5

“It's alright. If you want to call it a day, that’s fine.” Byron assured seeing her state. It was in that moment, when Janice went from a calm, almost detached monotone to hitching sobs, that he stopped thinking of her as The Girl. 

Killer of friends or not, she was Janice to him now.

She nodded rapidly, gulping in an attempt to choke back her tears. 

“Okay,” Byron shut off the tape recorder. “You never have to talk about anything you don't want to. I want you to know that.”

She nodded again. After a moment she was able to get herself back to a state that was, if not controlled, at least it was rational. 

“I don't want to talk about any of it, but...”

“But you want people to know your side of the story.”

“Yes. Even though nobody will believe me.”      

“I wouldn't be so sure. I can tell, just from talking to you that you're a girl that cares deeply, a girl that loved her friends and wanted the best for them. That is not the sort of girl that kills people.”

“How would you know?” Her voice had steadied, and her practiced ennui had returned, just a little. Byron was glad to see it. 

“I write about killers for a living and have interviewed my fair share. Most of them admit to what they've done, even revel in it. The few that don't, well, it's pretty clear just by talking to them that they're either mentally ill or lying.” 

“Maybe I'm crazy?”

“You don't seem crazy.”

“That's because you haven't heard my story yet. When you do, you'll be calling the nice men with the white coats.”

“Now I doubt that.”

“Hell, I don't care if you do. It'd probably be better than this damn place wherever they take me.”