• The following links are prior chapters to this story:
    Death is no joke: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100410509
    Death is no joke-part 2: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100411039
    Death is no joke-part 3: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100447527
    Death is no joke-part 4:
    http://www.gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100507329
    Death is no joke-part 5:
    http://www.gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100652857
    Death is no joke-part 6: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100657349
    Death is no joke-part 7: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100657779
    Death is no joke-part 8:
    http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100661319
    Death is no joke-part 9:
    http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100661849









    It was over.

    I couldn't believe it as I ran outside. I remembered to check where it was I was held hostage, and I had to laugh to myself as I saw that the building was an old toy store. Real old, by the looks of it. I looked around, and made sure I got the specific adress to tell the police.

    The run with Jerred to the house must've taken 10 minutes, and as we finally reached home, I panting and gasping for breath.

    Jerred ran to HIS house, with a simple "see ya" and a smile. It was so strange, after all the trials I had gone through, after all the doubt, my best friend was the one who pulled me through.

    I decided to stop the sedimental thinking as I dialed 911 on my grand-parents phone. Don't wanna get to emotional, I had to remind myself.

    A warm voice on the other end welcomed me, much like the warm voice 5 years ago,

    "May I help you?" A smile broadened on my face.
    "Yes, yes you may. Please go to Templehood Street. There is a murderer in the old toy store." And I was hung up on, but only to get another phone call. I picked up the phone, and looked at the caller ID. Unknown. Although, it wasn't very "unknown" who this "unknown" caller was.

    "Hello," I said.

    "Jimmy, what are you doing?! You're supposed to be tied ta a chair, and..." I frowned, and interrupted,

    "But I got tired of being tied to a chair, and decided I wanted to leave, so I did indeed leave." His voice was still mad over the other end, as he screamed,

    "But how?! I..." And then came the blaring police sirens on the other end. There was no escape for him. I hung up.

    It was so good to know everything was over. The feeling was great. It was like a huge weight lifted off your shoulders, and you felt as though you could a big sigh of relief.

    And that's exactly what I did.

    "Jimmy?" I heard a voice behind me. I twisted my head, and I was unprepared for the bear-hug by my grandpa.

    "Yes, it's you! We were scraping up all the money, and...and..."

    "I'm glad to see you too, grandpa." He slapped me on the back, and said,

    "Stop call me grandpa. Makes me feel old." Suddenly, I remembered something.

    "Grandpa, I need to talk to you about something. Something I only just learned..." And I told him about Frank, or more of, UNCLE Frank. I told him about how my father accidently killed his daughter. I asked him if he knew about it, but it was a dumb question. Of course he knew about it. He was his son, after all.

    "Indeed, I knew about it, son. But none of us wanted to tell you... It seemed as though it was just an unnecessary matter."

    "Unnecessary?!?! Someone died, that's unnecessary to tell me?"

    "I know it was wrong, and I'm sorry for what you went through. Truely. But, you seemed like such an innocent child, no one WANTED to tell you. We thought it would ruin your life." He paused, waiting for me to say something. When I didn't say anything, he just simply commented,

    "Some things are just better left unsaid. You don't understand that until AFTER they're said to you." I was about to say something back to that, something smart, but as I thought about it, I knew grandpa was right. If I was told about the "incident" a few years before, when I wasn't mature, it would kill me inside. There are things that some people should not know until they are mature enough to handle it.

    The trial was held the next day, and it was a very short trial. What was a little strange that day was that I went up to testify.

    "That man in the defendent chair," I started, kinda freaked out as I saw the lot of people looking at me, "was undoubtebly the one who killed my father, and left my mother in a coma. There isn't a doubt about it. I will never forget how he turned my life upside down, and how he, without any hesitation or reluctance, shot my father in the street." I hesitated for a second, and continued,

    "But crime almost never comes without a motive. Although this man's motive doesn't justify his actions, I, on behalf of my father, apologize for the defendent's daughter's death, and the loss of his wife. Justice still must be served, and although I will never forget your actions..." I looked Frank straight in the eye, and said what I thought I would never say,

    "I forgive you, as I hope you will forgive my father." I could see puzzled faces throughout the courtroom. Especially Frank himself. I almost thought he was going to cry, but I saw him shake it off, and instead give a large, grave face. The defense attorney couldn't find anything wrong in my testimony, and in the end, Frank got 40 years in prison, plus a 1,000 dollar fine once he got out.

    I walked out of the courtroom, still not believing what I had just said. Never in a million years would I had thought I would forgive Frank, but there I said it, on the witness stand. Forgivness came with understanding, and understanding was hard to find. But somehow, even after all he had done to me, I managed to understand Frank.