The Vegetative Killer

I was in a coma for five years. In that time, the ten soldiers assigned to guard me died.

The first thing I did when I woke up was turn myself in, yet the FBI couldn't charge me with a thing. No one believed a person in a coma could kill.

Finally, I watched the tenth soldier die in front of everyone. The crowd was furious, and I was thrilled. My plan had worked.

A strange silence fell over the FBI headquarters.

"Victoria was a renowned young artist before her accident. They said God kissed her hands. The girl wouldn't even hurt a fly."

"What's more interesting is that she was lying in a hospital bed for five solid years. What did she do, send out hit orders with her brainwaves?"

Even though I had confessed, no one believed me.

Some even snickered, convinced I was mentally unstable and ready to have me committed.

I adjusted my posture, leaning back elegantly in the chair and speaking nonchalantly.

"The first victim, Luigi, was strangled with high-voltage wire, his tongue torn out. The family's signature punishment for a 'big mouth.'"

"The second, Mario, was filled with seven gallons of cement and thrown into the Hudson. A standard 'swimming lesson.'"

...

I recounted the confidential details of all ten deaths flawlessly, my voice unhurried and composed.

I even knew details the FBI's own autopsy reports had missed.

A young agent's coffee cup shattered on the floor. His voice trembled.

"This is all classified. It's from the FBI files. There's no way you could know this!"

I shrugged, my expression a mask of innocence.

"Because I ordered the hits."

"They're my masterpieces. Of course I remember every brushstroke."

The words had barely left my mouth when the room erupted.

In an instant, several cold muzzles were pointed at my forehead.

My hands were cuffed roughly behind my back. The tall, older agent, Miller, did the honors himself.

In the interrogation room, Miller loosened his tie.

He was a decorated twenty year veteran.

As the FBI's ace against organized crime, he had never encountered a criminal this brazen.

"Don't play games with me, Victoria."

"Five years. You couldn't even breathe on your own. So tell me, how did you orchestrate ten murders from a hospital room so secure a fly couldn't get in?"

I gave a contemptuous laugh, leaning back against the hard chair.

"Are FBI tax dollars paying for idiots like you? You have to ask me such a simple question?"

"You want to know how I passed the messages? Figure it out yourself."

"If you can't find a single clue, Agent Miller, maybe you should take off that uniform and work security at my nightclub. I'll pay you double."

Miller slammed his fist on the table. "Wipe that smug look off your face, Victoria!"

"Those men were loyal to you. Tell me! What was your motive for ordering their executions?"

My smile vanished.

"The truth is, even in my coma, my mind was sharp." I lifted my chin slightly. "They were trash. They deserved to die."

Miller stared, trying to find a flicker of remorse on my face. He failed.

"Did they... harm you while you were in the coma?" Miller's voice grew low.

I nodded emphatically. "Yes."

"I require absolute silence. One of them dared to wear hard-soled leather shoes on his shift. Was he trying to wake me?"

"As a soldier of the Corleone family, he lacked basic common sense. They found him with his own shoes nailed to his skull."

"He liked making noise, didn't he? So I made him shut up for good."

"And another thing. I prefer classical music. That one dared to play rock and roll. Did he think he could assault my artistic sensibilities!"

"He didn't respect his master's preferences, so I had him strangled with speaker wire. Let him get a real feel for rhythm!"

"Just for... that?" Miller's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Isn't that enough?" My voice rose, my clenched fist slamming down on the table. "They were disrespectful. Of course they deserved to die!"

Miller froze, speechless for a long moment.

The interrogation lasted three hours.

After that, I refused to answer any more of Miller's questions.

With no physical evidence, my lawyers would have me out on bail in no time.

But I knew the real show was just beginning.

The moment I stepped out of the interrogation room, camera flashes erupted like gunfire.

I was swarmed by a mob of the victims' angry families.

Their eyes were bloodshot. They looked like they wanted to tear me apart.

"Bitch! We'll kill you!"

Just as Miller moved to step in front of me, a white-haired old man lunged from the crowd, brandishing a dagger aimed straight for my heart.