Checkpoint On The Long Journey To Freedom

This whole process angered me to a degree because I believed it was all part of Pickton's game. When observing Pickton, he seemed to have no care in the world. Each day he was escorted into court he'd have a smirk on his face as he nodded his head towards the judge, carrying his binders and loose leaf paper. His hair always looked as though it was greased back in place.

I had many unanswered questions running through my head when this all started. Foremost, what was I doing here? How did I get myself into this? What happened to the girls I knew on Hasting Street in the Downtown Eastside? Who else is involved in this? Was he really smart enough to perform such an act? Then again, do you really need smarts to kill someone? Maybe not.

The only thing I know is that these women's lives were taken by someone else's hands, and the courts had to get to the bottom of it all. As time went on and witnesses testified in court, I wanted to stay and find out more to what had happened to the 'people' I once was acquainted with that were murdered.

It was overwhelming to think that it could have been me. It was good that I was against going too far from my turf. I've alwasy said you'd have to be pretty desperate to go all the way to Pickton's farm to get high.

I was angry and emotional that these girls never had a chance. How could anyone despise working girls so much that they would stoop so low as to kill them? What did we ever do to deserve that? Then again, maybe the killer did them a favor.