid of the biggest whore on the face of the planet!"
"Listen," Mr. Jackson reasoned, "unless you want to go to prison for the rest of your life, you're going to have to play along with this. This may be your only way of getting out of a life sentence in Juvenile Hall and/or the Women's Correctional Facility."
"Okay, fine." Kristen gave in, too tired to argue any further. "I'll go along with it, but I just want you to know that I'm not crazy."
***
Shawn Jackson walked into the DA's office and was ushered into Mr. Morganthau's private office.
"Ah, Mr. Jackson," Morganthau said, "it's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Yes, I guess it has. It just seems that we haven't had to deal with a big case lately. At least, not until now."
"I know what you mean," Morganthau said. "The media is going absolutely insane over this case. I haven't seen this much excitement over a trial since O.J. Simpson."
"Well, Robert," Shawn said as he breathed a heavy sigh, "that's what I came her to discuss with you. I want a deal."
"Deal? What kind of deal?"
"I'm thinking Man 1. We're gonna plead temporary insanity. You get her put away in a hospital for 25, and then let her out. What do you say?"
"Are you outta your mind, man?" the DA exclaimed. "Kristen Patterson wasn't suffering from temporary insanity. She knew exactly what she was doing. She has been screened by several psychologists and psychiatrists. They all said that, although she has thought up a fantasy world, she was in full mental heath at the time of the murder and prior to it. We have proof that she had planned this whole thing ahead of time."
"Proof?" Shawn asked. "What proof?"
"My secretary didn't fax you this yet? Well, it seems that your client sent a letter to Derek Jeter, detailing the murder. We also have a motive. Your client thought that she was "going out" with Mr. Jeter, and that she had to "get rid of" Mariah Carey so they could be together. Not only is Miss Patterson a cold-blooded murderer, she is also a stalker! We have to put her in jail for the rest of her natural life!" Morganthau glared at Jackson as he finished these words.
"Fine," Jackson retorted. "Then, I'll see you in court!" He stormed out of the office and out of the building.
***
Kristen laid on her back on her bed thinking about Derek. By this time she had been transported to Rikers Island and was in a cell by herself. "Soon, we will finally be reunited," she said to herself. Kristen smiled to herself, confident that the jury would see everything her way.
The jury would realize that the world is better off without Mariah Carey; Kristen was doing the world a favor by getting rid of one of the sluttiest, most swollen headed people on the face of the Earth. They would see that Kristen and Derek were meant to be together forever, without Mariah getting in the way of what is right, true, and meant to be.
Kristen had fully convinced herself that killing Mariah Carey had been justified. She didn't even understand why she was in jail anymore. The more she thought about what she did, the more she felt she had done the world a favor.
"Hey, Patterson!" the cop on duty said. "It's time to go to the courthouse. Start moving your ass!"
Kristen slowly crept off the top bunk. She sluggishly walked over to the open cell door and followed the officer out of the prison to an awaiting patrol car. They were immediately met by Shawn Jackson and a slew of reporters.
"Kristen," one woman asked, "did you really shoot Mariah Carey?"
"Do you honestly think that you are Derek Jeter's girlfriend?" another asked.
"What has your family said?" one man inquired. "Have you talked to them yet?"
All the while, Shawn pushed Kristen toward the car and continued to say "No comment," over and over. Finally, they escaped the crowd of journalists and got into the car. An officer pulled away from the curb and sped away from the police station.
The small, somber group eventually reached the Rikers Island dock. They quickly boarded the tiny, cramped, ramshackle boat, as to avoid the reporters from every city from Tampa to Tokyo, Moscow to Milan. After the boat ride, they went into another awaiting patrol car.
The whole ride to the courthouse was silent. No one had much of anything to say. The only sounds were the harsh blaring of taxi horns and the bumping of the ancient patrol car's wheels against the potholes in the street or the caws of seagulls and the splashing of waves. Finally, after an apparent eternity, the journey ended in front of the municipal courthouse.
Shawn got out first, followed close behind by Kristen. As soon as her head popped out of the car, another wave of reporters hit the pair. Questions came flying at Kristen from every angle. She saw a million light bulb flashes go off in front of her eyes. She was practically blinded. As they made their way to the steps of the courthouse, suddenly, all of the reporters ran off and back to the curb. Kristen quickly turned around to see what had happened, but there were too many people blocking her view.
"Forget about that," Shawn said. "We have to get into the courtroom A.S.A.P." They rushed into the courtroom and sat down on the defendant's side. Robert Morganthau was already in his seat on the prosecutor's bench looking over some of his legal documents.
Kristen couldn't help but wonder where all of the reporters had run off to. She had been relieved that they had left her alone, but she wondered what or who had caught their attention. 'You can't think about that now!' Kristen thought to herself. 'You have to get through this trial first and get back to Derek. He must miss you so much.'
All through the opening statements and the beginning of the trial, Kristen's mind continued to wonder. 'How will he react when I come back to him?' What will he say?' What will he do?" To this, Kristen grinned to herself and let her sick mind take over. Before she knew it, Shawn was telling her that the day's deliberations were over.
"So, what do you think?" Kristen inquired.
"Well," Shawn sighed, "it doesn't look too good. The prosecution has a really strong case against you. It might be hopeless."
"Hopeless?!" Kristen exclaimed. "Nothing is hopeless, at least not when true love is involved. Don't you know that love conquers all?"
"Kristen, I think that you better get some sleep," Shawn advised as he gave her a really funny look. "Tomorrow will be another long day."
The next day started out the same as the first: leave Rikers, get mobbed by reporters, go to the courthouse, and sit in the courtroom. But the trial was a bit different that day. In the beginning, Morganthau spoke to the jury and questioned some of the witnesses who had heard the gunshots. Again, Kristen ignored the boring chatter and thought about Derek.
'Oh, Derek, my love,' she daydreamed. 'Don't worry. We will be together soon.' Kristen continued to imagine her fantasy boyfriend until towards the end of the second day of deliberation. Her concentration had been broken by a sudden murmur of the crowd in the courtroom. Kristen turned around to see none other than Derek Jeter himself walking down the aisle. She stared at him as he walked past her. He had on a black suit and a white shirt with one black button at the top of the collar. His shoes were jet black and shiny, and, as always, he had on his gold chain necklace, which was tucked underneath his shirt. He kept his eyes straight forward as he walked, not looking at anyone. His eyes were fixed on the chair on the witness stand as he neared it. After reaching the stand, the bailiff took out a Bible. Derek placed his right hand on the book and one raised his left.
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" the bailiff asked mechanically.
"I do," Derek replied confidently.
Robert Morganthau slowly walked over to the stand. He leaned over to Derek and commanded, "Please state your full name and occupation for the jury."
"My name is Derek Sanderson Jeter, and I'm the shortstop for the New York Yankees."
"And what was your relationship with the deceased?"
Derek sighed. "She was my girlfriend," he said.
"What is your relationship with the defendant?" Morganthau asked.
"I don't have a relationship with her," Derek said. "Before today, I had never seen her before in my life."
"Really?" Morganthau said. "Then what is this?" he asked as he held up a letter written on a piece of loose-leaf paper, also known as Exhibit B.
"That was a letter I found in my mailbox the morning after Mariah was shot," Derek explained. "It was a detailed account of Mariah's murder." He looked down at his hands after he finished this painful sentence.
"And who was it from?" Morganthau asked intently.
"It was signed by Kristen Patterson. I brought it right to the police when I received it, because, with it, I knew they would be able to find Mariah's killer." A single tear ran down Derek's face. "They told me that it would help to put her away for a very long time."
"I know this must be hard for you, Mr. Jeter, but what else did the letter say?"
"Well," Derek said as he tried to compose himself, "it said that Miss Patterson was doing this so that she and I could be together. She said that she had to get Mariah out of the way in order for us to be together."
"And did you want to be with her?" Morganthau asked.
"NO!" Derek shouted. "I love Mariah. She was the one woman that I had ever been happy with. We loved each other, and now, because of Kristen Patterson, we will never have our love again!
"Thank you, Mr. Jeter," Morganthau said. "No further questions, your honor."
Kristen was in shock. 'He must be running a fever!' Kristen thought to herself. 'He loves me. Derek would never say anything like that! He must be delirious.'
As Kristen basked in her unhappiness and confusion, the trial ended. Derek Jeter's testimony had been the final nail in the coffin for Kristen's hopes of remaining a free woman. The jury was excused to deliberate. It only took them one hour to make their decision. The men and women came back into the courtroom and sat back down.
"Madam Foreperson," the judge said, "have you reached a verdict?"
"Yes, we have, your honor," a petite Asian woman said. She handed the bailiff a piece of paper. The bailiff walked over to the judge, who took the paper and read it. "On the sole count of Murder in the Second Degree, how do you find the defendant?"
"We find the defendant...guilty," the woman said.
The entire courtroom erupted. Kristen stared at the judge in shock. She didn't even realize the handcuffs that were being attached to her wrists. She looked behind her to see Derek embracing Mariah Carey's mother. She reluctantly went off with the bailiff and left the courtroom.
Outside the courthouse, Derek and Mariah's mother were mobbed by reporters. "Derek," one shouted, "what are you going to do now?"
"I have given this much thought," he said. "I've decided that, due to the loss of my one true love, I am going to leave the Yankees and join the Franciscan monastery of Saint-Guillaume in Provence, France. I have already spoken with Mr. Steinbrenner, Mr. Torre, and Mr. Cashman, and they are supporting me in this endeavor. My plane leaves first thing in the morning. Goodbye, ladies and gentlemen." Derek walked down the steps, leaving behind a shocked and silenced crowd.
And so, our story ends. Kristen Patterson got what was coming to her by being thrown into jail. Derek Jeter's life had taken a tragic turn that had resulted in a dramatic career change. Finally, this traumatic story has ended, and all seems peaceful, for now.