Facing the Past

Running. I kept running, not knowing where, only that I must go. Away. Far from my parents, from the mysterious person trying to ruin my life, and from my past. I ran past empty warehouses, their broken windows foreboding, my feet pounding against the pavement. My heart raced, not from physical exertion, but from fear. Fear? Seriously? After everything I'd taken thus far, this should've seemed like nothing. Infuriated, I pushed myself harder, ignoring my flaming lungs and cramped legs, my iPod earphones blasting, music blocking my thought process, helping me to momentarily forget the letter.

The letter had done me in. I was able to take most of the horrors life had shoved at me thus far. My impoverished school full of juvenile delinquents and potheads, my loser parents, and the self disgust I felt every day. Even my best friends could be my worst torturers. Even so, they weren't worthy of my worry. But the letter…that was a different matter, if I was honest with myself. But I was rarely honest with myself. I told myself I was merely angry, sick of this side of New York that was anything but glamorous. I hated life here, certainly, but that wasn't the reason I refused to let my feet stop.

…

I slammed my locker shut.

"Just shut up, okay?" I screamed at him.

"I'll never stop! I know what you did! You're such a loser- wasn't enough for you to ruin your own life? Did you have to mess up ours too?"

I opened my mouth to respond, and then clamped it shut again and turned away. He wouldn't listen. No one had. He swore at me and then walked down the hall. It was then that I noticed the piece of paper sticking out from the edge of my locker. I kicked my locker, and it swung open. An envelope fluttered to the ground. I paused, and then opened it with trembling hands. Two words were written on a mud-stained page.

You're next.

You're next? How cliché was that? Couldn't this jerk, this creep, this stalker come up with anything better? The beginning hate mail was believable, even frightening, but this was plain stupid. Or plain terrifying. I tried to convince myself that this was just a practical joke. No one was out to get me. It was just some other moronic delinquent trying to scare me. But the stupidity of this message didn't stop my heart from racing and the blood from pounding in my ears. I knew then I had to get out of here.

…..

It was difficult to navigate the sidewalk; I continually scattered pigeons and people as though they were marbles. Still, I arrived at the subway in an hour. I stood in line, my eyes searching for a sign of him. Believing I was safe, I stepped forward to purchase my ticket. A moment later, a hand gripped my shoulder from behind. I stifled a scream as I turned around. A man- the man- was there, tall and intimidating. Now, I screamed, ripping free and jumping through the door of the subway into a group of confused people.

I don't know how I recognized him. In truth, he was dressed to be unrecognizable. An ordinary business suit and sunglasses made him look like every other man roaming the streets. Even his height was average. He was no bigger than my older brother, but by no means small. I guess it was his posture I recognized. He was a man not to be messed with. The man gave off a menacing aura, his body stiff, his forehead creased in frown lines. Even through the sunglasses, it was easy to decipher his expression. His eyes were vicious, his face focused in intense concentration. The very thought of his eyes boring into mine made my stomach churn and my heart beat fast. Because he was there before it happened, though I knew not why.

…..

I rolled over in my sleep. Why wouldn't the hammering stop? My head pounded, and I tried to ignore the dream, but the noise wouldn't cease. Finally, it escalated into an ear-splitting crash. I awoke with a start, my heart crashing into my chest like whatever just shattered outside my window. I crawled sleepily out of bed, padding over to the window. I drew the curtains aside just in time to see a dark figure disappear from the wide balcony spanning the back wall.

Confused and frightened, I opened the French doors and walked out into the night air. I saw the source of the crash- a flower pot lay broken, the dirt spilled all over, the flowers wilted and smashed. I shrugged and walked over to the railing. It was probably just our dog. As I gazed at the night stars and dark cliffs, I leaned against the rails. They creaked under my weight and began to splinter, breaking outward. I jumped back, heart pulsing. Then I walked forward and rubbed my hands over the rails. The wood was chipped away significantly, deep markings where an ax had met the wood. My blood turned cold in an instant. Slowly, I walked backwards toward the doors, and then turned and ran inside, slamming the door behind me.

…

I traveled through New York for hours, sleeping sometimes, but mostly wide awake. I tried not to think about what happened, what was happening, but even loud music couldn't distract me. I wandered the subway stations hopelessly between rides, waiting for the next train. The grimy stations and homeless people were a constant reminder that no matter how well I had adapted, I didn't belong here.

…..

"We're leaving!" my father screamed, throwing everything from kitchen utensils, to clothes, to bathroom cleaners into a suitcase.

"But-" I began to protest.

"NO ARGUMENTS!" he whirled around, facing me with half-mad eyes. "Do you see what you've done! If we don't leave now, not only will your future be ruined- although you deserve it-but can you imagine everything else? The scandal, the stares, the horror, the newscasts, we'll face charges, for God's sake! A half hour- that's it- go pack!"

And as I stared out my window at the beautiful sea home I was about to leave, I knew my life would never be the same.

….

I traveled all day, switching from the subway to a train at the city limits. From there, I walked to the train station. Inside, there was a map of Eastern USA. I traced the path my train would take from New York City to upper Maine. It was a long trip, but I was beginning to feel a sense of adventure. I was finally leaving. Finally, I'd retrace the events from the last three months of my normal life, life before we moved to New York.

Just then, a small girl, maybe ten years old, ran past me toward her mother. Her face was full of delight and her brown ponytail swung behind her. I squeezed my eyes shut, shying away from the memory she brought forth. My throat constricted as tears burned my eyes. Would I ever escape?

The flood of memories this day had brought me had become overwhelming. I hopped onto the train, eager to escape. I barely found a place to sit before I collapsed onto the bench, sobbing. Why had all of this happened? What had I done to deserve this? Did my parents really believe I was that heartless, that I was capable of the horrors they so blindly accused me of? These questions rolled around in my head for what seemed like ages, while tears never stopped coming. I was shaking so hard people nearby turned to stare. I gave them the death glare I had perfected since our move to New York, accentuated by my red eyes and tear streaked face. They turned away quickly, and I was alone with my misery and music. Finally, the sobs subsided and I gave way to my exhaustion, falling quickly into a troubled sleep.

….

"I'll never talk to you again!" she screamed at me.

"See if I care!" I snapped, my face red with anger.

She disappeared into her room, slamming the door behind her. I heard crashing noises as she kicked at the room furniture, and then the sound of sniffles as the noise died down. I started to feel remorse, and took a deep breath before turning the doorknob. The door creaked open, and I stepped in slowly.

"Sis?" There was no one there. Her door was open, and a cool breeze off the ocean drifted in. I started toward the balcony, but was stopped mid-step by a blood-curdling scream.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" There was only one person who could've screamed so shrill and high. My heart stopped, and then started again, beating furiously as I sprinted forward. I emerged onto the balcony, looking around wildly. My eyes focused immediately on the scene before me, and my mind tried to comprehend what had happened. My stomach twisted as I took in the broken rails and figure disappearing out of the corner of my eyes. It was too tall to be her… then who was it? Suddenly, it hit me swiftly, like a blow to the head. I threw up, unable to take everything in. My stomach twisted, and my hands were clammy.

But the worst was yet to come. My parents emerged from inside, and in those seconds, there was a silence so loud my ears rang for days after. My father's look was first of surprise, then confusion, then understanding mixed with inexplicable grief. He began screaming at me words I'd never heard him say. I stood, dumbfounded, before I realized what he had accused me of. My hands trembled and I shook my head slowly before crumpling into darkness.

…

The train jarred as it pulled into the station. My eyes flew open, and it took me a few minutes to remember where I was. The dream had seemed so real, but then, it was real. I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the headache now throbbing there. Tears burned my eyes, and raging fury filled me, along with a determination to get to the bottom of this. I was sick of all the blackmail, nightmares, and suffering that had resulted from a single event. I hopped out of my seat and left the train, breathing in the air around me.

It was so clean here! The sky above was a gorgeous clear blue, with only a few wispy clouds. The trees were just beginning to change colors, the greens giving way to brilliant hues of red, orange, and yellow. The sun was in the west, and I easily judged that I had about an hour till sunset. My heart swelled with a bittersweet happiness. Boy, did it feel good to be back.

I started sprinting along the seven mile trek to our old beach house, my legs carrying me easily along the trails I knew by heart. It was quiet here, too. I'd forgotten what it was like to not hear constant sirens, car horns, and roaring crowds. The beautiful countryside of Maine was filled with different sounds- softer and more beautiful. Slight breezes swept through the trees, birds called above, and an occasional car zoomed past.

Finally, I reached a long, twisting driveway. My run slowed to a jog, and then a slow walk as I remembered why I was here. I considered turning back, but I knew it wouldn't fix anything.

Do you really want to go back to that? I asked myself. None of this should've ever happened. You deserve better than to live a lie. It's time to find out the truth.

And I made myself keep walking, one leg in front of the other, until I broke into a clearing, a beautiful house in the center, cliffs, sand dunes, and the ocean in the background. It felt eerie to be here in the now setting sun, staring at the house that was our home. I stepped down the slightly overgrown driveway, and up the familiar doorstep. The unlocked door creaked open reluctantly, and I kicked aside old boots and sneakers as I stepped into the entrance.

Dust covered everything. If it weren't for the dust, our home would've looked just like a house should. All the furniture was in place, and there was the kind of random clutter everywhere you associate with an average family. Chills ran up my spine, but I convinced myself it was perfectly normal to be here, that it was like any old day in the past. I had just gotten home from school, and everyone else would be home in a few hours. I walked the familiar path up the stairs, and forced myself to walk in the room. I couldn't bring myself to look around though, and sprinted through opening the French doors, leaping out onto the balcony.

I hadn't allowed myself to think of it for so long. Mostly, I pretended it never happened. But the scene before me provided me with undeniable evidence.

My sister was dead.

Tears filled my eyes, and I allowed them to flow shamelessly as I remembered every detail of that fateful day.

Why were we even fighting? It was probably an argument over something stupid, like me accusing her of stealing my favorite shirt. My brother had stood and laughed as we argued, egging both of us on. After she went to her room, the remorse was almost immediate. But it didn't matter. If we hadn't fought, she wouldn't be dead. It was my anger that caused her to go onto the balcony, raging around. It was my fault she hadn't been paying enough attention to see the weakened rails. Heck, she probably tripped over something I left out there.

"It's all my fault," I whimpered pathetically.

"That's right." I jumped as a familiar voice rang out behind me. "And now, you're going to pay."

I turned around slowly, and my heart stopped.

It was my brother.

But he didn't look malicious, or bloodthirsty. He looked upset and confused, and sad, overwhelmingly sad. And he was holding up a gun, staring at it in sorrow.

"Wha-What do you mean?" My voice trembled and cracked.

"You. Wasn't it enough for you to be mom and dad's favorite? Did you have to eliminate the competition, too? Are you happy, now that our lives are ruined and we're stuck in the middle of Hell, New York?"

I was so confused now. Did he really think I would kill someone for those reasons? My brain swirled around, trying to untangle the confusing web my brother was weaving.

"Yeah, it was my fault," I said. "If we hadn't fought, she'd still be alive. She never would've been on the balcony, angry and frustrated. I would've had a chance to tell her the rails weren't safe, someone tampered with them."

"GREAT! Now you're going to shove this off on me? It was me who tampered with the rails, you idiot, I was going to replace them, they were getting old. I wasn't trying to set up the perfect trap! You're the one who pushed her off, and caused us all this misery. So a month ago, I decided you should get a taste of your own medicine. How does it feel?"

I gasped as I comprehended what he was saying. No one tampered with the rails to kill us; he was just trying to get them loose from the ancient bolts that held them together in order to replace them. Even more surprising though, was the second phrase.

"You…. The blackmail…it… no…" I trailed off, too shocked to form a coherent sentence.

"Yeah, me. You killed my sister and destroyed our family. I figured it was payback time."

Tears burned my eyes as I choked out "But I didn't… don't you see? I've regretted fighting with her since the day it happened, but I would never, ever do that. Ever."

He lowered the gun slowly. "How can I be sure?"

"You can't. I don't have any evidence; the crime scene isn't on tape. You can only believe me; I swear I never touched her. But you're right, I wrecked your life. I ruined everything. So I'll make it right, it's my turn now." And I walked over toward the rails, preparing to jump. I tried not to concentrate on the cliffs below, sharp and jagged.

I heard a clatter behind me as my brother dropped the gun, realizing what I was going to do.

"No!" he croaked. "NO!"

"Its okay" I turned toward him, smiling. "I owe you this. Your life could still be normal if it weren't for me. "I faced the sea, and spread my arms wide.

His hand grabbed my sweater. "Not on my watch. If you owe me anything, you owe me this. Don't ever go." Tears started running down his face, and my own eyes filled. We stared at each other for a few seconds, wondering what exactly the future held for our family. But right now, it didn't matter.

"I won't" I promised as we hugged each other. "Not in a million years."