Disclaimer: Again, I really, really don't own a thing. Except for a bunch of university textbooks that are so expensive that I can't afford anything else. That would include CSI...
A Smell of Iron
A soft breeze swept across her face, carrying the scent of the ocean into the narrow, car-lined streets of Tamales Bay.
Sara was lying in the warm sand on the beach, arms and legs outstretched, eyes closed tightly. She was wearing comfortably light, mint green cotton pants and a white shirt that was maybe a size too big. Sand had crept underneath the shirt, scraping her back. She didn't mind, she was too occupied with trying to shut out the voices coming from inside the house resting between the dunes. While the house was a haven for tourists, a small Bed and Breakfast in which they could relax, it was a prison for Sara, a net that she was caught in, waiting for the ever-present spider to devour her.
She buried her hands in the sand, letting the grains run through her fingers, biting her lip. Her mother's voice, loud, almost hysterical, wafted towards her, passed her and floated on towards the ocean. Something crashed inside the house, possibly the china cabinet with all that wonderfully intricate china in it. Her father yelled, her mother screamed back, her voice heavy with tears. One day, just one more day until new guests came and the family would put on a facade of happiness. Her father would control his temper and her mother would hide her bruises. Sara opened her eyes, lifted her arms and investigated her own bruises, the green and blue spots covering her lightly tanned skin. They would fade and heal, faster than the broken wrist and the twisted ankle had healed. She dropped her arms to her sides again after wiping a strand of brown hair out of her face and sighed. Her father would be mad at her again for being covered in sand and trailing the sand into the house. "You're twelve now Sara. How 'bout you start acting like a twelve-year-old? Stop rolling around in the sand like a baby. You pretend to be so damn smart in all other aspects of life." His voice bitter, his brown eyes startlingly hard and cold he had dragged her into her room, leaving bruises on her arms again, and had locked the door behind her.
The voices in the house had died away, the soft crying of her mother no longer mingling with the cries of the seagulls above. Maybe her father had left the house, gone for a drive to regain some energy to dominate over his wife and daughter when he got back. Sara got up slowly, there was no rush, brushed the sand from her clothes and shook the grains out of her shoulder-length hair. She walked towards the house, liking the feel of the sand between her toes. The screen door clapped shut behind her and the cool house engulfed her completely. The air smelled like something metallic as her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, the warm summer sun being almost completely shut out by half-closed blinds. The hardwood floor beneath her feet was cool, she stood in the hallway for a moment, trying to discern why she felt like something was utterly awry. "Sara? Sara is that you?" her mother's feeble voice called from the kitchen. "Mhm." Sara padded towards the kitchen, the eerie silence in the house pierced occasionally by her mother's quiet sobs. The metallic smell got stronger, an earthy smell, almost good. Like metal and rain, maybe a bit rusty. She stopped inside the kitchen doorway, her eyes slowly scanning the room with its white cabinets, dark granite countertops and light green floral wallpaper. Dark red spots clung to the wood now, splashed across the walls like a Jackson Pollock painting. Sara stepped around the cooking island in the middle of the kitchen and stepped into a red pool on the floor. It was warm, felt alive and she pulled her foot back quickly, as if the liquid had bitten her. Kneeling next to her father's lifeless form on the floor was her mother, looking up through tears, almost apologetic, her hand clutching a knife. The woman was covered in blood, tiny red dots on her face, her blue shirt stained. She was kneeling in the ever growing puddle of blood, her jeans soaking up the liquid. Sara's eyes wandered to her father. His eyes were open, slightly glazed, looking up at her in wonder and amazement. He, too, was covered in blood, his own blood, seeping out of his multiple stab wounds, pooling around him. Sara took a step back, felt something break deep within her and pressed her lips together tightly. Her mother had started to cry again, she was wiping her bloody hands on her shirt and her jeans. There even was blood on the ceiling, a drop falling down into the pool of blood on the floor. Sara's eyes settled on her mother, she felt numb and limp, as limp as her dead father, flung out like a grotesque rag doll on the ground. "It's okay Sara. Go back outside baby, please. It's okay." Her mother said with a shaking voice. She pointed to the door, urging Sara out, away from her father's dead body and all that blood and the smell, that overpowering smell in the kitchen. Sara turned as if in slow motion and retreated down the dark hallway, pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch and into the bright morning sun, leaving behind bloody partial footprints. She shivered despite the warmth outside, walked down to her previously occupied spot and sat down cross-legged. The house seemed technicolor bright and surreal to her, as if what had happened inside was part of a bad movie or a dream, already fading slightly at the edges. However, the picture of her dead father had burned itself into her retina and she knew that there wasn't anything she would ever be able to do to chase the image away.
The soft breeze moved through her hair as if to soothe her with cool, tingling fingers. Sara was sitting ramrod straight, her back rigid, staring out at the ocean. The waves crashed against the rocks and the sand on the shore, rumbling and wild. She wished the waves would carry her away, make all of this go away. She heard sirens in the distance as a tear slipped down her face- She wiped it away, he didn't deserve her tears, he'd had it coming to him for a long time. She wished he would rot in hell.
After a while, wondering who had called the police, she heard footsteps behind her and then a woman sat down next to her and took her hand. "I'm Amanda Harris. I'm with family services. Everything's going to be okay now." she said with a tiny half smile. Sara nodded, her eyes never leaving the ocean. Nothing was going to be okay.
Amanda Harris led her back towards the house and Sara caught a glimpse of her father's body being loaded onto a gurney in the kitchen as they passed through the hallway. Next to the front door a young cop was sick in the rosebushes and a group of police officers stood on the front lawn, discussing the 'incident'. Sara held on to the hand of the social worker as if it was her lifeline. "That's the kid whose father was stabbed to death. Poor kid, God knows where she's gonna end up." one of the police officers whispered just loud enough for Sara to hear. Their looks followed her all the way to the silver car parked in front of the house. Amanda Harris opened the door for her and helped her onto the backseat. "You stay here okay? I'll be right back. You're okay now." The woman closed the door, threw Sara a fake smile and walked back towards the house. The sudden silence settled over Sara like stale water. She looked outside, looked over to the officers, drinking coffee and joking on the lawn. They weren't particularly affected by the death of a man inside the house. This was their job, a gruesome one but a job nevertheless. Her mother, flanked by a stout female police officer and the social worker, stepped into the bright sunlight. The blood on her clothes glistened; her eyes were red and wild, skimming around the neighborhood where everyone pretended not to follow the whole affair from behind their curtains. Her mother's hands were cuffed behind her back and she looked frail between the two women escorting her.
"Mom!" Sara screamed fearfully, throwing herself against the window upon realizing that the door was locked. "It's okay sweetie! I love you!" Her mother yelled before being pushed into the backseat of a police car. Sara sat back down, the numbness returning to her body, settling into her bones. She looked down at her hands in her lap, at her naked feet and didn't even acknowledge the social worker as she climbed into the car and started it. "Are you okay?" the woman asked softly, looking at Sara through the rearview mirror. "No."
On the way to the police station Sara stared out of her window at the ocean, following a ship in the distance with her eyes. She wanted to lie down in the sand again, wanted to close her eyes and pretend it was yesterday, when everything had been normal. "Get your ass in the house Sara!" she could almost hear her father yell and a tight smile crept onto her face.
- Not sure yet if this is the end...