"A clown can get away with murder."

- John Wayne Gacy, the Killer Clown (so named for his job of dressing as a clown at children's parties), murdered at least 33 people. He was executed in 1994.

(This is a part of a double update. Make sure you read the previous chapter first)

Chapter 20 

Did George kill Harley James?

None of us; not the guards, not the police, not my father, not George, nor I, knew the answer to that question.

For the first time in a long time, I didn't have a clue of what to do. Every time I reached a bump in the road I would always have a solution, or an answer to the question. But, this time, I couldn't find an answer.

How was I supposed to prove his innocence when the footage of that day was lost, when my father was hell bent on his guilt, when George didn't have an alibi and didn't even remember what he was doing that morning? 

All my efforts of those past weeks felt like they were all for nothing, as it was impossible for me to prove his innocence. And because he was already guilty of one crime, the court would be inclined towards proving further guilt over innocence.

I was pulled from the consumption of my thoughts by another cry from George's throat. I blinked hard, trying to clear the sudden fog that clouded my vision, not realising it was tears that fell from my eyes. I swiped angrily at the wetness on my cheeks, realising that George would be feeling more confusion and doubt than I would ever comprehend.

I reached out to grab his shoulders, to stop him from rocking backwards and forwards, but it was no use. As soon as my fingers grazed the sleeve of his shirt, he jerked away as if I was diseased, eyes ablaze with a mix of emotions I would never understand.

"George—"

"Don't touch me, Emily! I'm a monster!" He cried, eyebrows furrowed with sorrow.

His words tore open a hole in my heart and latched itself inside me like a leech. Old memories leaked into new ones, combining all images of what I had seen and what I had done until it formed the perfect image of a monster. It looked nothing like George.

"I've seen monsters, George. You are not a monster. You never have been and you never will be." I whispered, arm patiently outstretched, awaiting George's move. He didn't move, but that meant he had stopped rocking, so I pushed forwards with my words. "I don't care about what you've done in your past, George." My voice cracked as another tear escaped from the clutches of my eyelashes. "You know I will never judge you for your past. You taught me to judge people by their present, because that's what matters. And right now, in the present, you are kind, compassionate, and loving in every way."

The tears fell freely, from my eyes and from his, creating a puddle of darkness on the cement floor. The tears on his face mixed with the dried blood on his lips and cheeks, slowly washing it away. His arms slowly unwrapped from his knees as his chin tilted upward, gaze directed at me.

"And because of those reasons, I know you didn't do it. You couldn't have. You couldn't have killed Even Parker because you were locked in here the whole time he was missing. You couldn't have killed Harley James because you were with me on the day he was found dead. You didn't do it, George. You are not guilty! Not of this."

My head shook as I spoke and my eyes fluttered shut to keep the tears from falling too quickly. My hand, outstretched between the bars, twitched as it was touched by a gentle counterpart. As it was engulfed in the warmth of another, a sob escaped from the depths of my throat.

"Thank you." His voice was but a whisper, almost disappearing among the distant cries of other inmates.

My eyes snapped open to meet his. I saw among the confusion and self-doubt, a flicker of clarity and hope. We both wanted me to be right.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you." He smile was sad and truthful as he tore his gaze from mine to stare at his folded legs. And then, he said something so quietly that I almost lost it in the breeze of my subconscious thought. "You were the daughter I never got to have."

"And you were the father I never got to have." The words truthfully slipped from my mouth before I had a chance to process what I was saying.

His head jerked upwards as his eyes filled with happiness and pride. Reaching through the bars, he pulled me into a disjointed and awkward embrace, but it was perfect nonetheless.

I understood his words; his daughter, who was around the same age as me, was taken from him when he was sent to prison. When I arrived and discovered my place within the prison, we found each other and we clicked like old family do. Like a father, he taught me everything he could and I told him everything about the outside world that I could.

But my own words shocked me. My father wasn't a bad man. He taught me lots of things about the prison and the criminals inside it, and I loved him for it. George taught me other things, like how to use a tape recorder, how to write a school speech, how to break up with my abusive high school boyfriend, and how to look forwards instead of backwards. 

Then it clicked. When it came to family, I didn't want someone to teach me about work and everything that was bad in the world; I wanted someone to teach me how to be a kid, how to be a teenager, and then how to grow up. And George did exactly that, unlike my father.

My father was always so consumed by his work that he forgot about my mother and I. I think that it was when he realized he wasn't spending enough time with his daughter; his only solution was to involve me in the things that consume his life. 

That's why he took me into work with him. That's why he forgot to properly guard me from the criminals he let me speak with. That's why he gave me that job. He just wanted me to be close to him so my mother couldn't punish him for not spending time with me.

Instead of being a father, he became my boss.

I sniffed and pulled back from George's embrace, knowing our time together was quickly coming to a close. He seemed to know too, as his eyes lost their light once again and became a sea of sadness.

We stood up together, on either side of the cell bars, never breaking each other's gaze. His finger caught the final tear that slid off my cheek.

With sadness in both of our eyes, we didn't say anything as I broke the distance between us. I tucked wisps of hair behind my ears, straightened my skirt, and wiped the wetness from under my eyes.

I breathed deeply, shoulders lifting up and down, before I turned away from George and began walking down the corridor. I focused on the bear air in front of me, as I knew that if I looked back, I wouldn't be able to leave his side.

As my short legs carried me away from the cell, my footsteps echoed down the hallway. Seconds later, their sound was joined by another set of footsteps, these ones faster, heavier and quicker. I looked up as they approached, hardly surprised when I was met with their owner.

Chris Welsh strolled purposefully down the hallway, travelling towards George's cell, not yet aware of my presence. For a moment, I wondered why he had come to see George and if he was responsible for his beatings. But, then again, with my father's quick recovery, he would be gone within the next week, so he was no longer a threat.

As his ears were met with the sound of my footsteps, his eyes found my own. Shock passed through his features like lightning, distorting the smirk on his lips into a crooked frown.

A smile crept its way onto my lips as I tilted my chin upwards. George's cell was the only thing in this hallway, so I knew that he had known where I had come from.  As my feet carried my further down the hallway, my smile quickly turned into a wicked smirk, curling the corners of my lips upwards.

My lips began to mouth the words I had wanted to say to him for so long; 'fück you.'

And then I walked down the rest of the hallway and didn't look back. 

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Hey guys! Double update! 

Hope this makes up for my lateness ^.^

I hope this was a tearjerker! Let me know if you shed one or two?!

Your comments make my day :)

(Ps. This chapter isn't edited, so I apologise for any grammar mistakes)

xx Charli