Post by Deleted on May 1, 2016 20:51:14 GMT
{{Pete}}
Twitter, Facebook - Instagram. Every single social media around has probably already been blown out of proportion with the news of Lacey. I still can't believe she's gone. Things were just starting to work out. I've just started finding my feet. Started trusting the world that hurt me so much. She was like that one little flicker of light in the darkness that gave you hope - hope of being ok and making it out alive in the end, no matter what.
Sitting here in the tour bus, clutching what was left of her pale blue sweater - covered in her blood. I was too late - couldn't save her. Policemen have flooded the bus, dusting for fingerprints -
questioning everyone. I was absolutely devastated, but finding me bent beside her lifeless body made me the number one suspect with the huge exclamation mark flashing above my head. I'd never forget her last words - that she felt she was just another trail run for me. But she wasn't. Lace was different. I had her name engraved onto a custom made ring. She never knew. I was going to tell her. That was - before she just disappeared.
The slender policewoman with the dangerously short pencil skirt made her way over to me, taking Lace's sweater from me before handing it over to the shy little shaky guy next to her. A rookie, by the looks of it. He was pale as a sheet - ready to puke at any second. She was probably his first sight of a fresh body. "Bad it and tag it. Then take it over to Lowinsky." she ordered, returning her attention to me. "Mr Wentz, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" she asked in a gentler voice.
I couldn't get a word out - nausea dancing in my throat as I blankly look up at her with my bloodshot eyes, now clutching my empty bloodstained hands in my lap. "Go ahead - knock yourself out. You probably think I did it anyway." I answered hoarsely, lowering my head once again.
"What was your connection with the victim?" I closed my eyes at the word. Victim. I never imagined Lace as a victim.
"She was my girl." I answered her straight forward, not looking up.
She scribbled something on her writing pad and cleared her throat. "Did you fight often?"
"No." I answered bluntly, looking up at her. "I didn't kill Lace. I loved her."
"According to your friends - you didn't know her long." she shot back.
I bit back my words and closed my eyes, "I didn't kill Lace." I repeated through gritted teeth.
"Where were you when this happened? How did you know where the victim was?" she asked more fierce, tapping the back of her pencil on the book.
"I already told you-" I started before tearing up again.
The police officer's entire demeanor changed, shifting from hardcore to empathetic.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr Wentz." she half whispered. I felt my eyes sting as I fought back tears. Lace was dead - gone. But these son of a bitches just can't leave me be. I excused myself and walked off the bus - the parking area lit up with a cascade of blue and red lights flashing from the cruisers, multiple groups of specialists forming outside. Forensics collecting evidence while other policemen kept up the questioning, trying to find whoever did this. I slipped my hoodie over my head, digging my hands into my jeans. Dry flakes of blood flailing to the ground. I remember the note stuck to the dress room door after last night's show.
{Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl
She sent his life into a whirl
The girl was way too good for the boy
He used her as his little toy
He was too blind to see what he had right in front of him
Then - Along came the riddler and rid him of his sin
Now listen carefully as I sing
Pop goes the weasel - get to her before I do
I dare you}
Twitter, Facebook - Instagram. Every single social media around has probably already been blown out of proportion with the news of Lacey. I still can't believe she's gone. Things were just starting to work out. I've just started finding my feet. Started trusting the world that hurt me so much. She was like that one little flicker of light in the darkness that gave you hope - hope of being ok and making it out alive in the end, no matter what.
Sitting here in the tour bus, clutching what was left of her pale blue sweater - covered in her blood. I was too late - couldn't save her. Policemen have flooded the bus, dusting for fingerprints -
questioning everyone. I was absolutely devastated, but finding me bent beside her lifeless body made me the number one suspect with the huge exclamation mark flashing above my head. I'd never forget her last words - that she felt she was just another trail run for me. But she wasn't. Lace was different. I had her name engraved onto a custom made ring. She never knew. I was going to tell her. That was - before she just disappeared.The slender policewoman with the dangerously short pencil skirt made her way over to me, taking Lace's sweater from me before handing it over to the shy little shaky guy next to her. A rookie, by the looks of it. He was pale as a sheet - ready to puke at any second. She was probably his first sight of a fresh body. "Bad it and tag it. Then take it over to Lowinsky." she ordered, returning her attention to me. "Mr Wentz, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" she asked in a gentler voice.
I couldn't get a word out - nausea dancing in my throat as I blankly look up at her with my bloodshot eyes, now clutching my empty bloodstained hands in my lap. "Go ahead - knock yourself out. You probably think I did it anyway." I answered hoarsely, lowering my head once again.
"What was your connection with the victim?" I closed my eyes at the word. Victim. I never imagined Lace as a victim.
"She was my girl." I answered her straight forward, not looking up.
She scribbled something on her writing pad and cleared her throat. "Did you fight often?"
"No." I answered bluntly, looking up at her. "I didn't kill Lace. I loved her."
"According to your friends - you didn't know her long." she shot back.
I bit back my words and closed my eyes, "I didn't kill Lace." I repeated through gritted teeth.
"Where were you when this happened? How did you know where the victim was?" she asked more fierce, tapping the back of her pencil on the book.
"I already told you-" I started before tearing up again.
The police officer's entire demeanor changed, shifting from hardcore to empathetic.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr Wentz." she half whispered. I felt my eyes sting as I fought back tears. Lace was dead - gone. But these son of a bitches just can't leave me be. I excused myself and walked off the bus - the parking area lit up with a cascade of blue and red lights flashing from the cruisers, multiple groups of specialists forming outside. Forensics collecting evidence while other policemen kept up the questioning, trying to find whoever did this. I slipped my hoodie over my head, digging my hands into my jeans. Dry flakes of blood flailing to the ground. I remember the note stuck to the dress room door after last night's show.
{Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl
She sent his life into a whirl
The girl was way too good for the boy
He used her as his little toy
He was too blind to see what he had right in front of him
Then - Along came the riddler and rid him of his sin
Now listen carefully as I sing
Pop goes the weasel - get to her before I do
I dare you}
