Framed For Murder

"Miss Anderson, did you see the newspaper headline today?" The lawyer asked me. 

"Yes, I saw it," I responded in a soft tone.

"Would you kindly inform the court what it says?" he asked again. 

"It reads, BILLIONAIRE, Mr. MILLER MURDERED, HOUSE HELPER'S CHILD ARRESTED." As sad as it made me feel, I recounted the words."

"Sir..." He looked at the police officer who arrested me and said, "Please come forward and present the evidence you have against Miss Anderson." He carried on. The officer came forward and gave me a pitiful look.

"Her hands were smeared with blood, Mr. Miller's blood, with a gun next to him," he explained to the court.

"Thank you, officer; you may be seated," the lawyer said. He then faced me and said, "Can you explain to us why you had Mr. Miller's blood on your hands and a gun next to him?" I nodded lightly and began, "I had gone to work." The lawyer didn't let me finish my sentence: "The coffee shop owner already said it was your day off, and you didn't come to work."

"Yes." It was in that moment that emotions took the better of me. I paused as I remembered the painful event that took place that day. My eyes felt heavy with tears as they welled up in my eyes. I blinked once, and a stream of tears fell down my cheeks. I tried to wipe them off with the back of my hands, but I failed. After some time, I managed to calm down.

"Yes, THERE WAS BLOOD IN MY HANDS, BUT IT WASN'T MINE AND I WASN'T RESPONSIBLE FOR IT." I began slowly and immensely lost in my own emotions and the world of imagination, then I continued. "Have you ever been so excited about getting a job that you even pitched for work on your day off?" I lifted up my eyes, and I saw that everyone was emotionally taken by what I'd just said. "That is exactly what happened to me on that fateful day, but before the cab dropped me off at work, I recalled that it was my day off, and I requested that he drop me off at my mother's workplace, the Miller mansion, where she worked as the house helper."

"Oh, my child, I'm so happy to see you, but why didn't you tell me you were coming?" my mother, Daisy, said.

"I wanted to surprise you, mom; I don't see any trouble with that," I stated as I entered the Miller mansion and made my way upstairs.

"Non, no, no, you can't go upstairs. Let's just sit here in the living area and catch up." She prevented me from going upstairs, and her actions were odd because she knew how much I adored touring the beautiful residence every time I went there. As we sat there chatting, I could tell that her mind was occupied with something else; she was not her usual self; she was ill at ease and acting strangely. After spending about five minutes with her, she insisted that I get going, and she promised to pay me a visit later that day. In my mind, I had a lot of questions, and I decided to take my chances and question her.

"Mom, are you in trouble? You are even shaking. Did something happen? You can trust me with anything; you know that, right?" I said as I shifted closer to her, and I placed my hand on top of hers gently."

No, I'm not in trouble; it's just that now is not a good time; that's why you should leave right now," she answered. I knew asking her was useless because my mother never shared her problems with anyone.

"Ok, mom, but before I leave, may I use the bathroom?" 

"No problem, but I will go with you so that you don't get lost like you always do." She forced herself to laugh. She walked behind me as we went to the bathroom. Just before I reached the bathroom, I heard a scream coming from one of the rooms upstairs; it sounded like that of a female. I stopped and looked back to see if my mother had also heard it. Instead of being shocked, my mother was worried, and again, that was strange. 

I stood there, not knowing what to do or say. It was in that moment that I heard a second scream louder than the first one. I have always been a person who is always worried about others, so I quickly ran in the direction where the screams were coming from. My mother followed from behind.

Upon arrival, I found the door wide open. My jaws dropped with shock as I tried to wrap my head around the three figures that stood in front of me that I'd just witnessed: Mr. Miller, his wife, Mrs. Miller, and Becky, his soon-to-be daughter-in-law. In that moment, I heard a gunshot sound, and in an instant, Mr. Miller was on the floor, blood gushing through her chest wound where he had been shot, and a gun next to him. 

I couldn't stand there and watch him bleed to death. I knew I had to do something because everyone stood there, screaming and weeping. I rushed to him and tried to stop the bleeding with my own hands. I kept applying pressure to the wound with a towel that I found lying on the floor to prevent him from losing a lot of blood. I carried on for a few minutes before I realised that he was not breathing. I lifted my eyes and stared at everyone in the room, and it was written all over their faces that they were aware from the moment he dropped to the floor that he had passed on.

I took my eyes back to Mr. Miller again. I began to shed tears, with my hands quivering and my body frozen with trauma. 'Oh, my God. He has been shot right through his heart,' I said to myself. I sat next to him, terrified and in pain. After a while, I finally gathered the strength to rise from the floor. I made my way to the bathroom to scrub my hands clean, but I was occluded by Jack, Mr. Miller's son, from reaching the bathroom.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my room?" He questioned me, but I failed to answer him as I began to cry again. I was not acquainted with the fact that the bedroom belonged to Jack and his fiancée. "Mom, what is happening? Why are you all sorrowful?" He got distressed and curious. 

The door was still open. He quickly rushed in, and he dropped to his knees as he saw his father's lifeless body lying on the floor. He got up and pushed me against the wall, with his hands deep in my throat, choking and suffocating me.

"What have you done to my father? You murderer! I will make sure that you rot in jail!" Everyone tried to free me from his clutches, but they failed. I felt my life leaving my body slowly. That's when he freed me, and I dropped to the floor.

"I'm calling the cops. I will make sure that you are locked up for the rest of your miserable life," he said. He took out his phone and called the cops, and they came within a short space of time.

"What is your name?" The cop asked me. "Mandy, Mandy Anderson," I answered back.

"Mandy Anderson, you are under arrest for the murder of Mr. Miller." He cuffed me, with my hands still smeared with Mr. Miller's blood. I looked around the room, and I realised that no one was willing to save me. "It didn't do this; I swear it wasn't me," I cried, pleading with him to let me go. But it seemed like everyone believed that I killed him and that I was lying. "Please believe me, I have never held a gun in my entire existence. I don't even own one. Why would I kill him?" I pleaded. Jack, angry and enraged, hit me with a hard slap across the face.

"Just shut up! Your loudness is irritating me! What were you doing here in the first place?" 

"Leave her to us, sir; we will interrogate her at the police station; that's our job, and we are good at it."

I glanced at my mother in tears, and she looked in the other direction, avoiding eye contact with me. My heart felt heavy with so much pain. "Mom," I said, still sobbing, "how can you do this to me? Please tell them the truth. I didn't kill him. please mom." I begged her. Even with her face turned away from me, I could hear her sobbing.

"No one is saying anything to anyone now; you will get a chance to voice out your observations concerning the incident that took place here and bring to light exactly who killed Mr. Miller. For now, we have a prime suspect. I would like you to follow me to the station so that I can take your statements," the police officer addressed everyone. I got relieved, and I felt a dime of light shining in my heart, reviving hope that I had lost. I knew in my heart that everyone could turn against me, but not my mother.

The police officer, who looked like he was in charge of the case, ordered the other police officer, who was quiet the whole time, to escort me to the police car. We started walking downstairs, and we were ordered to come back quickly in a firm voice. I was worried, and a lot of things came to mind, like maybe Mr. Miller woke up, or maybe someone spoke the truth about the incident, or maybe Jack decided not to press charges.

Everything that I guessed was far from the truth. As soon as we reached where Mr. Miller was killed, the police officer who stayed behind came to me and looked me straight in the eye, pushed me against the wall, and said, "You are messing with the wrong person! I'm not here to play games with you. Do you understand?" He released me, and I was completely lost. 

"What have I done? You said I should go to the car outside, and I did that without trying to escape or causing problems. What is it now?" I questioned him.

"The murder weapon," he said in an angry tone.

"What murder weapon?" My brain was still not thinking straight, and I wasn't sure of what he was referring to.

"The murder weapon—I'm talking about the gun used to kill Mr. Miller. I saw it when I first came in, but now it's gone."

The two police officers were enraged, and they began looking for the gun. They knew that without the murder weapon, they held a weak case. They started their search right where the incident took place. They proceeded to the other rooms, tossing and turning the furniture upside down. The house had so many rooms, so Jack joined the search.

Jack returned and headed straight to where I was seated; annoyed, he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and pulled me closer to him.

"Listen, this is not a joke. Someone died here, and that person happens to be my father. I want you to listen to me very carefully." He looked me straight in the eyes, his eyes dark as hell.

He continued, "I will do absolutely everything in my power to make sure that you rot in jail. I'm sure you know how powerful my family is. Tell us where you hid the gun; it might help you get an even lesser sentence."

"I didn't take the gun; I have no reason to lie; since you got here, I haven't left your sight. I was standing right here; you saw me." I wiped tears in between my sentences and pointed to where I was the whole time.

"I found it," shouted one of the police officers. Jack rose up and stared at the police officers returning with the gun.

"Where did you find it?" Jack questioned them.

"The bedroom on the far left, the one with the initials BB on the door. Who sleeps in that bedroom?" He placed the gun in a plastic evidence bag.

"That bedroom belongs to our house helper." Jack stared at the police officer and then at me.

"I knew that lousy woman helped you. You said she was your mother, right?" He continued

"No, my mother did nothing wrong; please leave her out of this; she is innocent." I begged for my mother's freedom.

"What are you waiting for? Is tempering with evidence not a crime? arrest her mother too." Jack barked at the police officers.

Their eyes searched through the crowd, searching for my mother; they even looked around the house for her.

They came back empty-handed and said, "She is gone. Her mother ran away." He said as he signalled for me to stand up, and I made my way to the police car.