Internet access in prison was non-existent back then, but I did have the use of the prison library and what little I earned in the prison workshop went mostly to keep me in pen and paper as I started to go over the details in my own mind, using some of the knowledge I had now to try and pick holes in what seemed to me to be a colossal mistake.Naturally I didn't have access to the police files, nor the various prosecution reports, well not immediately, eventually my barrister got me access to them. I owe him a debt of thanks, I don't know if he believed me or not, but he never wavered in his duty to me and always gave good and wise counsel. He also freely gave his advice in my chosen area of study and recommended a lot of otherwise obscure points of law in various books relating to my own circumstances. He sadly died before my release, but was one of the few who re-affirmed my belief in the kindness of strangers.It was in my second year that I started to get occasionally pestered by. I was overwhelmed. How was I going to take care of this thing? Whatever. I had to prove my friends wrong. Of course, they had been right about the blood stained floors and Mom’s death stench still lingering in the house, but that was mainly only an issue in the room she died in. The room she died in was, unfortunately, the master bedroom which I had to have as my bedroom since I was the master of the house now.My first few weeks in the house were fine…with the exception of the horrible nightmares and night terrors I would have every night. I’m no bitch so I put up with them and mentioned them to no one, but my sleep and my emotional well being were severely affected by what would happen every time I tried to rest my eyes in my new house. The nightmares were disgusting and horrific. I saw the deaths of many, including Mom, over and over. Sometimes I thought I had been transported to Hell. The screaming was horrific. There was a stench. Babies turned inside out and crab walked around.
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