Epilogue
Shagat hadn't been expecting visitors. She wasn't close to the other girls, and Mr. Mongor only liked her for the money. Her clients either didn't remember her name or weren't naive enough to care what it was. Her family was gone, having left this world without her years before.
When she killed Monty Laundarier, she'd had nothing left to lose. No more awful clients or unfair bosses or sleepless nights for her. Now that she was in prison, she was freer than she'd ever been.
Not that she'd tell that prosecutor, of course. She knew he didn't really care why she did it. It just looked better on his record if there were no loose ends. As if she was ever going to appeal her case. She wasn't that stupid.
But what could she say? He wore her down. Watching her with those eyes, so deep and green. They were penetrating. It felt like he could see her soul, and not just the filth concealing it.
After a few hours, she broke down. It's not like it mattered anyway. No one listens to women in Borginia. At least, not women like her.
"Mr. Mongor was asked to kill him. For money."
He wrote something down, strange symbols she couldn't read. "How much?"
"I don't know. He did not reveal it to Shagat."
"Do you know who asked him?"
"No." Well, she didn't know any names. But she had seen them. Both of them. As she was leaving the scene of the crime.
"If this person asked your… boss to kill the victim, why did you carry out the job?"
"I was the one with the opportunity. I don't do it, Mr. Mongor disowns Shagat. I wouldn't go back to begging." That, and she hated the man. He was a selfish lover, always rough with her. Not that she was allowed to complain, of course. "He promised me some money, as well. But that was a lie. He gave it to the lawyer instead."
"So this was premeditated murder. However, you were charged with murder in the second degree." He shook his head, earrings clacking like the fall of a gavel. "You may have escaped earthly punishment, but your soul will not be so lucky. If-"
"I don't care." she interrupted. "Shagat never had a chance at heaven. This, I have known."
He looked up at her, surprised at first. But hen, his features softened. She hadn't lied before: he really was a beautiful man. "Don't say that, Miss Altamen. In the scriptures of Khura'inism, the Holy Mother found her greatest ally in the form of a former assassin, a man paid to end the lives of strangers. He was sent to kill her, but she stopped him with nothing but words. Showed him that violence was the deepest blemish on the world, and that it should be stopped. He was her companion for twenty years until they died on the same day, their spirits entwined towards the heavens.
"Even the filthiest of souls can be cleansed, if they stand behind the Founder. She accepts all who come to her, embracing even the daughters of foreigners." He laid a hand on her own, through the bars. "Anyone can find her if they only open their eyes."
She pursed her lips, but words came out regardless. "...The witnesses."
"Hm?"
"The brothers, below Mr. Laundarier. They saw me leaving. I... was covered in blood."
"You're saying they lied in their testimony?"
"Not just that… Shagat has seen them before. With Mr. Mongor. I think... they're the ones who wanted your victim dead."
"They instigated the murder? Do you have evidence of this?"
"...I'm sorry. I know my word means nothing."
"That isn't true, Miss Altamen. I assure you, your assistance will not be forgotten."
The prosecutor stood, but he didn't leave her right away. "May I take your hands?"
Shagat held both of them out. She was still covered in dirt, but he didn't seem to mind. He spoke in a language foreign to her ears, eyes closed. Was he praying for her?
Whatever he said, it was a long prayer. "Your sins in this life are many. I won't be surprised if one life isn't enough to balance your karma. Hell may be in your future.
"But hell is not the end, Miss Altamen. For punishment is temporary. Your soul is eternal. I prayed in the next life, you'll be given a better chance.
"Goodbye, Miss Altamen."
And so he left her, with her shoulders shaking and hands clasped together.
No one had ever asked for her permission before touching her. Not even the kindest of clients. And Borginia had their priests, but they didn't visit her type. All they did was insult her.
She fell to her knees, waiting for a new life to begin.
A/N's: I'm not DGS. I think readers always deserve to know the killer's motive. That said, thinking of one (or more specifically, how to tie it all together) was a little harder than I suspected. But I hope you enjoyed the read anyway. Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews, and naturally, to the anonymous OP for inspiring my story. Hope you enjoyed your fill as much as I did filling it.
Happy New Year's, everyone!
