An Affair of the Mind
Part 1: The Murderous Affair
Based Off the Personal Diaries of Sarah Markham-Hall
“How Far Would You Go to Call Someone Your Best Friend”
Important Notice: This novel explores themes and content that may be deeply unsettling or triggering for some readers. The material is not suitable for individuals under the age of 16 and addresses a range of intense and potentially distressing issues. This includes drug trafficking and addiction, explicit language, sexually explicit scenes, graphic violence, domestic abuse, and instances of attempted suicide. These subjects are presented with raw and unflinching honesty. Reader discretion is strongly advised. If you or anyone you know might be impacted by these themes, please carefully consider whether this material is appropriate before continuing.
Legal Disclaimer: The events and particulars depicted herein are drawn from the recollection, imagination, and personal diaries of Sarah Markham-Hall spanning the years 2001 to 2010. Certain scenes are fictionalized and dramatized for content and may not accurately reflect the true sequence or occurrence of events. Names and locations have been modified to safeguard the privacy of individuals involved. No harm or injury was inflicted upon anyone during the writing of this novel.
Prologue
I approached the Lenox house with a growing sense of dread, the circular driveway winding beneath my feet like a serpent leading me to some inevitable fate. The house, with its turquoise trim, had become disturbingly familiar in the past few months. But now, at 2 a.m., under the suffocating darkness, it seemed to have transformed into something far more sinister. Shadows loomed large, swallowing the pale glow of the moon as I drew closer to the front door. My heart began to pound, a drumbeat of terror. The thought clawed at my mind: “Had Justin finally taken his own life?” The possibility that I might find him dead inside filled me with a paralyzing fear, each step heavier than the last.
“Justin!” I called out, my voice trembling as I neared the entrance, only to find the door slightly ajar. The sight of it stopped me cold. Taking a deep breath, I pushed it open fully, the creak of the hinges echoing in the silence. “Justin!” I repeated, the word a plea now, a desperate prayer. As I stepped into the house, my breath caught in my throat. There he was, lying sprawled on the cold tile floor, his bloodshot brown eyes staring up at me, empty of life. But he wasn’t dead—not yet. Instead, he was trembling, tears streaming down his face, his clothes in tatters, his once pristine Abercrombie & Fitch shirt soaked through with blood. In his right hand, he clutched a knife, the blade slick with fresh blood.
“What happened?” I gasped; the words barely audible as I struggled to comprehend the scene before me. This blood wasn’t from the self-inflicted wounds he’d made so many times before. No, this was something else. Something far worse.
“I killed him,” Justin whispered, his voice broken, shattered between sobs.
“Killed who?” I asked, lowering myself slowly beside him, the tiles icy beneath my knees.
“I fucking killed him, Ann,” he choked out, his head lifting slightly, his haunted eyes locking onto mine.
My mind raced. “What do you mean? Where did all this blood come from?” Fear gripped me as I tried to piece together the fragments of his words, dreading what they might mean.
“I killed Michael,” he repeated, the knife trembling in his grip as fresh tears traced paths down his bloodstained cheeks.
“What do you mean you killed Michael?” I asked, though deep down, I knew. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew. “You killed Michael,” I echoed, more to myself than to him, trying to make sense of the impossible.
“That’s right,” Justin muttered, his voice cold, detached. “I killed him. I just fucking killed him.” His voice wavered between a shout and a whisper, as though he couldn’t decide how to feel. The knife still dangled from his hand, the weight of it pulling him back down to the floor.
“Okay,” I stammered, my mind reeling. “Should we call the police?” The question slipped out, stupid, useless. I didn’t know what else to say, how else to react.
“The police?” Justin spat, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. His eyes snapped to mine, wild and terrifying. “Yeah, let’s call the cops, Ann. Let’s tell them I’m a murderer. I’ll spend the rest of my life rotting in a cell. How about that?” His laughter was manic, edged with hysteria.
“You didn’t mean to,” I stammered, trying to convince myself as much as him. “It was an accident, right? Or self-defense? Michael threatened you earlier, didn’t he?” I backed away slightly, terrified of what he might do next, of the dark certainty in his voice.
“No,” Justin said, his tone shifting from rage to something far more chilling—calm. “It was cold-blooded murder.” He pushed himself up off the floor, rising to his full height, the knife still firmly in his grasp. He stood inches from me, his breath hot on my face.
“Murder,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Okay… so where’s the body?”
“It’s been taken care of,” he replied with eerie nonchalance, as if he were talking about taking out the trash, not disposing of a human being. The tears had stopped, replaced by a cold, calculating expression that sent chills down my spine.
“Okay,” I repeated, my mind racing for a solution, any solution. “We’ll clean you up, and no one will ever know. Just… give me the knife.” I reached out cautiously, my hand shaking.
“No!” he snapped, jerking away from me. “I don’t trust you!”
“Justin, your secret is safe with me,” I promised, my voice quivering. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
His eyes narrowed, suspicion darkening them. “How can I trust you, Ann? You betrayed me once before—remember? You told Tom Lenal everything.”
“This is different,” I pleaded, my back pressing against the wall as he loomed closer, his face inches from mine.
“How is it different?” he hissed, pressing the knife against my throat. “How can I trust you with a secret like this when you couldn’t even keep your mouth shut about Danny Henderson?”
“Justin, please,” I begged, tears blurring my vision. “I won’t tell anyone. Just give me the knife. We can clean this up.”
“I don’t trust you,” he repeated, his voice dangerously soft as he pressed his body against mine, the weight of him pinning me to the wall.
“What are you going to do, Justin?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, terror choking the words.
“I’m going to do what needs to be done,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he were stating an unchangeable truth. “There’s too much at stake now. Too many lives could be ruined. I’m sorry, Ann, but this is the only way.”
“Please, Justin, don’t!” I screamed; my voice raw with fear. “Please!”
“I’m sorry, Ann,” he said softly, pressing the knife against my throat. “And I really thought we were getting close.”
I gasped as the blade bit into my skin, the pain sharp and immediate. His eyes bore into mine, cold and unfeeling, as he began to push the knife deeper into my flesh.
——–
I jolted awake in my frigid bunk, my body drenched in a cold, clammy sweat. The unforgiving cot beneath me had become all too familiar over the past week, its discomfort a constant reminder of where I was. “It was just a dream,” I whispered, trying to convince myself, but the dark images clung to me, refusing to fade. In my mind, I had been trapped between two harrowing choices: surrendering to the deadly grip of Justin Lenox or enduring the relentless days of incarceration in Kingston Juvenile Detention Center for a crime I still couldn’t fully accept as mine. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and glanced over at Britney, my bunkmate, who slept soundly, seemingly untouched by the horrors that plagued my nights. “It was just a dream,” I repeated like a desperate mantra, hoping the words would take root.
But the cold, hard reality surrounding me was no dream. I was confined within the four stark walls of an eight-by-eight-foot cell, shared with one other person. Two narrow cots were crammed into the space, and a small window set six feet above the ground offered the only glimpse of the outside world. Black iron bars crisscrossed the glass, obscuring what little light filtered through, marking the passage of time. All my personal belongings had been confiscated upon my arrival at Kingston Juvenile Facility, including my watch and phone. I had been reduced to nothing more than another inmate, dressed in the drab gray sweatpants and matching T-shirt branded with “Kingston Juvenile Hall.” Here, time felt like it stood still, an endless loop of days bleeding into one another.
Isolation like this was a new and bitter experience. I had never been so completely cut off from the world, and perhaps that was what made it so unbearable. But maybe, in a twisted way, this was exactly what I needed. Maybe this enforced solitude was necessary for me to unravel the tangled web of decisions that had led me to this point. My life played out in my mind like a slow-motion film, each moment replaying over and over. How did a once-innocent, straight-A student end up here, behind bars? What colossal mistake had I made to land myself in Juvenile Hall? How had I allowed things to spiral so far out of control? The question that haunted me the most was simple yet devastating: “What do I do now?”
I guess I had all the time in the world to think of the consequences of my actions. In all out honestly, it wasn’t Tom, Sean, James, Timothy or even really Justin who got me here. I had a choice, and maybe I had chosen the wrong one.
“Ann!” James screamed. “Go home!”
Images of that night raced through my thoughts, that balmy spring evening in late March when everything I thought I knew shifted irreversibly. The occurrences of that night and the subsequent months that followed were the very reasons I found myself in this juvenile detention center. Perhaps, had I made different choices, I might have avoided the confinement of this cramped eight-by-eight cell.
“Just go home, Ann! Timothy and I will take care of this!” James instructed.
“No,” I repeated standing there watching my best friend break down as the blood still stained the inside of his hands. “I want to help.”
Although it was a decision made in the blink of an eye, I fully grasped its significance. Without any hesitation, I found myself instructing James and Timothy to depart. “Just go, James! Remove any trace. I’ll handle this,” I declared, rushing over to Justin and enfolding him in my embrace. I had never witnessed Justin in such a vulnerable state during the entire five months of our acquaintance. The once formidable, unfeeling, and resolute friend I had known had, at last, reached his breaking point.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” he kept repeating as he sat there shaking in my arms.
“It’s okay, Justin. I promise you, it’s going to be okay.”
Would everything ever be all right, I wondered? I couldn’t decide if it was the three of them that I resented the most or if my self-loathing ran deeper. Should I direct my anger towards the three individuals who had dragged me into this predicament, or should I finally acknowledge my own culpability in this entire situation? I wasn’t sure whether I despised myself more for getting entangled in this mess or for breaking that promise to Justin, because, in the end, it was my fault that things would never be the same again.
As my thoughts drifted back to the night of March 23, 2003, the 6 am wakeup call blared from the speaker box, just like it had for the past week. My next court hearing was still a week away, so whether I liked it or not, I was stuck in this prison for at least another seven days.
The day began like every other, with the six o’clock alarm from the speaker box. Usually, I was already awake, thanks to the deafening train crossing the tracks at three in the morning. After the speaker box announcement, the guards appeared outside the cells, dividing the inmates into two groups. One group would head to the showers, while the other would make their way to the cafeteria for breakfast. If you were lucky, you’d be among the first to shower because if you got stuck eating, it meant more time holding in your bladder.
Following breakfast and our morning showers, we’re ushered into what they call “school” within these walls, a routine that continues until approximately lunchtime. The food here is abysmal, and I’d caution anyone not to touch the pancakes they serve for breakfast – they neither resemble nor taste like pancakes. Lunch is consistently a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and I doubt I’ll ever have another PB&J sandwich again. Dinner is left to chance, and for a moment, there’s some anticipation until you discover it’s meatloaf, which makes you yearn for bedtime.
In the mid-afternoon, when school time concludes, they grant us some time outdoors in a fenced-off area for exercise. The girls often play basketball, and I believe I’m getting good at it, to be honest. After dinner, it’s all about writing, coloring, talking, and resting in the break room outside our cells. The lights generally go out around 9, unless you’ve earned TV privileges for being on your best behavior, in which case you can stay up until 10.
My typical routine on this particular day was disrupted during “school time” when Peggy, one of the detention officers, informed me that I had a visitor. “It’s a visitor from the state,” she said, leading me into the cafeteria, where most inmates meet with their court-appointed attorneys.
As I entered the room, I realized at that moment I should have anticipated this. “Ah, a visitor from the state,” I chuckled, rolling my eyes, and taking a seat at the picnic table-like bench, locking eyes with him. “So, which guard did you fuck to get in here?” I inquired. “You’re not my lawyer, and this isn’t visiting day,” I remarked, studying Justin as he sat across from me.
“Money is power sweetie,” he replied cockily.
“You know you have some nerve showing your face here. I never recalled jail being a part of our agreement!” I exclaimed.
“I don’t recall you trying to forge my name on letters being a part of our agreement either,” he replied. “You got yourself in this mess, Ann. I’m just here to try and get you out of it.”
“Excuse me?” I laughed in disbelief. “Fine, I shouldn’t have done it. I underestimated Tom and James, but we both know I am not the one who should be behind bars right now.”
“Well, forging someone’s name to a letter and delivering it using the United States postal service is a crime, Ms. Mathews,” he replied nonchalantly.
“You know I don’t have to sit here and listen to your condescending remarks,” I said as I started to get up.
“Sit down!” he exclaimed grabbing my arm and forcing me down. “I did not come here to argue. I came here to help you.”
“Help me?” I scoffed, the bitterness clear in my voice. “And why on earth would you want to help me? You and James got exactly what you wanted. I’m locked up, out of your way, and out of the picture. Why should I ever trust you again?”
“You’re right,” Justin admitted, his tone surprisingly calm. “Things have gotten a little out of hand.”
“A little out of hand?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it, just raw, simmering anger. “I’m sitting in juvenile hall, Lenox! Things have gone way beyond ‘a little out of hand!'”
“Ann…” Justin began, his tone softening, but I wasn’t in the mood for his empty reassurances.
“No, Justin!” I cut him off, my patience long gone. “I’m done with this. I’ve been nothing but loyal to you guys. I turned my back on people I cared about, people I considered friends, just to play your twisted game. I sacrificed everything for you, and this is the thanks I get?” My voice cracked under the weight of my emotions.
“You didn’t have to write those letters, Ann!” Justin shot back, his frustration matching mine. “We gave you the role. We handed it to you on a silver platter. All you had to do was follow the script, and we’d all be fine. But no, you had to go and play the hero.” Justin’s voice was rising now, frustration clear in his words. “Look, I’m not here to argue! I’m here to help you. Can we just focus on getting you out of here?”
“I don’t trust you,” I said, my voice suddenly calm, almost eerie. “Everyone may think I’m just some crazy girl right now, but let me make one thing clear: if I’m going down for this, I’m taking you and James with me. I won’t go down alone.”
“No one is going down for anything!” Justin hissed, motioning for me to lower my voice. “That’s why I came here today. If you do exactly as I say, you’ll walk away from this scot-free, and so will the rest of us,” he declared, his voice tight with urgency.
“I’m so done following your orders, Lenox!” I shot back, my voice rising with renewed anger. “I’m done being your pawn.”
“Following my orders is your only option right now, Ann!” Justin snapped, his eyes cold and calculating. “You wrote those letters, and I could easily turn this whole thing against you, make you seem like the crazy one. But I’m here, offering you an olive branch, against James’s wishes, by the way. So, you either do what I say, or you’ll be spending a long time behind bars,” he warned, his voice low and threatening.
I hated the truth in his words. The power dynamic had always been skewed in his favor, and now more than ever, I was at his mercy. I had no proof to back up my claims, no evidence to turn the tide in my favor. It was my word against theirs, and I’d walked right into this trap with my eyes wide open. Maybe it was time to stop trying to be the hero, take his offer, get out of here, and pretend none of this ever happened.