It was a cold, airy Thursday morning. Mist clung to the streets like foggy shadows, and the wind carried an eerie stillness.
Reporters gathered in front of the state police station in euphoric anticipation for the public confession that was said to begin at 10:00 AM.
At the stipulated time, Matt was escorted into the heavily guarded room, the shackles on his hands and legs rattling with every step. He was made to sit on an elevated table with armed guards standing on either side.
The camera's light began flashing, and microphones bristled upwards as everyone waited breathlessly for the confession to begin.
Matt's eyes scanned the handful of reporters before him, unbothered by their flashing cameras or their sneering faces.
He prepared his mind for the storm he was about to unleash while inwardly mourning the death of his family, who unbeknownst to him, are very much alive and in good health
