He wouldn't come out of his cell. I traveled all the way there, stayed in a hotel, had a friend take off work to go with me, and he wouldn't come out of his cell.
This was the one variable that I had not prepared myself for. The paperwork was processed. We went through the crazy security process, where the guards were sure to subtly remind us over and over again that they could curtail our visit. In the end, just when I knew we'd jumped through all the hoops, word came down from his floor that he would not see me, he would not come out of his cell.
I don't know if it's a game or fear or maybe something else. I felt stupid. I put myself in a position with him where he had the power. I gave him that and he used it. Maybe he was afraid. He hasn't had a visitor in years. I want to have sympathy for him and to assume the best, but I'm not there yet. I'm angry and sad. I promised myself that no matter how things went that day, that I would let go of this piece of the puzzle, I would stop looking so closely at the murder. I said that when I thought I would see him.
I'm still on the fence about next steps. I'm focusing on other things...working on other chapters...pulling my book together without the answers I was hoping for.
I want to write to him to ask what happened. But I wonder why he hasn't written to me to tell me. I don't want to be in relationship with a mad man, with the man who shattered my family with a blast of pellets. I feel like I started something that I want to stop, but can't. I feel like a fool.