The next day he returned with less sweat and set up the recorder again.
“Okay, start from the beginning. What drove you to the point to murder your own mother?” He asked in a hushed voice.
“Well, if I am going to tell you what drove me to that point I would have to tell my life story.”
“Do as you wish.”

“My parents Vincent and Ruth Hart got married right out of high school because she was pregnant with my older brother Blake. Since he was the first born, he was the good child; compared to me he was a Saint. When my brother was four, tragedy struck my parents, I was conceived. I was an accident; my mother never let me forget that. My father loved me like any other child of his, but my mother drove him insane with how horrible she treated me. At the age of three I was sleeping in the spider infested storm shelter in the basement for silly things like elbows on the table or not saying bless you when someone sneezed. It didn’t take long to figure out how my Mother felt, she hated me.

June 6, 1998, when I was five years old my father committed suicide in our bathroom. My brother was nine and found him after. I remember hearing the chair fall, and listening to my brother’s screams for his once perfect Father. My mother wasn’t there that night; she had started taking extra hours at work. My brother rushed into the basement to get me, he told me that he would keep me safe and that I just needed to follow him without looking back. We walked six miles to a police station since our phone had recently been turned off and we lived in the middle of nowhere. They called our Mom at work and told her what had happened, I didn’t quite understand, but I knew deep down what had caused him to do this. I wasn’t the only one that knew either, Blake knew, but she blamed me.

Blake didn’t know how to deal with what he saw, but he promised me he would keep me safe. My mother became depressed, but instead of suicide she began doing all kinds of drugs. I didn’t think much of it because I believed I was safe. I believed that stupid crap until my perfect Mother sold me to a prostitute for drugs.

February 18, 1999, I was playing Goldfish with Blake when Mom walked in with a woman, sleazy looking, black teeth, and she reeked of beer and possibly a dead rodent. I continued to play not thinking much of the woman.
“Gracie, sweetheart, please come here,” that was the first time my mother spoke to me so sweetly without cursing. I walked into the living room and the woman smiled, her black teeth completely exposed. “Gracie, this is Tabatha, um Mommy isn’t doing too well right now and can only take care of one child… So you are going to live with Tabatha and work for her.” My stomach instantly dropped feeling as if it would have felt better to be stabbed in the gut with a dull knife. I started to cry and I ran back to the bedroom with Blake.
“What’s wrong Honey?” he said instantly wrapping me in his arms.
Through harsh tears I muttered, “Mom-my i-s giv-ing me away!” His face went from concern to completely pissed off. He sat me on the bed and told me to stay while he talked to Mom. After he left I heard yelling and screaming, finally the door slammed and I assumed it was Tabatha that had stormed out. I went into the living room only to see that my own Mother was packing my stuff and Tabatha was still there, but as I looked around Blake was gone.

As we went to leave Mom walked out and Tabatha handed her a plastic bag with a white substance in it, that’s when I realized I was nothing more than a meaningless item."

Janet cleared her voice and Rodney pressed stop on the recorder. He gave me a look that all but said he was here for me. I stood and walked away without a single expression on my face.

"I was nothing more than a meaningless item." I listened to the tape over and over it gave me chills up my spine. Grace didn't deserve how she was treated at such a young age, but she's a murderer. Why am I sitting here thinking about her? She looks sad and lonely, her red hair tangled and her green eyes have dark circles under them. Something about her though, it draws me to her, like a bug to a bug zapper.

I layed in bed and no sooner than my head hit the pillow I was out. I started have a dream about Grace. She was a little girl and her mother was just a little older looking than her now. I was thinking so much I jumped when her six year old hand grabbed mine.
"Rodney, help me, don't let her take me away." she buried her little head into my stomach as she begged me to help her, but Tabatha yanked her away from me. I jumped up out of the dream in a cold sweat. I couldn't sleep the rest of the night.
Do I love this convict? Do I care about the girl that murdered her Mother? Am I insane?

"Everybody up!” Janet yelled. I rubbed my eyes and got out of bed. The day went as usual, but for some reason I only wanted to talk to Rodney. When he got there I had never wanted to know so much about a person.

I walked into the visitor’s room, and his blue eyes lit up the entire room and his short spikey black hair had this playful glow about it today. What am I thinking?! He's a reporter; he doesn't like you he just wants your story to make money.
"January 23, 2013, Grace Hart's Story, Day 3. Can you continue your story for me please Grace."
"Sure, I guess, where was I? Oh, right, so after Tabatha and I went to leave I turned out my window and saw Blake, I rolled the window down just in time to hear him say, "I'll come for you! I promise." I had hope that he would find me one day, that hope kept me going.

I was only at Tabatha's for a day or two. When one day a police officer knocked on the door and I was standing right behind Tabatha watching the door. She had treated me a lot better than my mom did. Tabatha would take me to the store and teach me how to get things for free. I got an ice-cream for free once because she acted like she broke her ankle in the middle of Wal-Mart and no one was paying me any attention.

When she opened the door I saw the tall police officer standing with Blake at the front door. Blake knew that if he were to rat on Mom we would be separated so he came up with a story on how I was taken by Tabatha. I saw an innocent woman go to jail that day.

Blake slowly began to turn into someone he wasn't. He started drinking a lot and his friends were doing bad things. They liked to rob people's houses and beat people up for no reason. I only remember this because this is how he died when I turned 14. One night after dinner my Mom was passed out on the couch as usual, but Blake and I barely noticed because we sat and played card games most of the night. I believe to this day his death is my fault because for some reason I wanted to go to the playground. He agreed that it would be fun and we were going to walk. On the way there a car slowed beside us and a loud noise came from it. I dropped to the ground closing my eyes and covering my ears. After I noticed they were gone I looked up slowly only to see the only person that cared about me was dead."

I stopped because I was tearing up, Rodney pressed stop and got up to put his hand on my shoulder, "I am so sorry, I didn't realize you went through so much stuff."
"Shut up! I don't need your damn sympathy! I don't need anyone! Just go. Go!"

Rodney got up and scurried away quickly. I sat there and cried for a minute or two but then noticed a piece of paper on the ground. I picked it up and read it.
I am going to get you out of here.

I don't even comprehend how I did it, but I had a key to the prison in my hand. I walked right into the locker room and took one of the uniforms. I walked straight to Grace's cell and opened it.
"Grace, follow me, be very quiet and just play along." she nodded showing me she understood we all, but sprinted out of the front gate. We ran towards my car and drove off. "Where have you always wanted to live?"
"Honestly, Alabama."
"Then that's where we will go. We can start a brand new life, but as of right now just get some rest until we can get to a hotel." she nodded and leaned against the car window.

I woke up and realized I wasn't dreaming the car slowly came to a stop.
"Good morning sleepy head," Rodney's blue eyes were even more beautiful in the morning when you first wake up.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you get me out?"
He smirked and said, "What's life without a little risk?" I sat up all the way and looked around.
"Where are we?"
"Right now, we are in Tennessee almost to Alabama, but we are stopping for breakfast while you tell me the rest of your story." I nodded it feels like I have been doing that a lot lately. We pulled into a McDonalds, got out and went inside. It felt so weird being in a public place. Rodney sat and stared at me as if to say hurry up and finish.
“Okay, well, after Blake died I got depressed; I would try and avoid my mom at all costs. She still treated me like I murdered them both. I decided to run away.

I was gone for 4 years and I vowed to myself that one day I’d come back and show her what murder was, that is exactly what I did to. My eighteenth birthday I went back home, when I knocked on the door she answered high as usual. "Oh, it's you." was the way she greeted me. I walked in and she sat on the couch. I went to the kitchen claiming I was thirsty. Mom followed behind me and was yelling about how I murdered her son and husband. I grabbed a meat cleaver and knocked her up side her head with it. She was knocked out and I guess insanity got the best of me. I dragged her body to the bathroom and put her in the bathtub, slit both her wrists and her neck. I waited until the blood drained to just the right point, got her out of the tub and slowly began to undress myself.

I slid down into the blood bath and grabbed my cellphone called the cops and said, "I killed my mother" to the lady asking about the emergency. I didn't move until the cops got there and found me soaking in my Mother's blood. She always told me her love came from the blood and sweat she poured to keep me healthy. At that point I felt my Mother's love.
Rodney stared at me with a blank stare almost scared. Deep down I knew exactly where this was going to go... I smirked a little.