7. The dead truth
He jumped off the bed, mumbling things she wouldn’t understand. He started to walk around the room, kneading his hands. She stood up, holding her arms tight around her tummy. She walked towards him and grabbed his arm. He tried to get away, but she was too strong. He always forgot how strong her arms and hands were. With the other arm she held his face, forcing him to look right into her eyes. “Paul, what have you done?” her question was not more than a whisper, and he could see tears in her eyes. She took a deep breath to calm herself down before she continued to talk, “Is there a connection between you and these six dead men in the corpse chamber in my hospital?” she asked him with a frisky tone. He knew he couldn’t lie to her because she knew if he did. He couldn’t look her into the eyes so he just closed them. “Talk. To. Me” she said really slow and icy. He opened his eyes and answered her. “I killed these men”, was the only thing he said. She couldn’t calm down. She was crying, she was screaming, she couldn’t believe it. He was a killer. She had a baby growing inside her from a murderer. Her husband killed innocent men. Her little happy world was destroyed, and couldn’t be fixed. She didn’t know this person. She was disgusted, cuddled up in her bed. He took all his courage together and towards her. He sat down on the edge of the bed, trying not to touch her. “Go away”, she screamed. He stayed and moved not an inch. He wanted to explain everything to her, if she would give him the chance to. “Ana, I have to explain everything to you. Nothing is as it seems” he answered in a soft tone. He was so afraid that she might leave him that a tear rolled down his face. “Please Ana, let me explain” he begged her. She turned her face around to look at him. She was still crying and her eyes were red. She answered, “You cannot kill people with whatever justification you have, you are putting me and our unborn child into danger. You only have five minutes to explain before I go”. He still remembered the day when he met Chris. It was a rainy day and he didn’t want to get wet, so he went into this small café. And there he was, flirting with this red headed waitress. He was in a bad mood because he’d be late to work again. His boss would scream at him and tell him how useless he’d be and that all the people who couldn’t afford to buy himself or her in, should drown outside the wall. He hated him, and every other rich person. What did they think? That they could buy everything with their cash? Sad enough, they could. He would do whatever it takes to change that. Chris, who sat next to him and introduced himself, disturbed him. He looked at Chris. He was definitely not a lower or middle class Person; he was upper class for sure. What was an upper class Person doing in a lower class sector? “What do you want? I don’t like upper class,” said Paul in a grumpy tone. “Old sport, listen to me, I am trying to help” replied Chris. “How” did Paul ask in an amused tone? “We need to change the people who rule this homestead, we need to replace them” said Chris, “as much people as possible should be let in, these homesteads were built to save people. Not to let people drown in front of the wall.” “Oh and how on earth are you going that?” he asked amused. “By Killing these who are selfish,” he answered in a totally normal voice. Paul started laughing. It was a nervous laugh.