* * *
I ran downstairs and put on my coat while calling out to my father. “Dad, I am going to Britney’s for a little while. I’ll be right back.”
Before hearing his response, I was out the door. Looking up at the sky, I noticed the sun had been hidden by massive storm clouds as rain was on the forecast. I walked down the small walk to the driveway, looking at my new car which had been parked in my drive ever since I received it. I had not bothered to drive it perhaps because of my own fear that what happened to my sister could also happen to me. However illogical the thought, I knew it would linger in my mind until I resolved what happened.
Shaking those thoughts out of the forefront of my mind, I inspected the car as I got in and found that nothing looked out of order. Deeming it safe to drive, I started it up and made my way to Britney’s house, which was only a mile away, on the other side of town.
The two-story colonial stood on a hill in one of the richest neighborhoods in town. Britney’s mother, a real estate agent, snatched up the house for a steal and fixed it up over a period of ten years, making it the regal residence it was today. Her father, who was disinterested in a home improvement project, let his wife do all the necessary adjustments while he spent his days and nights working in his publishing company.
Looking up at the house, it appeared dark and imposing. I suddenly felt my insides quiver as my breath caught in my throat. My anxiety was in facing a new environment and talking with someone who wasn’t in my normal circle of friends. Britney was my sister’s friend, but I could count on one hand the actual times we talked. Most of which were just friendly greetings and nothing more. So, what could she possibly have to tell me that was so urgent?
Parking in the driveway, I hesitated, looking up at the silent house. Shaking the negative thoughts of comparisons to horror movies out of my head, I decided that I was being foolish and got out of the car.
Walking the path towards the front door, I stopped, noticing the door was ajar.
Maybe, she left it open for me, I thought. She knew I was coming.
However, there was a nagging suspicion in the back of my mind, playing on my nerves. Yet, I didn’t know enough about Britney to make this feel like an unusual habit. She could have very well left the door open for me. However, it was the middle of winter, and it was too cold to just leave doors open.
“Britney,” I called, ascending the stairs and standing on the brick semi-circle that anchored the columns on either side.
I walked forward hesitantly. Reaching the door, my heart began to pound steadily in my chest as I reached out and pushed the door.
Shivering, I watched tensely as it swung open with a creak, hitting the wall behind it with a dull thud.
“Britney?”
No response.
Stepping into the house, my eyes scanned the front hall which was plainly painted white with a few family pictures hung on the wall. On either side of the hall were French doors, leading to the dining and living areas. On the right wall, there was a grand staircase which led upstairs. Toward the back of the hall was a singular doorway that must have lead to the kitchen.
Peeking into the living room, I entered cautiously. “Britney?”
The large room was decorated with lightly-colored furnishings. The walls were painted white. There were matching sheer curtains that hung from the windows, allowing light to enter.
With my eyes scanning the room, I noticed on the opposite wall was a grand fireplace. Opposite the fireplace was a winged-back chair which was flanked by two large sofas in the middle of the room, making for a spacious conversation area. The formation of the furniture formed a perfect U-shape which was aimed at the feature wall. In the space between the sofas was a coffee table.
Walking towards the furniture, I stopped.
My heart began to beat like a wild drum in my chest.
My nostrils flared as my breathing increased.
My eyes, wide with surprise, noticed a shoe near the foot of one of the sofas. Tracing it with my eyes, I saw that it was stained with drops of blood.
Running towards it, my eyes made contact with the body that was lying at the base of the sofa.
“Britney!” I screamed, running to her side.
Trying to shake her awake, I saw a big purple bruise on her forehead as if she had been hit with a blunt object of some sort. In the middle of the bruise, there was a cut which was an inch long which bled. Her blood had fallen onto the carpet. Her eyes were half open, and her stare was vacant.
Leaning forward, I positioned my ear next to her nose and heard that her breathing was shallow.
Jumping up to my feet, I reached for my cell phone and found that I did not have reception. Dashing towards the foyer, I managed to get two bars, and in that instance, my phone rang, surprising me.
“Hello?” I said anxiously as I picked up the phone.
“Miranda? Where are you? I have been trying to reach you!”
“Mrs. Fayson?” I questioned, listening to the female voice on the other end of a bad reception. “I am at Britney’s. You must help me! Something terrible has happened!”
“What? I can’t hear you,” she said. “Did you say you were at Britney’s house?”
“Yes!” I tried to speak again, but she cut me off.
“Listen to me, Miranda. Get out... of there,” she said urgently, although the connection was bad. “I cleaned up... pixilation on... photograph... sent me. You photographed... Samantha Cole. She was standing with... .”
“With who?” I questioned, my eyes catching on the row of shoes lined up in the front hall.
I gasped.
“With... Carlos... Burgos!” she shouted.
I looked up and saw a family picture on the wall. In the picture, Britney was seated between her parents, smiling brightly. Off to the side, there was a man with a familiar face. “Call the police!” I cried, my eyes drifting back to the construction boots placed in the front hall which brought back memories of my dream. “Britney is hurt—”
Turning on my heel in an attempt to run out the front door, I ran into a figure and dropped my phone. Taking a step back, my eyes stared in horror at the man in the doorway.
I couldn’t think.
I couldn’t move.
He stepped forward, and as if by instinct alone, I jumped back.
I recognized the man as the maintenance worker at the school. He had been so kind to help me with getting boxes to pack my sister’s belongings then. Now his dark eyes were furrowed together, and his jaw was clamped tightly in anger. He wore jeans and a clean, white t-shirt, appearing as if he had just washed. His hand gripped a baseball bat as he came towards me menacingly.
“Get away from me!”
With his heavily booted foot, he stomped on my phone, breaking it into a million pieces. “I can’t have you calling for help,” he said.
With my insides shaking, I back away further in fear. “Did you do that to Britney?”
He nodded, pointing at the living room where Britney lay with the bat in his hand. “My poor half-sister... she just didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut,” he said, his face twisting in anger as he spat. “She was always the favorite. They always treated me like the black sheep.”
Averting my eyes for a moment, I shook my head abruptly. “She didn’t say anything.”
“You look scared,” he commented with a humorless laugh. “You should be.”
I swallowed hard.
“She figured it out. I couldn’t have her running and telling the cops. But you... I can have fun with you.”
Stepping back, I let out a gasp of disgust.
Taking a moment of silence, he stared at me, and I could feel the anger emanating from him. It came off of him like hot energy which wanted to burn me. “The whole Samantha thing... . Do you know how much trouble you have caused me? Do you?” he asked, shouting as all apparent calm drained from his features.
/> Shaking my head, I caught a glimpse at the monster within. “What do you want?”
He scoffed. “You know,” he responded with an all-knowing nod, giving his bat a little swing. “I have been looking for you for a long time.”
“Please, I... don’t know what you are talking about,” I pleaded as my back hit the wall next to the kitchen door.
“You saw me with her, with Samantha. You took a picture that night,” he said, grinding his teeth. “I was stupid. I couldn’t tell the difference between you and your sister. I poured sugar in the wrong tank. I sent my little gifts to the wrong girl. She was never supposed to be in the car that night, but now there is no doubt. I can set this right.”
My breath caught in my throat. “You killed her because of the picture?”
“I couldn’t have you tying me to the murder,” he said matter-of-factly. “It should have been you that night.”
“No,” I gasped.
The realization of what happened hit me fast and hard. My sister was killed because of me. I carried proof of a murder for two years, and he killed her because of it. It was all my fault.
“Samantha got what she deserved. She was always stringing me along while she mooned over your little boyfriend,” he told me, spitting his words out. “And, well, Britney was always the favorite. Dear old dad couldn’t ever bring himself to acknowledge his illegitimate son... . I had to work as a maintenance man while they lived in this big old mansion. How is that fair, huh?”
“My sister had nothing to do with your family problems,” I told him, feeling my anger boil inside of me.
“Your sister? Let’s face it. All women are the same,” he said. “She was just as phony as Samantha and Britney. She only cared about herself. She deserved what she got.”
“Shut your mouth about my sister!”
“The truth hurts doesn’t it?”
“The only truth is that you are psychotic!” I screamed, pointing my finger at him. “You killed innocent girls for the pleasure of it. Samantha was out of your league and you couldn’t stand it, could you? You killed her because she didn’t even know you existed... or even cared!”
Without warning, he held the bat up and swung it at me with all of his might, shouting as he summoned all of his force.
Screaming, I ducked out of the way, hearing it crash into the wall behind me. I forced back into my lungs the air that had been expelled. Catching my breath, I glanced at it, seeing it had made a hole in the wall before it broke into two pieces.
Appearing surprised, Carlos looked at the broken piece in his hand. He flung it across the room as his eyes bore into mine. “You would have already been dead. If your stupid stepmother didn’t see me breaking into the house, this problem would have already been dealt with,” he said, his voice deep and guttural like a feral animal. “It doesn’t matter now... . I don’t need a bat to kill you. I can do it with my bare hands. I want to make you feel your life draining from you for all the trouble you caused me.”
“Are you going to kill me like Samantha? Or Britney?” I questioned, trying to throw him off balance mentally. “Samantha was just another girl who didn’t pay attention to you, but Britney... was the bane of your existence, wasn’t she? You were always jealous of Britney weren’t you? She had one thing you could never have... a father’s love.”
Without warning, he charged at me with his nostrils flaring like a raging bull. “You know nothing!”
As his arms made contact with my shoulders, my head hit the wall behind me as he pinned me, and I cried out as pain seized me, making my head throb. Lashing out in my own defense, I kicked upwards with my right leg, making contact with his groin.
Within seconds, he released me, falling to the floor with a hard thud.
“I know you are a coward!”
Without further hesitation, I ran into the kitchen, spotting the back door as he yelled after me. Fumbling with the locks, I couldn’t open the door fast enough. Within seconds, he seemed to overcome his pain and charge into the kitchen wildly.
Glancing at the countertop, I saw a butcher block filled with knives. Without further thought, I grabbed the biggest one I could spot and held it up. “Stay away from me!”
He jerked his body forward in an apparent effort to gauge my response.
Surprised, I flinched, jumping backwards. “Don’t!” I yelled.
Tensing his shoulders and bending his knees, he stretched out his hands in front of him slightly. “I don’t think you have it in you,” he said, grinding his teeth.
I slashed the air between us with the knife, trying to prevent him from bridging the gap.
Watching me with unblinking eyes, he laughed, taking a single step forward.
I held the knife out like a fencer, slicing the air with the tip of the blade. “Don’t come any closer,” I threatened, my voice shrill.
Testing the seriousness of my warning, he took another careful step. Extending his arms sideways with his palms up, he said, “What are you going to do, Miranda? Are you going to kill me?”
He reached out suddenly, extending his hand towards me.
By instinct, I struck, slicing his forearm clumsily with the blade.
Stepping backwards, he cried out, wincing. In a protected fashion, he grabbed his forearm, placing his hand over the wound before bringing his arm to his chest. He cradled it and looked at me in apparent shock.
Horrified by what I had done, I nearly dropped the knife. Watching droplets of blood splatter on the tile floor, I was unable to move in my shock. My eyes could not look away from the small pool which had formed, creating a ghastly image in my mind.
In my distraction, Carlos knocked me to the ground like a lion pouncing on its prey.
I landed on the tile floor so hard the breath was knocked out of my lungs as he landed on top of me. After an instance of numbing shock, my body exploded with pain like tiny electric surges running through my body. I shook uncontrollably and cried out as tears fell from my eyes. Moving my hand, I realized the knife was knocked out of my hands by the fall, sliding across the tile floor with a clang.
Refusing to give up, I tried to fight through my pain, but I realized I had lost a lot of my strength. I kicked at him, and he struck me across my face. Reeling from the burn of his slap, I could feel my limbs grow slack as if my body had given up on the fight.
Laughing at me, he took advantage of my momentary weakness and sat on my stomach, pinning me under him. He wrapped his hands around my throat, lifting up my head and hitting it on the floor beneath. “You’re weak! I am strong!” he screamed wildly, his eyes afire with hatred.
Swinging my arms at him, my fists struggled to connect. My lungs burned, begging for air. The pressure in my head was nearing its breaking point. As my eyes grew heavy and my vision dimmed, I fought to remain conscious.
“Freeze!”
My eyes shot open abruptly in my disbelief.
Carlos’ hold on me loosened as he turned his attention to Officer Jonstan.
The young officer, who had just entered the room, held his gun high in the air, aiming it at Carlos. “Get off of her!” he yelled with authority.
Carlos grinned at him. He raised his hands in front of him and slowly rose to his feet. “You got this all wrong, Officer Jonstan,” he said, motioning towards me. “She hurt my sister.”
Trying to speak, I clutched my throat, willing the pain of my crushed voice box away. I opened my mouth, ready to defend myself. However, nothing came out but a barely audible whisper. I could only give Officer Jonstan a pleading stare, hoping he could see through Carlos’ lies.
Officer Jonstan, glanced at me as he kept his gun trained on Carlos. “Step away from the girl,” he ordered, his body tense.
“If you don’t believe me, my sister’s body is in the living room,” Carlos said with very little emotion.
Officer Jonstan hesitated, glancing back momentarily as if trying to see into the liv
ing room.
Carlos took the opportunity without hesitation, pushing Officer Jonstan’s gun upward so that it wasn’t aimed at him. They struggled for control of the weapon. Carlos grabbed the officer’s wrist and hit it against the wall in an effort to make him drop it.
Fearing Officer Jonstan would lose control of the gun, I searched the floor for the knife that had slipped from my hands. Finding it across the room, I managed to get up and hobbled towards it. I snatched it up, hearing the officer scream. Turning on my heel, I saw that Carlos had Officer Jonstan’s wrist twisted, and his back pinned up against the wall. The officer appeared as if he was about to drop the gun.
I ran towards them, holding the knife high in the air. With all of my might, I brought the knife down as hard as I could, burying the blade in Carlos’ back.
Suddenly, everything stopped.
As if watching a slow motion movie, I watched as Carlos collapsed onto the tile floor. Landing on his stomach, his body went limp as his eyes stared out into space blankly. Blood stained the back of his shirt and drifted downward, gathering in a pool on the floor.
Officer Jonstan gained control over his gun, placing it back into his holster as he clutched his wrist. “Thanks,” he said, breathing hard.
I nodded, remaining motionless. My heartbeat began to normalize, and my breathing slowed. Staring down at the body at my feet, I was transfixed. It was very clear that Carlos was dead. I had taken a life. It may have been in defense of another, but the burden was the same as if I had committed it in cold blood. I was no better in that moment than he had been when he took my sister’s life.
“Detective Conner, the situation has been neutralized,” Officer Jonstan said, acknowledging the senior officer that had just entered the room.
Appearing emotionless, she glanced from me to Officer Jonstan. “Neutralized?” she repeated, suddenly focusing on the young man’s body on the floor.
“Yes,” Officer Jonstan said, stepping towards her in apparent relief to be unharmed. “We have evidence that pointed to our suspect Carlos Burgos being the killer of Samantha Cole and Nastasia Moralez. If it wasn’t for Ms. Moralez, I would have been his next victim. He almost took my gun.”
“Did you call for the forensics team?” Detective Conner asked.
“No, I’ll radio in now,” he answered.
“Don’t,” the detective said calmly, withdrawing her gun and shooting him in the abdomen.
I screamed, feeling my legs buckle beneath me.
Officer Jonstan tried to hold onto the wall, but ended up sliding down, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. “Why?” he managed to ask, looking up at her with a pleading stare.
“You killed my son,” she said, her voice cold.
Holding my hands over my mouth, I sobbed, watching Officer Jonstan breathe his last breath. My tears flowed freely down my face as I turned my attention back to the detective. She hadn’t forgotten about me, holding the gun up in my direction.
“I had it all set up perfectly,” she said, allowing her anger to show through her mask of indifference. “All you had to do was let your little boyfriend take the fall, but you couldn’t leave it alone. You just had to know the truth.”
Sobbing, I struggled to speak. “Why did you cover for him?” I cried. “You knew what he was... .”
“He was my son!” she shouted. “He was everything to me!”
Hoping to put some distance between the barrel of the gun and myself, I took a step back, wanting to inch my way behind the center island. “You accepted him for what he was, and just covered his tracks,” I told her. “You are no better than him. You are just as much to blame for his crimes.”
“His father couldn’t accept him, but I could,” she spat, grinding her teeth. “I knew what he was, and I accepted it. But you took him from me. You did that and you deserve to die!”
“How will you cover this one, detective?” I asked, inching back behind the counter.
“Easy,” she said with a sadistic grin. “I will blame it all on you. You killed your sister and her friend out of jealousy. When Officer Jonstan and I came upon you in the act of killing Britney Burgos, you fought me for my gun, and the gun accidentally fired, killing the poor rookie. Then I killed you.”
Shaking in anger, I shouted, “No one will ever believe that!”
“I can be very convincing,” she said, adjusting her aim.
I closed my eyes and prepared myself for what death would feel like. Trying to encourage my anxiety to drain from my body, I reconciled with the fact that I was not getting out of this house alive. Even if I dove behind the counter as she shot at me, she had more bullets, and I was out of hiding places. There was nowhere to run.
Suddenly, I heard a scream, and my eyes sprang open. To my surprise, I saw Britney holding an iron fireplace poker run into the kitchen and strike Detective Conner in the back of the head with the object. The detective’s eyes rolled backwards and she fell onto the tiled floor with a hard thud.
I looked from Britney’s battered face to the detective on the floor and broke down into tears. “Thank you!” I cried, sobbing without restraint. “You saved my life.”
Britney joined me in my tears, dropping the poker on the floor before calling the police for the second time that evening.
I learned later on that Detective Conner had intercepted the call so that emergency services and other officers on duty wouldn’t respond. She expected her son to cover his tracks and knew that he was up to something when Britney’s address was mentioned.
Although the detective took a hard hit to her head that would no doubt require stitches, she was alive and would spend many years in jail as an accessory to her son’s crimes.
Britney was pretty banged up. Carlos had used the bat on her, hitting her in the forehead and giving her a concussion. The hit resulted in an abrasion and swelling, but other than that she was fine.
Except for a few bruises and a sore throat, there wasn’t much wrong with me. My father showed up on the scene after a call from Mrs. Fayson, informing him of what she discovered. He insisted on taking me to the hospital, but I refused. I had to do something first.
Standing outside of the police station, I leaned against the side of my car and waited. It wasn’t long until I found what I was looking for.
Within minutes of waiting, Caleb walked out the front door. Wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans, he appeared to have worn the same clothes for a few days. His face was pale, and his eyes were red. His hair was a mess, and he appeared as if he hadn’t slept in days. As he descended the front steps, he made eye contact with me and froze. “You look horrible,” he said honestly as he took in my appearance.
I managed to smile. “How were you planning on getting home?” I asked.
“I was going to walk,” he said, descending the rest of the stairs and starting to move away from me.
“Wait, Caleb!” I shouted, catching up to him and forcing him to stop.
He crossed his arms in front of himself and stared down at me, appearing frustrated. “Still think I had something to do with your sister’s death?”
I shook my head. “I never thought that,” I told him sincerely. “Look, I know you are mad at me, and you never have to speak to me again... but just listen to what I have to say.”
He stared blankly, but I took that to mean he was willing to listen.
Nervous, I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “I have been such a fool,” I admitted, suddenly feeling my eyes grow damp and my insides turning to mush. “When you admitted that you had feelings for me, I didn’t know what to think. No one has ever said those words to me. It was... surreal. The problem was... that I shouldn’t have thought at all. I should have just told you that I love you, too.”
His eyes widened at my revelation, and his breathing hitched in his throat.
“I have always loved you, and Nastasia knew it. That is why she never brought you over. She didn’t w
ant me to ever acknowledge those feelings. I let my sister go after you, because I was too much of a coward to admit my own feelings,” I told him, feeling a tear escape my eye. “But if it is not too late, I would like to start over.”
Caleb averted his eyes, remaining silent as he grappled with what I had just told him. When he was done, he looked at me with dark sapphire eyes. He pouted and asked, “Really?”
“Yes, really,” I confirmed, waiting anxiously for his response.
He smiled sheepishly. “Well, then, my name is Caleb Mitchell,” he said, extending his hand towards me. “What is yours?”
I laughed, feeling my heart grow warm in my chest. “My name is Miranda Moralez.”
“Nice to meet you,” he replied, moving his hand slowly from my grip.
I latched on tighter, pulling him towards me. “What would you say if we sealed this introduction with a kiss?”
He smiled shyly. “I thought you would never ask,” he said as he scooped me into his strong arms, lifting me off the ground and bringing my face within inches of his. “I love you, Miranda Moralez.”
“I love you, too, Caleb,” I replied and kissed him softly.
THE END
* * * * *
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List of Literary Works by Sandra Madera
Short Stories:
The Collector
Overboard
Sangre Falls
Scattered
Shattered
Weeping Willow - Part One
Weeping Willow - Part Two
Novels and Trilogies:
Restraint
Lament: A Restraint Novel
Malcontent: A Restraint Novel
Wicked Magic: A Weeping Willow Novel
Wicked Love: A Weeping Willow Novel (coming soon!)
Shattered Page 12
