To clear something up:
When I type "Joseph", I'm talking about the Joseph we see in the movies. When I write Joseph, or the real Joseph, I'm talking about the one in jail.
"Joseph", the early riser, could not wait any longer for his wife to wake up – he had to find out what her reaction to the letters would be. He wanted to know if she'd still love him, he hoped she would. Carefully he pulled the sheets back and ran his hand along the side of her exposed body, her skin seemed so soft. He kissed it and she shivered – he knew she was awake.
"Mmm…I need warmth…Joseph put the doona back on…"
"Darling, I need you to take a look at something."
"What?"
"Some letters."
"From who?"
"From Joseph."
"Oh god, not this again."
"Clarisse you need to learn the truth, I've been lying to you for twenty-five years."
"And you've been annoying me for twenty-five seconds, go back to sleep."
"For god's sake, get up!"
He walked to the bathroom, got out the sprayer and setting it on single line spray, he aimed it at her back and started pulling the trigger. She immediately jumped out of the bed and ran out of the room laughing – he enjoyed times like these. He picked up the letters and took them to her study, placing them on the desk and leaving the room. Clarisse was hiding from him in one of the twenty-two bedrooms that lined the top floor of their mansion, "Joseph" would never find her there. But alas, to her surprise he did, "Clarisse."
She giggled and slid out from her hiding place behind the cupboard, "What?"
"I need you to be serious for a moment."
"Ha!"
The glare of his eyes was intimidating, "Oh, did you say serious?"
"Yes."
Slipping his hand around her waist, he led her back to their room and asked her to get dressed. This took an hour for her to do, but when she came out he couldn't believe his eyes. He could never believe his eyes – he married the perfect woman and still hasn't woken up from the dream.
"Beautiful as always my darling. Isn't it a perfect day for reading?"
"Reading?"
"Yes, I have some letters you need to read."
"Joseph, I don't want to read these so-called letters."
"Clarisse."
"Alright, maybe just a couple."
"Joseph" stopped at the door of her study and watched her walk inside. He wanted to wait for her to finish reading them first before he confronted her. He felt scared, nervous and hungry. Hunger was something that always followed nervousness for him. Striding downstairs to the kitchen, he thought about how incredibly lucky he was to live in this house, this mansion. When he was younger he could only dream of living in a place like this and now he owned it. Well, half owned it.
Clarisse sat at her desk propping her glasses up on her nose and picking up the first letter. It was old looking, it was already open and it was addressed to her:
'1st of September 1980.
Dear Clarisse,
I don't know why I'm here or what's going to happen, but I'll find out soon. The people in here keep calling me Steve, although I don't know why. Maybe I look like Steven Spielberg? Some of the people in here with me are really scary and have tattoos and earrings, you wouldn't like them I know. I'm sure I've just been put in here over some misunderstanding, so I should be out of here by tomorrow. If I'm not I just want you to know that I love you and will think of you all the time.
Love Joseph.'
Rasing an eyebrow and still not believing "Joseph's" story, Clarisse picked up a second letter and started to read:
'3rd of September 1980.
Dear Clarisse,
I'm still in here, but I have no idea what I've done. They say I'm going to be in here for a long time, but I don't know how long they mean. I tried calling you today, but this man told me you weren't in – there goes the one phone call I get to make in here. Some of the men here have been giving me a hard time, do you think you could come and visit me? Seeing you would take all the pain away.
Well, if you do happen to come, I'd be very happy.
Joseph.'
'5th of September 1980.
I found out why I'm in here, apparently I killed a few people and held up a bank or two. I swear I didn't do it though! I know how convenient it must seem that I was around the bank at the time this supposedly took place, but I swear I didn't do it and I didn't do the other things either. I know you'll believe me because we keep no secrets from each other. I'm missing you already, the men in here were giving me a really hard time today, I was punched in the eye and called names I do not wish to repeat to you. I must have missed you yesterday when you came here because I don't recall seeing you, or didn't you come? It doesn't matter, I'll see you when I get out of here which will be when these stupid people realise I'm innocent.
Love you.'
As she read through the years and years of lost letters, it seemed Joseph's pain became worse. She cried over how much he missed her and how he wished she'd see him, yet she wasn't entirely certain that "Joseph" was telling the truth. He could be playing a very late April fools joke.
After she read the whole pile, the day was almost over. She had to admit she still wasn't completely satisfied and decided to ask "Joseph" about it. She walked out of the room and went to look for him, he was in the library asleep in the big comfy chair.
"Joseph?"
She shook him slightly and watched his eyes flutter open, he smiled, "Oh I must have dozed off. Did you read the letters?"
"Every single one. Is it true?"
He nodded, "I did try to tell you. Do you believe me now?"
She gave him an uncertain look and shook her shoulders, "I don't know. You could have written them yourself."
"Well, my darling, I suggest you ask the man in the cell who wrote them."
"What do you mean?"
"Go down there yourself and talk to him."
"How do I know there is a man down there?"
"By driving down and checking."
"It's too late to go now."
"Do it tomorrow then."
"If you really are telling the truth, did you really murder innocent people?"
"I'm not proud of myself for doing it, but I did."
She uncontrollably shook for a few moments before backing away from him. Keeping his distance, he followed her up to their bedroom and watched as she removed her jacket and set it down on the couch, her back turned to him. He walked up behind her and touched her shoulders, "Are you alright?"
She shuddered, "Please don't touch me."
Quickly he removed his hands and placed them by his sides, she turned around and looked at him, tears in her eyes, "Do you think you could sleep in one of the spare rooms tonight? I don't feel particularly safe sleeping with a potential murdered in my bed."
"Of course. Will you be alright in here?"
She nodded and ran her hands up and down her arms, she suddenly felt awkward being around him.
"Joseph" retreated to the room next door in order to sleep, he wondered if his wife's feelings for him had changed, tomorrow he would find out.
In the morning he awoke and walked immediately to their room, she wasn't in there. He thought she must have left for the prison already, he was right.
Meanwhile, the real Joseph lay sternly, looking up at the dirty ceiling he'd spent the past ten years studying carefully. He knew every crack on that ceiling, every bit of graffiti, every bloodstain. He watched the guards walk slowly past his cell and snared. Idiots! They're all a bunch of idiots. Suddenly he found the door being opened, "Jones, visitor. Collings, visitor. Lyell, visitor."
He sat bolt upright because – even though that wasn't his last name – he had never had a visitor. Who would be visiting him now? Quickly he walked down the corridor eager to find out who his visitor was. A guard led him into the booth and sat him down in front of a woman. Who was she? He wondered as he looked through the glass that separated them.
Clarisse stared at him in disbelief, she hardly recognised him, well it had been a while. The first thing she noticed was the large scar on the side of his face, the next thing she noticed was how incredibly buff he had gotten. She couldn't believe it was him, she was expecting it to be a practical joke from "Joseph" and that a short fat man was going to greet her, but instead she sat in utter shock at the sight before her eyes. A tear fell down her face as she picked up the phone, "Joseph? Is that you?"
Like Clarisse, he didn't know who he was sitting in front of at first, age had transformed her and she'd gained so much weight. The one thing that hadn't changed were her eyes, "Clarisse?"
"Joseph!"
"Is that really you?"
She covered her mouth and allowed a tear to roll down her cheek, "Oh my god, what have they done to you?"
"I know, I've changed a lot since our last encounter. Where have you been? I wrote you every day! Didn't you read my letters?"
"I only received them yesterday."
"What? I sent them years ago, I sent one just last week!"
"I know! But they never reached me."
"Why not?"
As she told him the story, he grew angry. He was very angry with this Steve fellow, words could not describe the hate he felt for this man he'd never met, "I'll kill him!"
Clarisse almost jumped out of her seat, "Joseph!"
"He deserves to die or at least spend the rest of his miserable life in jail!"
"I can understand why you're angry, but-"
"Get me out of here!"
"What?"
"I said get me out of here! I've been in here for twenty-five long years for something I didn't do and you can clear my name."
"I…"
She hadn't thought about the power she possessed to get him out of there, but what would he do once he got out? Get a job? Unlikely. Live with her? No, "Joseph" would never allow that. But wait a minute, "Joseph" would be out of the picture, he had done wrong, he would be put in here! She wondered how long he would survive in a prison at his age – not very. Sure he deserved to be in here, but Clarisse wasn't too sure if she wanted the man she'd spent the last decade of her life with to end up in prison. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she got up to leave, "Clarisse! Clarisse! Where are you going?"
He stood up and banged on the glass, but she couldn't hear him, "Clarisse!"
The guard who led him in there led him out again and, not for the first time in his prison life, he started crying as he was dragged kicking and screaming back to his cell.