Vincent grabbed my hair, pulled his face close and growled in my ear, “Erickson, when the truth comes out, you and that murderer will die miserably.”
His hatred was nothing like the bright, friendly young man who once called me “brother-in-law” when we first met.
Below the platform, my in-laws looked much older, leaning on each other as they stared at me with hatred in their eyes.
“Tasha loved you and gave you everything, yet you watched her suffer and still protected the killer, letting him go free!”
“Erickson, you monster, you deserve to die!”
When we discussed marriage, this well-educated couple never looked down on my poor background. They treated me like their own son and supported me in everything.
After the incident, they didn’t blame me at first. They understood I was scared and only encouraged me to tell the truth.
But even when they knelt and begged, I stayed silent. For five years, I was locked up as a suspect and tortured by Vincent every day.
Because of my terrible reputation, the prison ignored his abuse and even allowed him to use non-lethal methods if it meant getting the truth faster.