Heads up, dark chapter. Bringing up the issue that this course of events in such a small town is really fucking noticeable as well.
I always intended to expand upon the Saint of Suicide theme. Jack's words to Monty about saints having more than one vocation kinda hinted at it in Part 4. You'll see what I mean soon.
*wda*
"You alright there?" The porcelain arm of an older teen in a midnight colored sleeve wrapped around a crying girl.
"Uh huh." A soft feminine voice sighed, leaning into the chest of the hand on her shoulder.
"You sure?" Another deathly pale young boy with bowl cut white hair asked. The front parted in the shape of a wide heart. Rather large blue framed glasses slid down his nose, exposing sapphire eyes. He pushed them back up on reflex without a thought. Standing next to him was the taller girl who could definitely pass for his big sister. Same hair, eyes and complexion.
"Yeah." She smiled, sliding her new navy colored winter cap over her stark white hair and drying her eyes. "Come on, we gotta make it snow for Christmas!"
Three ghostly children walked a short ways across the festively decorated lawn before the wind swept them high into the sky across the full moon.
*wda*
God did he hate these cases.
If you feel so bad death seems like the only answer, then peace be with you.
The instant you decide others need to die with you, you become a monster.
Detective Radcliff found himself standing in a room unable to look at one victim of a double murder suicide. Young enough to remind him of his own daughter was the first thing he thought of. She looked to be only sleeping, certainly in better condition than the bloody mess splattered all over the kitchen down stairs yet she was tougher to witness. Her brown hair kept in place by her white knit cap maintained the illusion; when the coroners moved her body, that illusion shattered.
Underneath, her skull looked to have expoded. The bullet entered the right side of her head with no exit wound. No blood. Why? Probably something to do with the fact that for some reason, this part of the house felt like a a meat locker.
The heater kept every other room a toasty 80° Fahrenheit. Despite the bed room door having been discovered open, the temperature in this room was somehow 2° Fahrenheit. A CSI tech had slipped and fallen in the thin layer of ice coating the polished wood. Frost patterns crept over everything from the inside of the windows to the walls to evey bit of furniture including the bed. And the young lady's body nestled serenely in the center, under a lavender quilt, was frozen solid. No chance of determining the exact time of death. Logically, she had been shot well after freezing to death and the back of her head fractured like glass from the impact.
Logic was the last word Radcliff would use to describe this shit. What a fucked up way to spend his Christmas morning.
*wda*
The story made headlines in a sleepy little town where nothing much happened.
Bank manager Herschel Jaeger had been embezzling hundreds of thousands of dollars from Burgess Consolidated over the last 10 years. As technology improved, it became harder and harder to cover his tracks. Eventually, the bank would get suspicious of the missing money.
Neighbors reported a ruckus Christmas Eve but the weather made going to investigate that night impossible. Christmas day, the flash storm had subsided but now it was painfully clear something awful already happened. The family tradition of burning cinnamon bark in the fire place wasn't observed. The sixteen year old and her mother had not come outside to play in the fresh snow. The Christmas lights were still on at 10 am. No one answered the phone.
Mrs. Jaeger took a horrible beating. She must have run from husband and been pistol whipped to death when he missed her three times. Two bullets grazed her right leg and left shoulder. The other three were embedded along the hallway connecting the dining room and kitchen.
The marriage was falling apart and on the fast track to divorce. Barbara had been savagely bludgeoned to death by a killer fueled by anger and rage directed at her. Knowing what that would lead to, he killed his daughter first, out of 'love'. Making sure she never felt a thing. Never saw what he intended to do to her poor mother.
Then had the decency to dangle his sorry ass from the banister over looking the family room.
In an eerie side note, it seems the headstones for the family were already made. Adults, sure he understood. Radcliff's folks purchased theirs with the plot. His father rests next to his mother's empty grave, her death date not yet inscribed as she was still fit as a fiddle. Barbara and Herschel's would soon be completed.
But their daughter's already was.
Pippa Lola Jaeger
April 15, 2004 - December 24, 2020
One of the Burgess Seven
The funeral home had no record of when it was finished or even who paid for it. The family wasn't even going to use the creepy thing until they found her journal.
Dated the 23rd, the last page stated that she pitied her daddy, he made a lot mistakes and wasn't strong enough to fix them the right way. Still, she could finally be with her big brother Jack and brother Monty and that made her happy. She was only angry that her daddy wasn't as gentle with her mom.
And to please use the grave marker she asked her big brother's coworker to make.
...
Pippa was an only child. Monty happens to be the friend of hers that died a month prior. His epitaph was the same, verbatim. The marble slabs mirrored each other in every way except the colored flowers etched on them. Monty's sported a flowering branch of snowy Sarcococca while a cluster of pastel pink Luculia blossoms adorned Pippa's.
This made no sense. Furthermore, how could this Jack know the exact date she would be killed? How did she?
Could he be the same Jack their little club called Jack Frost?
Did she take a bath in nitrogen before daddy put a gun to her head?
What the hell was going on?! So many questions with no answer.
All the detective knew was of this so called Burgess 7, only 5 were still alive. His gut telling him that number would continue to shrink until there were none.
Alone in his apartment that night, he took a large swig of his alcoholic eggnog. Minus the actual nog.
"Merry Fucking Christmas."
*wda*
Well, that's two down. Anyone know who the coworker is? Pretty sure you all do n_n
Yes, adults alway associating Jack with bad things is a recurring theme.
Once Upon a Time fans, notice the names of Pippa's parents? Barbara & Herschel. Barbara Hershey, the Queen of Hearts and Regina's mother. There is no real explanation for that though I just did it.
*shrugs*
Reviews are like hugs! Sirensoundwave out!
