I'd been watching Taylor Campbell for almost six months, his wife divorced him for cheating with their live-in babysitter. There was a dispute over the prenup and that dispute resulted in the case being sent to criminal court when he put his hands on her. During the court proceedings, jurors reported that they had been receiving strange phone calls and think that someone is trying to intimidate them.
I was hired to prove that it was somehow connected to him, so I started following him. He spent a strangely large amount of time texting, hardly even answering his phone at all. I started considering the possibility that it wasn't him but after snagging his phone records, I discovered that he was having his secretary make the calls from their office so it would 'get lost' in the hundreds of other calls they receive.
Presenting that evidence in court, the verdict was found in the favor of his ex-wife but he managed to slip away after the hearing was over. I knew he was going to flee but I wasn't sure if he would take the time to stop at home or if he was going to just try to get out of the state.
I got to his house and could see inside the front window as he rushed back and forth, packing a bag frantically. I waited for him to come outside and when he saw me, he looked like he was pleading that I drop dead before him.
"Hello Mr. Campbell, going somewhere?" I asked, trying to not sound so smug.
"What business is it of yours?" he asks, starting towards his car but as he's frantically searching for his keys, he stops and looks at the tires.
I watched his back as he just stood there, waiting and not moving yet; a wave of satisfaction flooding my veins as the reality hits him.
"I anticipated you trying to run so I let the air out of your tires. Not illegal but damn inconvenient when you're trying to flee police." I step up away from my car and start walking towards him.
He slowly turns towards me, that angry look on his face intensified and I held up my cellphone, showing that I had 911 on the line so anything he said to me was being recorded. His eyes then blew wide as the distant echo of sirens began to draw closer and he looked down the street, seeing blue and red flashing round the corner.
He turned back to me and I could see his waterline start to fill with tears. "This is all your fault…"
"Yeah, it has nothing to do with the affair or you intimidating the jury." I said, unashamed of the sass in my voice.
He pulled his bag close to his chest then throws it towards me, knocking me off the curb and I sat down on the hood of my car as he made a break towards a space between two buildings. I threw his bag onto the ground and ran across the street to follow him, yelling into my phone!
"DISPATCH, TAYLOR CAMPBELL IS FLEEING LAW ENFORCEMENT! HE'S SOUTHBOUND ON WEST 32ND!"
He stops and looks around frantically, crying out as he turned and ran down a narrow passage between the two towering buildings. I continued to chase after him and I saw the chain link fence at the far end of the alley, boxing him in.
He tried to climb the fence when a cruiser pulled up on the other side and he dropped back down to try and turn back, but I was already there.
"It's over Taylor, you can stop now." I tried to reason, but his already labored breathing sped up and I braced my left leg behind me.
A wild animal will do one of two things when cornered; cower…or lash out. Taylor Campbell was a slave to his own emotions…he would lash out. He gave into his desire for sex and with a beautiful young woman in the house all the time; the temptation was too much for him. His anger at his wife got the better of him and he attacked her, despite proclaiming his love for her in the courtroom.
He charged at me, ready to knock me down in an attempt to escape, but I was prepared. He grabbed my shoulders but before he could do anything else, I jerked my arm out from behind me and dug my taser into his chest, the loud clicking slightly muffled as he basically collapsed on me. I stepped back and pushed him off to my right and he all but fell face first onto the dirty ground.
He groaned and slurred expletives as he rolled over onto his chest, fighting through the pain but not making any actual words.
I stepped over him and started back up the alley, considering how bad the traffic might be driving home from here. A heavy hand on my shoulder made me look up and see the police chief who hired me, patting my shoulder and I nodded.
I made it clear at the beginning of this job that I was going to be as uninvolved in the aftermath as possible. He said that my name is not going on the public report but he would keep it in a sealed record.
I never did anything for the glory or esteem, I only wanted to help others and make my father proud. Taylor Campbell's ex-wife is now going to be safe and the entire estate will go to her when he goes to prison. She'll be able to take care of their son and overall, it's a happy ending.
Getting back to my car, the black lump in front of my car reminded me that he threw his bag at me. I picked it up and heaved that surprisingly light bag toward his front door; it loudly slapping against it and plopping onto the welcome mat.
I glanced back at my car and let out a heavy breath as I got into my ratty little dark blue Nissan and headed for home.
I felt a dull buzzing in the back of my neck, making my shoulders relax and almost fifteen minutes into the drive home, my whole body started aching terribly.
Damn it, that horny bastard got me going!
That little chase got my adrenaline pumping and now that all the excitement was over, that throbbing was filling my body. I'm sure that Rebecca can already feel it in her back and will start complaining that I'm just being reckless…as she does.
One thing I both hated and loved about being on the road so much was how it gave me the opportunity to think. It was good for my cases because it was how I prepared myself to gather evidence on my targets. It was bad because if I wasn't on a case, I'd start thinking about home…and dad.
Phillip J. Moore was my father…he married his high school sweetheart-my mom and they doted on me and my twin sister Rebecca. We were like one of those Hallmark greeting card families that you'd see in all matching sweaters and fake smiles. Replace the ugly sweaters with Sunday best and genuine smiles, you'd have the Moore family.
Mom was a stay at home parent, always looking after us and dad was a police officer, but not just any officer. He was like this superhero that watched over Blackstone, a postcard town in Virginia. It wasn't necessarily a cesspool of crime before dad joined the force, but it got worlds better after he joined.
He cleaned up trash, spoke at the schools, helped people get their cats out of trees, shoveled driveways when it snowed…he was a real-life blessing on the town. You'd think with all that good for the city, he'd forget about his family…but nope, he was an amazing dad to us and a great husband to mom.
We went camping, had family barbeques, block parties with the neighbors…we were a little family, but we were a happy family…until dad didn't come home.
A hostage situation was getting out of hand and the shooter was holding a store clerk in front of him with a gun on her temple. Dad arrived and learned that the negotiator was on the way, but the man was growing more and more agitated by the moment.
He was screaming and hollering for everyone to just leave, I never even knew about the reason he was even holding her hostage to begin with…I just know, I wish he were still alive…so I could watch him rot in prison.
Dad did the movie cop thing, where he starts talking the guy down, getting him to be calm and just keep him talking. All the while, he's inching closer and keeping his gun trained on the shooter. I can't remember all the things that dad was saying, but the man was listening and talking back. He seemed to be relaxing, keeping the gun on the clerk girl, but not screaming anymore.
Just as Dad got within a yard of the man, this ugly look came over the man's face and everything flipped as he turned the gun on dad. The bullet went straight through dad's carotid and the vein was shredded in an instant. In that same split second, a sniper fires and puts a round between the shooter's eyes.
The clerk, a woman about 20 something with long brown hair and mascara lines down her cheeks, ran away. She screamed and sobbed loudly, frantically wiping the blood off of her face and neck and this all happened before their bodies even hit the ground.
A few officers on the front lines rushed to meet her and usher her to a waiting ambulance while the medics ran in to help dad. Other officers dressed in S.W.A.T. gear swarmed in to apprehend the shooters body, kicking his handgun away from his corpse as the puddle of blood around his head continued to grow.
Dad's hand was still pressed hard into his throat trying to keep pressure on the wound, he reached out just as an unnamed officer ran over and started pulling off his jacket. He tried to cover dad's neck…when this overeager, skinny little scumbag rushed in close to snap pictures of dad. The officer had to drop the jacket and push the reporter back, yelling at him but then…the feed cut out just as the camera hit the ground.
We'd seen it. We'd watched the whole stand off from our living room, mom behind me on the couch and me coloring while kneeling at the coffee table. Rebecca was upstairs, on the phone with her friend about a slumber party.
The bars of color and that loud blaring noise made my chest grow tight and I almost didn't hear my mother's coffee mug break as it hit the ground. I looked back and she was frozen, no movement at all; I thought for a moment that she wasn't breathing!
It was like everything had come to a stop, it was no longer like the movies where the world moves like a racecar, blurring colors and loud noises. Everything seemed infected by that slow-moving buzzing when it all returned to life just like we'd seen on T.V.
Rebecca's door opened, I heard her end the call and then her voice carried down the stairs to us.
"Mo~m, Chelsea wants to-" we didn't hear the rest.
Mom suddenly scrambled for the remote and changed the channel to another news station and they were already reporting about how an officer had died at the scene. I wasn't watching the screen; I was watching my mom. Her face; frozen with that initial fear shattered as her big eyes scrunched up, her thin frame crumbled to her knees and water poured from her cheeks in heavy droplets. Then she screamed.
This ghastly, throaty shriek that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and tears began to pour from my eyes as well. I started calling to mom and asking her what happened and she grabbed me, squeezing me so tight I almost complained. I saw Rebecca over her shoulder, standing at the foot of the stairs. She was confused but there was a glisten to her cheeks, she reached up and wiped them away.
Funny thing about being twins is sometimes, we feel what the other feels but we don't understand it. She was crying because I was crying…only she didn't know why yet. She doesn't have much memory of that day once she learned what happened, but the entire day became vivid as a painting to me. The smell of my mother's coffee, the waxy feeling of the oil pastels I was using to draw. The dull buzzing in the T.V. and the slight ache in my neck from the way mother had been squeezing me…how she shook as she did.
We learned later that after the camera had cut out, dad had pulled out his wallet with a shaking hand before he bled out on the scene. They looked and saw that he'd pulled out the family picture he'd kept with him at all times…he knew he wasn't going to make it, but he wanted to see us again.
For some reason…that hurt more than helped us. In my brain, I saw it as he didn't want to die, but he couldn't stop it from happening and his last action was to see us. His life and death revolved around us, but I didn't feel comfort or love or even loss; not right away at least. I was consumed by rage at the reporter, the shooter, the clerk, the officer, the medics, the world! Everyone somehow played a part in my dad's death and it was played on T.V. as if it was nothing more than a thrilling car chase.
I'd already wanted to be a cop because dad was always my hero, the one who could do anything and protected the whole city. When he died, I was just that much more determined going forward; my dream morphing into a mission. I had been struggling really hard in school, the drive just wasn't there, but I stepped up after he died and started acing everything. In a way, that hurt me too because getting my first 100% in years, the first thing I thought of was to show my dad…that was a hard day for me too.
I closed myself off, cut out everyone that offered some level of comfort. Their offers only made me angrier because the act suited their schedules. I'd love to stay and help but I've got a dinner date or some other bullshit. I closed off friends and extended family, I even tried to cut out Patrick; my boyfriend at the time.
Breaking up with him was easy…the fact that he still stuck around was harder. He never looked at me like everyone else, he didn't visit me or look in on me when it was convenient for him. He'd go out of his way to look in on me, I'll admit I was a bit of a brat when he'd offer help and I'd reject it to push him out…but he was always there.
I should have known better than to think a simple break up would push him out of my life. We'd been friends since we were kids and our families went on trips together, we went to school together since 3rd grade so we could stay close. Yeah, the dating had only started that year but it just felt wrong to try holding his hand anymore…but he was always there. Not offering help out of pity…because he knew we needed it, not because I was the kid with a dead dad.
Despite his presence, my anger for the world kept growing and getting worse and more unhinged as time went on. I stopped accepting his help and eventually, he stopped offering but kept doing things for us…for some reason, that still made me angry. Then the anger shifted to Rebecca when she got a part time job.
At first, I praised her for finding the time since mom was struggling to pay the bills but…then I saw the truth. Yes, she was helping mom pay the bills…but she was still coming home in her cheer uniform, going to dances and parties. She was still having slumber parties with her friends, dating boys and thinking about which college she wanted to go to.
I refused to talk to her, she just dropped our dad's memory in the interest of her social life. How was I supposed to accept that? Mom and I were still hurting while she just kept on with her life, as if it meant nothing to her at all.
It's been over ten years since he's passed away…and it still felt like it happened yesterday, that vivid painting still sitting in the back of my mind. I didn't cry as often as I used to…but I was still trying to stop drinking myself to sleep at night, but if I drink then I don't dream. If I don't dream, I won't dream of my dad or his death. I think back to the days before I had free access to a bottle and I shudder to think of how restless my nights had been back then.
Is it an unhealthy vice? Of course, it is, but it wasn't something I did constantly…just for bed.
Parking in front of my house, I stumbled a little as I stepped up onto the skinny concrete walkway that lead up to my green, chipping front door. I just…stared at the door for a long, quiet moment, hating how ugly my house was. I never felt the need nor motivation to fix it up or decorate beyond how it came to me, but I still hated it. I was on the road most of the time, so I guess it wasn't a big deal anyways.
I reached out with my keys and just as I was going to turn the bolt, the woody sound of something closing inside made every muscle in my body buzz. I didn't even put a second thought to it, I squeezed my other hand and my thumb instinctively found the trigger to my taser.
I lived alone and had no friends so no one should be in my house, some creep probably thought that it was vacant and broke in for an easy score.
I unlocked the door and kicked it open in one fluid motion, the door slowing quickly and remaining open as the bottom of it became dug into the carpet. I took a few cautious steps inside, mentally noting how I could feel the floor creaking under my feet but the carpet smothered any sound.
I didn't see anything, my bland, dark little house was mostly empty. Dark green wallpaper with ugly spiral designs in it, old couch that came with the place, fireplace that couldn't be used and the very sudden transition from carpet to tiled kitchen floor.
Just as I was about to take another step into the house, a woman with a cascading black ponytail and striking blue eyes, holding a pink watering can stepped out of my kitchen. I took aim with my taser but immediately let my arm drop and that same soreness from earlier returned.
The woman had jumped but settled quickly, smiling and patting her chest.
"Hey! I didn't know you'd be back today," Rebecca says and just returned to watering the plants on the mantel of the fire place.
"How the hell did you get in?" I asked, a little snappier than I intended to as I reached back with my foot and kicked my door shut with a loud slam.
"Oh, come on, you may have graduated before I did but I'm not stupid. I know where you'd hide a key." She turns her attention to the small flower pot beside the T.V. "Being your twin has its benefits."
"Rebecca," I say with a firmness that causes the smooth stream into the planter to quiver. "Why are you here?"
"Mom said you hadn't been home for a while and asked if I could stop by and water the plants. She knows you hate when they start to wither-"
"They're just plants Rebecca, they would have survived another hour without you. Most things do," I said, hanging my drenched coat up on the coat hanger behind my door.
Rebecca's comfy housewife attitude stuttered as she stood up straight suddenly, she shook out her shoulders and turned to keep floating around my house and watering the plants.
There were seven in total, three flowers, two herbs and two little sprouts.
As she carefully waters one of the sprouts, she raises one of its delicate little leaves to examine and this sad smile crosses her face. "Is this what I think it is?"
"Yeah, yellow roses." I say and turn to kick my shoes into the front closet. "I figured dad would appreciate it more if we brought him fresh roses from us instead of wilting and from the store."
"I see, you still go to visit him every week?" she asked and I nodded. Walking over and looking at the tiny sprout, allowing this gentle smile to crease my lips a little.
"Usually, unless work takes me away. I know he understands." I say and walk over to my decanter, snatching a heavy crystal glass from the shelf and pouring a hefty whiskey. I look straight ahead and catch my reflection in the mirror there. My strawberry blond hair is slightly curling at the base of my jaw, as it does when its air dried and my too vibrant blue eyes stare daggers into my reflection. "Do you want a drink?"
"No, I have to drive."
"It's not that hard, I don't party like you did all through college." I sneered, recalling how she would drink herself into taking off her shirt and dancing on a table while strangers cheered for her.
"You bitch," she whines and shoves my shoulder, nearly making me spill. "You know mom still has that picture from your high school graduation and she still tells everyone that you were just sick, not WASTED!" she laughs and I inhale my sip, the alcohol burning in my wind pipe and I gasp for air as I laugh against the wall.
I hated when she came here…I was in no mood to laugh, yet she always got it out of me. That was another reason I stopped talking to her, she would try to make me push dad out of my mind. Have a laugh, watch a movie, come to dinner and chat but, I couldn't bring myself to do it. The only thing those memories served me for anymore was making me upset and remind me how much I have to be angry for.
Rebecca starts towards the kitchen to put the watering can away and just as she does, her ankle rolls on her drab baby blue kitten heel and she catches the fireplace mantel to keep from falling. Her fingers knock against one of the rose sprouts and it pushes over a picture into falling onto the carpet. The frame snaps but the glass remains intact and the sprout is still on the mantel but tipped over.
"WATCH IT!" I shouted and slammed my glass down on the coffee table.
Rebecca looked terrified as I ran over and snatched up the broken frame. Dad's picture was still alright so I let out a heavy sigh only to look at Rebecca and see this glare on her face.
"Why am I surprised at all? Still clinging to daddy's leg even though he's been gone for over a decade. You haven't changed even a little bit, sis." Her voice wasn't condescending or angry, it was bitter.
"Well you haven't changed all that much either, so don't act so high and mighty." I say, gently setting his picture down on the coffee table and heading back over to my whiskey.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean you're still trying to pretend that dad being gone means nothing to you. You didn't even take time to grieve, you just kept going out with your friends and cheering for Charles at football games. How is your baby daddy, by the way?" I plopped down on the couch.
Rebecca crossed her arms and went to stand opposite me to the coffee table.
"Really? That's what you think? I didn't want to put my life on hold and let my grief eat me up inside, I saved my tears for the pillow and stayed strong for mom. You were no help at all, throwing that huge tantrum when she started putting dad's things into boxes." She said and I stood up, staying on my side of the coffee table.
"It had only been a week since the funeral, it's not right for us to just pack him away like a secret!"
"You didn't get it then and you still don't get it now! Looking at dad's things was making mom sad, imagine being reminded everywhere you look that the man you love more than anything on this earth is never coming home again. Now imagine how much more painful that fact is when your daughter says how much she hates you for boxing up his entire life." She almost yelled at me.
I wanted to speak but the smallest pattering against my window made me turn to look. The storm had followed me all the way home and now it was absolutely pouring. I walked out of the living room, hearing Rebecca follow behind me as I snatched that watering can from the counter and placed it on a duct tape X on my kitchen floor.
"Alright, now imagine things from the perspective of a little girl not understanding why someone would kill her father and everyone around her just keeps on going!" I snapped at her and she just glared at me with her arms crossed. "At least I kept his memory going and honored him by looking after people the same way he did!"
"Dad wouldn't have wanted us to just freeze where we stood, he would have wanted us to have a life and build our own families like he did!" Rebecca yells and I scoffed at her.
"Gag me with a spoon Beck, Dad would have wanted to walk you down the isle himself and instead you gave that to Charles lame old drunk dad. I'm sure that was real fun, watching him fall over himself a million times during the wedding."
"So what, just because Dad isn't here to do something he wanted we should never do it?"
"That is not what I said,"
"Are you sure? Because it sounds like if dad isn't around to do things himself, you won't ever do them. Is that why you broke up with your boyfriend after he died?"
"What?! No-"
"You never dated or even tried to keep up with your friends either, did you not want to remember how dad wouldn't be around to prank you guys anymore?!"
"Beck, stop it!"
"What about graduation? You never stuck around for any of the ceremonies or for pictures, you stole those beautiful memories from mom because dad isn't around anymore and you're too selfish and delusional to understand that just because he died doesn't mean we die with him!"
"SHUT UP!" I swung without even thinking about it and I covered my mouth in total shock as soon as my hand hit her face.
She fell back and landed on her rear and started breathing heavily, her perfect black ponytail loosening and creating this bump on the side of her head.
My house is quiet and it's like the room is filled with electricity as the rain pounds on the roof outside. That water damaged spot in my ceiling leaking into the pot I placed on my designated X on the floor.
Rebecca starts getting up and turns away from me, I can't bring myself to speak, but I don't have to because she does.
"You have been living in this delusion for too long, Rae. You are not the only one who lost someone that day. Mom loved him in a way that you will never understand. She lost the love of her life, the man she built a family with, the man who made stars dance in her eyes and gave her the peace of mind that only your lover can give." She adjusts her coat and wipes her face, likely wiping away the tears but still refusing to face me.
"You also seem to have forgotten that you and I are sisters. I lost him too, Grammy and Pop-Pop lost their son. Aunt Megan lost her brother, her kids lost their uncle and this entire city lost a hero! You need to stop being so God damn selfish and remember that you are NOT the only one who was hurt by his death!" Her voice slightly echoes up the stairs in my house and I can't bring myself to move or speak.
"I gave him a speech at my wedding, I tell Mindy stories about him every single day and I even begged mom to keep his ashes and not spread them anywhere. That urn sits on her mantel to this day and I guess in a way, we can't let go either. The idea, that my kid sister-"
"Being a few minutes younger than you, doesn't make me a kid."
"You behavior does!" she shouts and I'm silenced again. "The idea that you are letting dad's death completely take over your life, it feels like we lost you too. You think I buried his memory so that I could move on? I didn't, I just didn't let that pain stop me from having a life."
"And how's that worked out for you? You graduated late, got married at 19, pregnant at 20 and became some dowdy stay at home mom. Are you really happy with the way your life has gone?"
"Yes I am!"
"Without dad!?"
"Dad being gone doesn't get to dictate my happiness! I'm in charge of my own life. I have a husband, a child, I run a business from home mind you and I have a life! Just because dad's gone doesn't mean that my life has to be over!"
"That's what you think I've done? You think I've stopped living?"
"Look around you Rae! You lived in this same dump since graduation! You are obsessed!"
"I'm a private investigator, kinda par for the course."
"Shut up Rae! You snapped at me for knocking over this picture of dad, it's a fucking picture. Mom has more at the house and to add; you never visit her anymore. You seem to go out of your way to avoid our house, how can you cut her out of your life like that?!"
"I didn't cut anyone out of anything! I have to work; sorry I can't just drop everything to play house with some tool that knocked me up in school!"
Another long silence fills the house when a crash of thunder makes Rebecca jump but I don't move an inch. We hold each other's eyes for a moment and she takes a deep breath before starting for the door.
"I'll just call you tomorrow morning, I'm visiting mom for breakfast. 8:30, you should join us. She misses you." She says over her shoulder and walks out, leaving me alone in my cold, quiet house. Another crash of thunder provides cover as a loud, throat ripping scream tears its way out of my mouth.
This anguish begins to pinch my heart and I wrap my arms around myself before walking over to the couch and plopping down. The rumbling thunder above seemed to shake my house and I dug my fingers into my shoulders, falling over onto my side and curling up. The couch was rough and old, long since ignored stains that left behind this scratchy and hard texture.
As my face began to grow warm, I found myself looking at my picture of dad and my eyes began to blur and burn. It was the picture they had of him in his blue beat cop uniform and that same cheesy smile on his face.
I closed my eyes and curled tighter into a ball, pushing my face into the rough cushion, feeling the scraping against my cheek and sinking deeper into that familiar dreamless void that I'd grown to expect.
That old image of Rebecca bouncing down the stairs every day and heading off to school while I stayed home, still makes me angry.
How could she be so damn heartless?! I held that resentment towards her for the entirety of my time in school. When I finally did go back, we'd gone from being the twins to the good twin and the evil twin.
I didn't misbehave or anything of the sort, but I just stopped being social so I was the darkness and she was the light. Rebecca always had a group of people around her, smiling and laughing, she would light up a room if she walked into it and everyone would just gravitate to her. Moths to her ignorant and frozen flame.
I hate how painful it was to think about those times, when the world just kept going for everyone else but mine fell apart. Why did everyone just keep going and I…stayed here?
This violent buzzing in the air and a deafening crash overhead made me almost jump out of my skin and all the sleep left my bones! The rain was pounding on my roof like a stampede and I could hear what sounded like splatters in my kitchen.
I got up from the couch and taking one step into my kitchen, I felt the water squish and splash around my toes. I flicked on the light and could see that the duct tape X on my floor was now beneath at least an inch of water and the water damage in my kitchen ceiling was now a steady trickle.
"Fuck," I grumbled as I stomped over to my sink and tugged on the handle only for the whole damn door to come off its hinges with a little splash.
I leave it there and take the bucket over to the duct tape X, kicking the overflowing watering can to the side and placing the heavy metal bucket down in its place. I'm startled by another loud crash and I go over to the back door beside the living room.
Pushing the door open, I'm greeted by harsh wind and heavy raining. I take two steps out that door and am completely drenched all over again, no jacket to absorb it this time. I grab the broom handle with a squeegee on the end of it and go into my house. I start at the far end of my kitchen and push the water out that back door, ignoring the fact that its soaking into the carpet mostly or just moving off to the side instead.
I don't actually remember the amount of time the actual process took but when I close the back door, squeegee still in hand, the kitchen floor still wet, but no longer flooding.
The bucket is now half full so I swap it out for the watering can, dump it into the sink then put it back again, surrounding it with towels and just leaving the kitchen like that. I knew it was going to overflow while I slept, hopefully the towels would keep the kitchen from flooding again.
My feet were wet and I almost slipped just as I stepped onto the living room carpet. That gross, crunchy feeling under my bare feet was strangely welcoming; not worried about slipping at all. The stairs were covered in that same carpet all the way up into the rest of the house, the one place upstairs where that carpet didn't follow was the bathroom. This house technically had two bedrooms and one bathroom but I never used the second room.
I just walked into my bland and mostly empty bedroom and fell onto the bed, not even bothering to change out of my wet clothes. I had to wash the covers anyways so who cares if I got them wet tonight. I curled up and started to drift again, mentally blaming Rebecca for any dreams I have tonight since my unfinished whisky is still downstairs.
My face is still stinging from where Rachel slapped me…I still can't believe that she slapped me but, I can't blame her. I went a little too far with what I said, she's just going to cling to her way of life that much more and it's my own fault.
I just want so badly for her to stop using dad as an excuse to isolate everyone and be miserable, she'll never accept the truth but…I hate seeing her suffer so much. Walking up to the mirror in my downstairs bathroom, I turn my face to see how bad the red mark is on my skin and I shudder.
I expected an almost cartoonish hand print but it was just this vicious red welt with little dots of broken blood vessels under my pale skin. This was without a doubt going to bruise but…I wasn't too worried about it. It didn't even hurt that badly; I was just surprised that she swung at me like that.
I shook my head and left the bathroom, heading up the stairs and relishing in the cushy carpet against my bare feet. Those heels were cute but damn it, they suck to wear for longer than an hour. Kicking them off at the door was almost heavenly, it'd be more heavenly to take a hot bath and get some rest.
As I passed Mindy's room, I peeked in and saw her chubby little face pressed against her Spongebob pillow and smiled. Her spiraling nightlight making lights shaped like stars and unicorns dance around the room. I closed the door silently and went into my own room.
I began gathering my underwear and a nightgown for bed when I noticed Charles' chair was now facing the window and he was just staring outside. I scoffed a little and walked into the bathroom, turning on the vintage silver faucet to start the bath.
"Watching the storm? Nothing good on T.V. tonight?" I asked him and I was about to pull the bottle of bubble bath out of the cabinet when I felt a little unease at the silence. "Honey?" I called out again, maybe he hadn't heard me.
I peeked out into the room again and he was still in the chair facing the window, I sighed and started over.
"Hard day at work?" I asked, still not getting a response. "Babe, did you fall aslee-" I choked on my words as I rounded the chair and my heart dropped into my stomach.
Charles was still sitting up but his head was stitched into the chair to keep it upright, blood trickled from the wounds and his eyes darted up to me as mine trailed downward. His chest had all but been ripped open and his belly had been sliced open, his organs sitting in his lap.
He was still alive but his throat had also been cut and then bandaged so that he wouldn't die…but still suffered. I started backing away but the door creaking shut made me whip around and see a man standing there, closing my door.
He was tall, clad in black and leather straps with a pure white Ghost Face mask. I gasped and considered making an escape from the window but there was no ledge outside it. This white glint made me raise a hand to shield my face by instinct and he chuckled at me, his voice this deep rumble.
"No one ever expects that part, I love it." He says easily, not maniacal at all…eerily calm and somewhat playful.
I didn't know what to do, I couldn't get a read on his motives but seeing what Charles has already been through…I knew I was next. I held my hands to my stomach, covering my engagement ring.
"Please…you can do whatever you want to us…just don't hurt my daughter." I started, trying not to express how scared I was but my quivering voice gave that away almost instantly.
He tilted his head, seeming to consider it when another flash filled the room with that white light and he seemed to teleport from the door to a foot in front of me. I gasped and he chuckled again, seeming almost delighted by my fear.
"Considering what I'm about to do to you…I'll give you that much. I have no interest in your kid whatsoever, that being said…I hope the walls are thick." He says when I felt this pressure hit my belly and something spilled onto my feet, warm and wet.
I looked down and he seemed to follow my gaze as I saw this black stain spreading across my stomach from his fist. He'd punched me?
I was so shocked that I didn't even move as he started pulling his hand away, revealing the silvery red blade that he'd hit me with, causing more of that warm wetness to spill onto my feet. The serrated backing of the knife ripping as he twisted his hand and once it was out of me, I lost the strength in my legs.
I crumpled into a pile in front of him, seeing only the toes of his boots and clutching the hole in my belly. I couldn't breathe, every gasp coming in quick, painful breaths when one of his feet left my vision. I tried to look up but my head snapped back and I fell to my side. I felt a deep crunch in the middle of my face and I couldn't breathe out of my nose to try and silence my whimpering gasps for air.
He had kicked me in the face and broken my nose, I could feel on my face where the skin had split from the snapped cartilage and my vision began to blur as I struggled to grab at his ankles, in some pathetic attempt to fight back or hinder him.
He squatted down and looked at me, through the eyes of his mask I could barely make out the eyes of a man behind them…chilling, dark eyes. Just then another flash from this unseen camera allowed me a split second of light that showed me his eyes were actually a bright green behind that mask. The black mesh over the eyes of the mask doing nothing to hide that much from me. In the deepest recess of my being, I clung to that fact as my world began to blur.
His leather gloved hands grasped my wrists, gently pulling my grip from his ankles. "Don't do that, you should save your strength…you'll need it." He says and I close my eyes.
He has green eyes.
The knife digs into my chest again and I gasp as it rips through muscles, then with one violent twist a rib snaps like a twig and I groan out in pain.
He has green eyes.
I turned my head and opened my eyes, seeing this outline of something separate on the ground a few inches from me and I reached for it.
He has green eyes.
I keep reaching, even as he goes over to whatever it is and kicks it out of my reach. I leave my hand outstretched, defeated when he stomps on my fingers and I feel two of them snap audibly, making me scream loudly, the sound echoing out into my house. Mindy…
The man kneels beside my head and grasps my chin, turning my face to look up at him and I see that horrible mask as he surveys my face.
"You've got very pretty eyes, that's one hell of a blue." He says as if he were hitting on me.
I cough and splatter some of my blood on his mask, smearing the red against his white mask and I use the last of my strength. My hand with broken fingers swipes at his face and I catch the mask, startling him.
He jerks back too late and his mask hits the floor, revealing the face behind it…but my vision is too blurry to make out anything beyond his eyes from another flash of white from his camera.
"He…" I start and I can see the confusion on his face as I gasp once more. "He has green eyes," I say out loud and he stands up suddenly. "Rachel."
"RACHEL! RACHEL MOORE!" A mans voice calls out and I open my eyes, the lids sweaty and sticky feeling. The right side of my face is aching as I raise my head and wonder why I can only see a slit of…the hallway and my room.
I blink a few times and my vision clears, I'm on the floor behind my bed. I can only see a slit of the room because I'm looking under my bed. I sit up and lean against the bed, feeling like I just went a few rounds with Mike Tyson. My face is killing me because my cheek was pressed into this crunchy, gross carpet.
I mean…that explained my face, but why did the rest of my body hurt? My belly, two fingers on my left hand and all these little spots on my chest and face. I groaned when the sound of pounding on the door downstairs made me jump up and nearly fall again as I was struck with violent nausea.
I feel my stomach heave and I rush to the waste bin beside my bed, emptying the contents of my stomach into the plastic bin and gasping as the rancid smell kicks me in the nose.
Great…as if being home couldn't get worse, now I'm sick with something vicious. I forced myself up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and stumbled towards the stairs, taking a deep breath at the top.
The pounding on my door snaps something in my head and I rush down the stairs, stomach bug and dizziness be damned.
"WHAT?!" I yelled as I opened the door in one fluid motion, surprising two blurry officers on the other side. "Um…" I started when another kick in my stomach made me throw up on the floor just inside my door and I started tipping to the side.
The two officers suddenly rushed in and grabbed me under my arms, pulling me over to the couch and laying me down.
"Jeez, Rachel…haven't you ever heard of getting a flu-shot?" one of them says, his voice sounding like he gargles rocks in the morning.
"In my defense, I just got back into town yesterday." I say with a lick of my lips, ignoring the feeling of something now sitting on my tongue.
"I'll get some water," says the other one, his voice a little more familiar and smoother.
"Careful…kitchen flooded yesterday." I say and feel a wet rag touch my forehead.
Despite my anger and grumpiness, I let out this involuntary sigh at the cool sensation on my forehead.
"Rachel, you don't look well so we'll try to keep this brief." The unfamiliar man says despite this grunt of displeasure from the familiar one. "Have you spoken to Rebecca recently?"
"Unfortunately, she broke in yesterday and watered my plants. We talked, we argued, I slapped her, she cried and went home. Why, did she get wasted afterwards?" I sneered but am startled by my forearms being grabbed and I'm dragged to my feet.
My vision clears right away and I'm met with the handsome face of Patrick Fields, my ex-boyfriend and an officer in my father's old unit.
"Rachel, when did Rebecca leave here?" he asked me, his breath smelling of coffee.
I pushed against his chest and managed to keep myself standing. The world around me starting to clear a bit. "Around 7, I got home around then and our talk didn't go so great so 7:15 maybe. What's going on?"
"Patrick," the older man warns but Patrick doesn't acknowledge him.
The look in his brown eyes makes me feel that familiar ache that I felt when I woke up again. "Where's Rebecca?" I asked and he shook his head.
That was it…it told me everything, that little head shake. My body was sore all over, my head was throbbing and my eyes began to burn. I sat down and touched my fingers, the soreness in my body started making sense.
"She's gone…" I said and he nods, the older man looking a little confused. "Charles? Mindy?" I asked, not looking up from my hands.
"Charles is dead too…Mindy's missing." He says quickly, going over to my decanter and bringing me the bottle. He's smart, I don't need a glass.
"Any leads?" I ask and that's when the older man steps forward.
"We're looking into it," he starts but I stop, just about to take a drink and glare up at him.
"Don't give me the civilian treatment, she's my sister and I'm going to help you find her killer." I say, getting up and shoving past Patrick.
I could smell the old fart enough as it was, besides; I feel like he's the type to cry I tried to assault an officer if I even look at him for too long.
He glares at me as I start towards the door, my clothes feel crunchy and heavy. Rainwater drenched, then dried-sorta-then sweat drenched again, gross feeling but I had a job to do.
"Miss Moore," he starts but I turn to him fast and he stops.
"It's Rachel, don't call me Miss again. Take me to the crime scene," I start towards the door, stepping into my old sneakers by the door and Patrick follows behind.
I turn and chuck that bottle hard at the fireplace, shattering it upon impact and continuing outside, the man looking after me rather shocked and Patrick snickers before talking to me.
"So, Rae…when did you quit drinking?" he asks.
"Did you not see me throw that bottle?" I asked, feeling this chilling sensation up my spine as the same words kept repeating in my head.
He has green eyes.
Rachel has one hell of an arm for how skinny she is, she's got more in her than Rebecca did. Getting the drop on her isn't going to be nearly as simple. The only person left for her is her mother but she basically cut her out of her life so cutting her won't do any good…
I'll just take some more time on her, I need more details…but I will say this, she's already going to be more fun than Rebecca. A few little cuts and she was a sobbing mess, pathetic like a beached fish. Rachel threw up twice and is already demanding to see my work…not nearly as pathetic, but I just have to find that one thing that breaks her. Everyone has one, I just need to find hers.