CH10: Suicidal Inmate

Carrie's POV

"Oh, my GOD," I screamed. Mom and Daddy and Aunt Lori Ann came bursting into the room. A cop flicked on the lights. Butt-Breath committed suicide. There was a note, but it was quite incomprehensible. I made it out as best I could. It said:

Carolina Nell Hart,

You are an idiot. I cannot see why you were ever in my class. I hate you and I hate Gabriel. I write this because you two are brats and have nothing better to do than to torture me and all of the underprivileged. You, Carolina, are a b***h. Gabriel is a b*****d. I will haunt you two for the rest of your miserable little lives. My intention was to kill Gabriel so you could kill yourself. I hate you and I have since day one. As I saw the cop car lights, I decided to quickly write this and shoot myself ten times. I kidnapped you in a desperate attempt to kill you. I always and forever will hate you.

Rot in Hell,

Mr. Edward Southgate.

I cried. Nobody calls me a brat. Or a b***h. And nobody calls my Gabe a b*****d. I took a match and burned the paper. I was super pissed off. I won't go to Hell. I'm a Christian child. I will never ever serve Satan. Butt-Breath might be now.

"Okay, this is officially a crime scene," one of the cops said.

"He killed himself," I said.

"Or did you kill him," another cop asked.

"WHAT," Mom flared, "Are you saying my fourteen-year-old daughter is a murderer?! That handwriting isn't even hers!"

"Yeah, exactly," I said.

"We'll need to prove it," a third cop said, "You have to copy this note word for word."

"Oh, God, you people are freaking morons," Daddy said. I was forced to do something I didn't have to do.

"Might I remind you," I said, "I have an alibi. I was stuck in a little room for all of the hours I was stuck here. I only came up here with you. So it couldn't have been me."

"I found the weapon," the second cop said, "It looks like a nine millimeter."

"And, I don't even know how to shoot a gun," I said, "Let me see the gun." I put on rubber gloves and looked at it.

I remembered how to look for fingerprints on objects. Gabe's dad showed us once when we were ten.

"Gabe, come here," I said. Gabe rushed over to me.

"Do you still carry around that powder of graphite and rosin?"

"Yeah, why," Gabe asked.

"We're about to find out who did it," I giggled. Gabe took out his little bottle and dumped some of it on the gun. We took Butt-Breaths hand and took his fingerprints. Gabe and I looked at the prints. They were a complete match.

"He did commit suicide, look," Gabe said, "The prints match."

"No they don't," the third cop said.

"Actually, they do," Gabe's dad came in, "I can tell from over here. Being on the force for twenty years, I would know. It is a suicide. Carolina, you're alibi is true."

"Thanks, Officer Johnson," I said.