Chapter One: Shroud

Thursday, September 29, 2011

(03:07:12 PM PST GMT-8)

A flash of distorted colors lit up the screen before fading to a solid blue. It takes several seconds, along with some whirring coming from within the device, but the screen eventually comes to. The camera view seemed to tumble before it settled at a slight upward angle, pointing across the room towards a silhouette of an older woman, possibly middle aged. She sat comfortably on a mid-century loveseat, legs crossed properly, with a note pad placed on her thigh. Despite the lack of features, it was easy to tell she was dressed accordingly in some sort of buisness suit; her hair shoulder length, straight, and lacking any sort of individuality.

Even her voice was a tad bit too bland, if not almost robotic. "I want you to have this camera. You can use it to log your thoughts throughout the day." The woman was obviously not alone as a soft sigh was let out just next to the camera. The woman's body language stiffened, appearing irritated with the other's non-verbal complaint. "This is a tool, dear. Not a homework assignment. If it makes you any happier, you can also use it for whatever you wish to record, however on one condition. I need to ask you to just sit down and record your thoughts and feelings at least once a week. Just talk about your day or your week, your worries, your accomplishments, anything."

The room's climate was very thick and stuffy. Despite a fire burning in the side of the room, the ambience felt cold, apathetic, and just unwelcoming all together. The person who the woman was talking to remained quiet. The only sound that was made was cloth sliding against leather as they crossed their legs and arms, allowing a brown boot to appear in the camera frame. The silhouette sighed, tilting her head slightly to appear more warming; even with the attempt, it didn't change much.

"Roseanna, you can give me some sort of input, you know? An 'okay Ms. White', or a 'yes this is cool', or a 'no I dislike this.' Something. We're here for you."

My voice spoke softly, almost as a whisper. "Alright, fine, I'll give it a try..." I stopped a second before continuing, allowing my voice to build confidence. "and please call me Rosy. I told you about this already." With a last remark, I turned the camcorder off. I had only wanted to test it out.

[END TRANSMISSION]

The woman, Ms. White, silently nodded. Obviously ignoring my complaint. "Let's talk about what happened last week."

I didn't look up at her from the camcorder or respond.

Ms. White pressed on. "How has Michael's death affected you?"

"It hasn't."

My therapist glanced down at her notepad, using it as reference. "That's not what you said last week, the day after it happened. You kept saying that you felt guilty. Why is that?"

I took a second, carefully placing my thoughts in order, before looking up and stating: "Because even though he was a bastard, he didn't deserve to go like that. No one should."

Ms. White nodded, pleased with the response, almost as though it confirmed her hypothesis. She glanced down, scribbling notes as she said: "And does this remorse for Michael Hain come from your friend's history with her mother's abuse?"

Memories of two little girls, a blonde and a brunette, running down the street, flashed through my mind. The brunette's pigtails wiped her face and she spun around to see if her friend was close behind. The blonde girl, with tears rolling down her bruised cheeks, grabbed her hand, assuring her friend that she was there. That blonde friend was Jenny, my childhood best friend. Jenny never had a stereotypical, loving, american nuclear family that you would see on TV or in movies. Sure, her and her family lived on the nicer side of town, but that didn't change anything. Behind closed doors, Jenny's father would abuse her mother, who in turn abused her. Just because you have money, doesn't mean you have happiness. Money doesn't equal shit but new toys and nice cars.

"Partially." I admitted. Anyways, back to Michael Hain. Despite having an abusive family, Jenny didn't seem to fall far from the family tree. Hain didn't have the greatest family either. It was never clear if they were abusing him or not, but he sure as hell mistreated Jenny. Michael never laid a hand on her, but instead, he would mentally abuse Jenny. No matter how gorgeous she looked, or how well she was doing, Hain always had to be the better partner. He put her down, constantly. I never understood why she ever stayed a year with that fucker, even if it was good sex. Still, no matter how bad of a person he was, he didn't deserve to die. One week ago today, Hain was found dead at his house with multiple stab wounds. Rumor has it that his mother was the one who killed him. She might have been overly distressed from her husband's sudden disappearance a month ago and blamed it on Michael. It isn't for sure, but it definitely is suspicious. The evidence just proves that he was killed by a female, around 5'4, and a size 6 ½ shoe size. It was a stretch, but without a solid alibi, Hain's mother is the only prime suspect at this moment.

"How is your friendship with Jenny, at the moment." Ms. White asked, pulling me back to reality.

"Well," I sighed. "She still isn't talking to me. We might have had a falling out over a year ago, but I know she's taking this hard. I tried to comfort her, but she didn't want anything to do with me."

"And how does that make you feel?"

What kind of a question is that? "Frustrated, obviously. I'm trying to be a good friend and be there for her like she was there for me when my mom died, but she's too fucking prideful to accept any help from me."

"Roseanna-"
"Rosy."

Ms. White sighed, uncrossing her legs. "Rosy, please do watch your language." I remained quiet, turning away from her gaze to avoid any kind of response. "Alright, well, I think we will stop there." Placing the notepad on the coffee table that accompanied the loveseat, my therapist stood up to bid farewell. I followed her lead to the door where she held it open for me, reminding me: "I'll see you next week. I expect you to use that tool I gave you, Roseanna. It will help, I promise."

I passed her and entered the hallway of the office building, waving as I departed. "Of course, Janice." I didn't even have to turn around to know that her face contorted into an awful frown, I could just feel her eyes glare down my back.

It was pointless to act like that to her, I know, but it made me feel some sort of achievement. With the most recent months of my life taking a hard loss, it felt nice to have some sort of control. My dad sent me to her for a reason, but it's so difficult to compromise when she's that ignorant. Although, It was nice to open up every now and then to someone who didn't really have a significant role in my life.

At least some good came out of the past few months, and he so happily greeted me as I walked into my house. I bent down and vigorously rubbed my German Shepherd's back, talking to him as though he was a baby. Well, then again, he was. He was my baby.

"Hi, Zim, hi baby!" I cooed, now rubbing his belly. Zim excitedly scratched the air before suddenly jolting back onto his feet to run further into the house. "Who are you looking for, boy? Are you looking for dad?" I followed him down the hall to my dad's office, aka the kitchen table. Stacks of paper and books covered the table almostly completely. The only area barren of any paperwork was where my father's head lay, using his wrapped arms as a pillow. Poor guy, ever since my mom passed away back in April, he's indulged himself in his work. Now with a single income, he has to work double time; and this area of town isn't the most affordable.

I spun on my heel, attempting to retreat to my room as quietly as I could. I was able to make it halfway up the stairs when a loud creak slid from under my foot. God damn it, I should have remembered to avoid that stair. It's not like it's been there since I was six or anything.

"Rose? Is that you?" I heard my dad call from the kitchen.

I mentally scolded myself before returning down the stairs, "Yeah, it's just me pop." Knowing my dad, he's gonna wanna talk a little bit. Even though he's hardly home, he still tries to be a parent; which is why he sent me to a therapist after my mother passed away. My dad stretched and let out a loud yawn as I entered the kitchen. "What's up daddy-o?"

"How was Ms. White?"

"Bitchy, as always."

My dad sighed, "She doesn't help at all?"

Guilt twisted in my stomach, "No, she does. She even gave me this camera to help 'log my thoughts'." I mocked.

I could see that this made my dad feel a little better, it made him feel like he was still a good influence in my life. "A little cheesy, but hey, whatever helps. Right?"

I nodded, taking a step back. "Right. I think I'm gonna head to bed and try and sleep."

My dad nodded, allowing another yawn to escape. "Alright, pumpkin. See you in the morning."

I didn't reply, just smiled and climbed the stairs. I knew he wasn't going to be here in the morning, he never was. Who can blame him though? It was nearly a two hour drive to Seattle, so in order to beat traffic, it required getting up at ridiculous times in the morning. As I made myself comfortable in my bed, I looked over to my night stand to turn off the light. Taking one last glance at my family portrait, I switched the light off.

Friday, September 30, 2011

(02:07:09 AM PST GMT-8)

The old sony camcorder whirred as I placed it on my night stand, turning the LCD monitor around so it would face me. After adjusting the frame, I leaned back against the wall and sighed. It was weird knowing that my every move was being recorded. Because of it, I was overly aware of my voice, movements, and facial expressions to the point where it made me self conscious. I don't like being filmed; or more so, I don't like to see myself on the other side of a camera. Maybe it's because I'm too modest, or that I just don't like myself? Who knows.

"So, I had a dream. A weird one. The kind of dream where everything feels so real, you can't really tell if it's a memory or not. I was standing in front of a window to a house and I'm guessing it was Michael's house due to the fact that I saw him inside." The wind howled from outside, pulling my attention away for a split second. I watched as the moon-lit trees danced in the breeze."I think...I think I saw Michael die- well, I saw a tiny glimpse of it. And-" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the recording screen froze.

"Shit."

I reached over and picked up the camera and smacked it until the picture became clear again. Piece of shit camera, if Ms. White expects me to keep doing this stupid camera interview, she should at least give me something that works. I held the device out, continuing where I left off. "I didn't really see much, everything happened so quickly. I can just remember watching him back against the wall pleading to someone. I have never seen so much fear in a person's face. The person he was scared of was just barely out of my sight, so all there was was this shadow that just towered over him." I brought my knees up to my chest, continuing to hold the device up, which made my arm being to shake so I placed the camera down on the bed and adjusted the angle.

"Everything happened so fast…" I repeated. "Out of nowhere, Michael pulled out a gun and just kept shooting. But the look on his face when the gun clicked, oh my God. All the color from his face drained, in like, 0.2 seconds. I looked away just in time, but I could still hear his screams." Again, the camera glitched. "Next thing you know, I'm staring down at this white blanket covered in splattered blood over his lifeless body."

I shook my head, pulling myself back into reality.

"I want to say that this was a normal nightmare. I want to forget it all, to be honest; but it just felt way too real. I don't know...maybe I'm more affected by the stupid fuck's death than I care to admit. I can only imagine what Jenny's going through..."

I picked the camera up, "Anyways, I think that's enough Final Destination mumbo jumbo for tonight. Goodnight."

As the camcorder's view spun around, the recording malfunctioned once more. The film ended on a stutter of a clip displaying the trees from the window.

[END TRANSMISSION]