by Iris RIvers
Green Hoodie frowned, his face mirroring disappointment. “I should get going,” he said as he shrugged past her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
“Wait,” Evelyn yelled. He turned to face her, his expression downturned in annoyance.
Evelyn’s mind was an incoherent mess—like someone had doused it on fire. She was burning, her flesh decaying, her heart melting. Memories of him crawled around in her mind, digging deeper and deeper into the most sensitive parts of her brain—corrupting her delicate mind. That part of her beating heart—the part she treasured so dearly—had left, but his name was still a heartbeat in her mind. Never-ending. Boundless. A sound of agony but also of love—the sort of love many would never experience.
She sucked in a shaky breath, remembering where she was, what she had to do.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” She blurted the first thing that came to her mind.
“Huh?” Green Hoodie said, his brows scrunched in confusion.
“Yeah,” Evelyn edged on, taking a step closer to him. “I saw you at that party once.”
“Party?”
Evelyn nodded. His face cleared of its confusion. “Oh, you mean the rager Zach threw the other week.”
“Yeah, that one.” She took another step closer, ignoring the way her body protested at the proximity. “I saw you from a distance and I thought you were cute; I was just too shy to say anything.”
Green Hoodie looked pleased with the confession. “Oh yeah?” he said, forgetting her once hesitation. “I promise I don’t bite.” He winked.
“What if I want you to?” she said, turning her tone sultry.
“Then I’ll happily oblige,” he said and kissed her.
Evelyn startled at the unexpected contact, but she leaned in, giving in to the sloppy kiss. He kissed her vigorously, as if this was a race and not a midnight exchange. He forced her mouth open and battled his tongue with hers in unwanted permission. It was everything a kiss shouldn’t be. Everything she hoped to never face again.
Evelyn pulled away, forcing the bile back down her throat. “How about we take this somewhere more discreet?” She nodded toward an empty alleyway.
“I like your thinking,” he said, his voice raspy. He tugged on Evelyn’s hand like a child and led her into the dingy alleyway.
Pushing her against the brick wall, Green Hoodie slid a sweaty hand underneath her shirt and kissed her again. This time with more force—more speed. His hand trailed higher as he bit her lip, pulling away slightly to say: “My name is Cole, by the way.”
This was useless information. Evelyn did not need to know a man’s name to spill his blood.
“Grace,” she muttered, letting him kiss her again. Evelyn’s hands teased against his chest, forcing herself to play into the deceit.
He moaned against her lips, his body hard against hers. He didn’t notice as Evelyn pulled something from her pocket. Something slender. Something that glittered in the moonlight.
“You like that, baby?” he whispered against her skin, moving his lips to kiss her neck. Evelyn’s back flared against the friction of the brick. His free hand pulled her shirt, exposing more of her skin—more of her decency.
It was when he moved to unzip her pants that Evelyn decided enough was enough. She took the silver item in her hand and pressed it against his stomach. “No,” she said, pushing the blade further into his skin, tearing his flesh and bruising his insides, “I don’t like that.”
He screamed, moving away from her at lightning speed. His hands pressed his wound, blood gushing from the gaping skin, and screamed some more.
“What the fuck?” he shouted. “You fucking stabbed me, you crazy bitch!”
Evelyn clutched the blade in her hand. The feeling was familiar. Safe.
He tried to run, tried to yell for help, but Evelyn grabbed his arm—twisted it in such an agonizing angle that the man buckled his knees and fell to the floor. Evelyn looked down at him, looked down at his pain, his tears. He looked like her servant.
“Please,” he whimpered. “I haven’t done anything. I promise you.”
Evelyn chuckled—it was a sinister sound; the sound of immorality and damnation. Of a queen as she got away with the murder of her own husband—the King. “That’s what they all say,” she replied—a grin splitting open her face—and plunged a final blow into his heart. He collapsed to the darkened sidewalk like a rag doll, his body lifeless, his eyes wide—afraid. Evelyn listened as he took his last breaths; watched as his chest finally stopped rising and falling.
She kneeled down—unafraid—and pulled the dagger from his perished chest, from his unbeating heart. His blood coated her fingers like melted rubies in thornless starlight. Her phone beeped from her pocket, a notification brightening the screen.
Evelyn? Are you there?
Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut. The memories that had commandeered her mind flashed beneath her eyelids.
Delirium. Consolation. Pain.
Yes, she replied, opening her eyes. Her bloodied fingers stained the screen. I’m here.
CHAPTER SIX
“What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.” ––Aristotle
It was Monday. Kai was preparing for his additional class at Columbia when he heard a loud chime come from his phone. He pulled a gray hoodie over his head, leaving the hood up, and slid on a pair of high-top Converse.
Kai assumed the text would be from his parents or, possibly, Baker, but Farrow’s name was printed across his scene. He unlocked his phone.
Hey Kai—do you have a minute today? I found some stuff.
Stuff. Kai’s finger hovered over the screen. He wondered with a startling sense of hope if she had found the evidence he’d been searching for for years. If the time he spent lying in bed, staring up at his ceiling, his heart in anguish, would finally be worth it. If the retribution he desperately craved would finally be served.
Yes, he typed, I’m free at 2. Meet at the same spot as last time?
Farrow began typing. Kai waited.
Sounds good. Then, after a second: Meet you there.
KAI ARRIVED AT THE café about ten minutes before he was meant to be there. He wasn’t one for being early—or on time, really—but he was anxious. And eager. He’d spent the few hours between receiving Farrow’s message and arriving at the café looking out the window, watching people. He’d felt restless the whole time—like if the time wouldn’t pass by faster, any evidence Farrow had found would disappear before he had the chance to hear about it.
He sat at the same table he and Farrow had sat at before, picking at the peeling wood of the surface. Kai hadn’t bought a drink this time, so the owner of the shop was looking at him, expecting him to order, but he continued staring ahead—toward the glass door.
Farrow appeared in his line of sight. Kai’s breath jumped.
“Kai,” she greeted him. He stood to shake her hand. “Good to see you again. Sit—I have much to tell you.”
Kai sat quickly. He could feel the butterflies trapped in his ribcage, begging to be let out—to be free. He had never felt such anxiety—such anticipation.
“Would you like a coffee?” Kai asked, silently thankful when she shook her head no. He had no money in his pocket.
Kai listened as Farrow clicked open her briefcase, pulling out a Manilla folder with CLASSIFIED stamped across it in big red letters. His fingers twitched with the need to tear it open. His leg shook.
“So,” Kai started, unable to contain himself, “did you find out who killed them?” Hope filled his voice. He sounded like a child. Like someone naïve. Kai tightened his lips, stopping himself from saying more.
Farrow smiled sadly, her eyes softening. Kai hated that—hated the pity that bounced off of her. “Unfortunately, no,” she said.
Kai looked down at the table again.
“But I think we’re getting closer.” She opened the folder finally. Each page was painfully white. Kai said nothing. Farrow pulled a smaller
file from the stack, passing it to Kai. “Your parents were murdered.”
“I know that already,” Kai’s voice rose. “You think they died on their own? Their wounds were so deep I can still remember the depth to them. The darkness in their flesh.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Farrow said, her voice remorseful. “I think it’s best if you read the file on your own.”
Kai stared at her for a few painful seconds—wondering what the file bore. He slowly peeled open the front page. His eyes didn’t know where to look. It was like reading a novel written in an undiscovered language, the symbols strange, the words long. He saw the words Juilliard and Reeves on a few lines—their familiarity standing out. He saw a few others too: blood, girl, knives. They filled his mind, quickening his breath. He wasn’t sure if he could handle this; he wasn’t sure if he would be able to read this file, these words, without feeling all of his past pain again. He felt the grief rising up in his throat, rendering him breathless.
Kai forced his eyes to the top and read:
JN 88-0126
The following investigation was requested on 18 September 2019 by Farrow Davis, Davis Investigation Services.
On 13 November 2006 at 3:03 p.m., Miles and Dianne Reeves were murdered through fatal blows to the neck and stomach, inflicted by an unknown person(s). Multiple neighbors had dialed the police, reporting the sounds of screaming. Police arrived at the scene shortly after, approximately 3:49 p.m. Their eldest child, Kai Reeves, was found next to the bodies, having been said to have discovered them. Their youngest child, Kaden Reeves, was found crying in her room. Shortly after, police took both children into their custody, filing for foster care a few weeks later.
Although the perpetrator is unknown, a note had been left on the bathroom floor—the crime scene. Much of the words had been scratched away or, possibly, faded, but the visible words read: You ... you’ve done ... tower ... we do not ...
Signed: ... from Li ... of Jui ... ard.
On the back of the note read the words: Miserere oblivione delebitur, translated from Latin to: Mercy forgotten.
“Juilliard...” Kai whispered. He looked up to Farrow. “Is this meant to say Juilliard?”
“I believe so,” she answered. “I mean—I don’t know for sure. But what else would the signature mean?”
“It says from the blank of Juilliard.”
“I’m working on that,” said Farrow. “I’m stuck on a few things. The two letters before of. Could it be a name? A professor?” She paused. “A cult?”
“Cult,” Kai repeated. A part of him didn’t want to believe a cult had been responsible for his parents’ murder. Wouldn’t that mean they had done something? Wouldn’t that mean they had done something bad? Kai didn’t want to erase the carefully cultivated memory of his parents: kind, caring, innocent, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if, for some unknown reason, it had been their own fault.
It couldn’t have been though. His memories may have been tainted, but he still knew his parents. He knew them with such certainty that, even thirteen years later, he was sure that they couldn’t have done something to provoke such cruelty upon themselves.
“I just...” Kai shook his head, at a loss for words. “How could that even be possible? Do people know about them? What’s their motive? Do they still exist today? I mean, what are we—”
“Slow down, Kai. We know nothing for certain yet. It could just as well be a random person from Juilliard, with no motive but a thirst for blood.”
Kai thought of the full signature, of the Latin words printed across the back: Miserere oblivione delebitur. He had so many questions. So many thoughts. “The police didn’t tell me about the note.”
“You were six.”
“I found them.” Kai pointed to his chest. “Me, their only son. They should’ve told me. I had the right to know.”
“I know you’re angry.” Farrow leaned to touch Kai’s clenched fist. “But you know now.” Her touch felt like rotten soil. Kai pulled from her grasp like it was.
“Save the bullshit,” he said, his tone seething. “The police, the lawyers, everyone—they lied to me. They fed me stories they thought would keep me quiet. Satiated. To them, I was just another black kid in the system with a set of dead parents.”
“That—”
“Did you know,” Kai interrupted her, “that their deaths weren’t even mentioned in the papers?”
Farrow stilled.
“They were notable people of the community. My dad donated to minority organizations; my mom started a fundraiser to help save money for the water crisis in Flint. They did so much, and still—still they weren’t recognized.”
“Kai—”
“Do you know what a white man once told me? He took one look at my skin color and said: Son, let’s face it, your parents were very likely to be affiliated with a gang. They probably did drugs and other criminal things, and got themselves into trouble. Real trouble. It’s why they’re dead now. But don’t worry, there’s hope for you still.
“Can you believe that, Farrow? They thought my parents had brought their death upon themselves. Just because they were black. The day after that man said that to me, I picked up a newspaper. On the very first page was a headline about—yet again—a white man. He was being praised for some capitalist bullshit. I did my research on him and guess what I found out? He was a rapist. A fucking white rapist got put in the papers, and my parents didn’t.”
“I understand,” Farrow said, trying to commiserate with Kai, “but—”
“No, you don’t,” Kai said unabashedly. “You’re a white woman living in the Upper East Side. You’ll never know what it’s like to fall under racist stereotypes. You’ve never faced that level of cruelty. So no, Farrow. You don’t understand. You never will.”
“You’re right,” Farrow said after an extensive silence. “You’re right. I don’t understand, and I apologize. I wasn’t thinking from your perspective.”
“White people never do,” Kai said, his breath jarred.
“I agree with you, Kai,” Farrow said, nodding. “This entire situation is incredibly messed up, incredibly unfair.”
“Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter how unfair it is. How horrible it is. The media will never be on my side. That’s why I need this. I need to know what happened—what really happened. So, please, just help me with that. I won’t ask for anything else from you. I just—I just need to—”
Farrow stood from her seat and kneeled at Kai’s side. She pulled him into a consolatory hug, calming his short breaths. It was painful—the touch. Kai hadn’t hugged another person since Lara, and, with that memory on his mind, he couldn’t bear her embrace. But still, he let her wrap her muscular arms around his torso, let her squeeze so tightly he lost his breath. He couldn’t help but compare the hug to the last hug his mother had given him—sending him off to school the day she died. It was the last time he’d seen her standing. Smiling. Breathing.
When Farrow pulled away, Kai couldn’t speak. His words felt stuck, like they had to be pulled from his throat.
“I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you get the justice you need, Kai. I don’t know how long it’ll take, or the things I’ll need to do, but I’ll make sure it’s done.”
Kai nodded, grateful for her dedication, her persistence. He opened his mouth to say thank you, but Farrow grabbed his shoulder, “I know,” she said, squeezing him for comfort.
Farrow collected her files from the table and locked them into her briefcase. “When I find something—anything—you’ll be the first to know. Let’s make this our usual meeting space, okay?”
Kai finally stood. His legs felt dizzy, unstable, and he shoved his hands into his pockets to hide his trembling bones. “Okay.”
“I’ll be in contact soon,” Farrow said. Kai shook her hand once more, and then she left.
He wasn’t sure what to do next. Something in their conversation felt empty—missing. There was something bigger to t
he case; there was something huge, something monumental, that they hadn’t discovered yet. Kai wasn’t sure why, but he could feel it—the vacantness. The note that had been left at the scene of his parents’ murder was a spiraling illusion in his mind.
Juilliard... Cult.
Mercy forgotten, the note had said. He felt those words; felt them speak to him in an indescribable type of way. There would be no mercy when he found the people who had taken the life of his birth parents.
Kai left the café with vengeance on his mind.
LARA WAS LOOKING FORWARD to sleeping for at least ten hours that night. She hadn’t slept well the past few days so she told herself she would get in bed at a reasonable time—around ten, preferably—and force herself to fall into a deep sleep, with the help of melatonin.
It was hard though because her mind wouldn’t stop circling around the same thought. It kept her up, bothered her. She was living a nightmare without having to close her eyes. Lara moved around in bed, pulling off her blanket before shifting to her side. She felt hot, sweaty. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was calling to her—waiting for her.
She knew who.
Lara shut her eyes. She would not think about them. She would not fall into their schemes again. Visions of the bell tower flickered beneath her lids. She groaned, frustrated that they had infested her mind; that they had crawled into every part of her and were now eating her from the inside out. She sat up, feeling the weight of exhaustion pull her down. The melatonin was doing nothing to ease her mind.
She got out of bed to lower the thermostat. She needed cold; needed to feel like she was drowning instead of burning. Her mind wandered to Kai, to his touch during their rehearsal. He made her feel like she was burning; he made her feel like she was on fire—in the worst possible way.
