Complete the short story/flash fiction, that has the following opening:
Her name was Candace Sanderson. She was the most beautiful woman I knew. Standing six feet tall in stocking feet she towered above me when she wore her usual three-inch stilettos. With long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, she was what you thought of when you heard the term valkyrie. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her.
But, she’s my therapist. I know, I find it hard to believe that I need one as well, but apparently, before they let you out of the loony bin they want someone to check you over, make sure that you’re not a danger to society. Or yourself. Three visits, one per week for three weeks and at the end of that time they need to submit their report to the head warden, sorry, health care administrator as to whether or not you should be released.
I was doing well. In the first two sessions I stuck to my story that the voices were just a psychotic episode from when my parents had been brutally attacked on our front lawn by an escaped prisoner. I didn’t tell her the truth, are you kidding? If I told her the truth I’d stay locked up. So I lied, I told her I was better, that I understood my issues and was working to resolve them.
She shouldn’t have touched me. The guards know not to touch me and the other prisoners, the ones that are allowed out at the same time as me, they also know not to touch me. But no, Candace, Dr. Sanderson had to touch me, she had to reach out and touch my hand.
The voices come on strong, really strong, only this time, it was worse: visions. I not only heard the voices, I saw what they were doing, what they re-enacting or showing me.
I saw a body, lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Blonde hair turning red as the blood coated the silken lengths. The hole, no holes in their back showed the cause of death. Gunshots, three of them. A figure came into view, a figure with a gun. The killer? I knew better than to jump to conclusions, after all, that’s why I’m in here right now, someone jumped to a conclusion. OK, all twelve members of the jury did. I looked up into the face of the approaching figure.
Damn, it was me.
“Candace?” the voice whispered?
Shit, I killed Candace?
Post a link to the story in the comments.