The Girl That Was Obsessed With Murder

by James Larpson

  The conversation paused. Charlie set his empty glass on the coffee table in front of him.

  “How about I ask you kids something? Have you been questioned or anything by the police yet? Anything?”

  Charlie shook his head, swallowing a lump in his throat.

  “Huh. Interesting,” she said, pulling her lip to the side.

  “Have you?” Kate said in a more stern tone.

  “That does seem like something even I would remember, doesn’t it?” she said with a chuckle.

  Then Meredith looked outside at the cloudy sky, and sat up from the chair.

  “You kids better get home before this storm hits. I know it’s going to hit hard, that’s for sure. I need to get back to my reading for the day, anyway. I have to keep the good part of me alive and well.”

  She pointed towards the door, her hand on Kate’s back guiding her out. With Kate’s back turned, the woman turned to Charlie, dropping something light in his pocket. She bent down and pressed her mouth against his ear, her gaze still on Kate.

  “Be careful about that one—both of them—there’s a lot of trouble out there and you don’t want to get burnt in it. She doesn’t end well.”

  Charlie looked up at her with a confused look but almost nodded his head at her, also.

  “Come on Charlie!”

  He waved a small goodbye to her, and she smiled. On the walk home they discussed their conversation. Charlie argued no woman that devoted to the Bible, and innocently lonely, would be capable of murder. Kate disagreed.

  “Why exactly do you want to do all of this? What’s the point? We are just kids,” Charlie said.

  “I already told you. Imagine what life will be for us if we are the ones who figure this all out.”

  “All I care about is being able to sleep once I know who killed dad and possibly Vivian too,” he said.

  He looked at the man’s house Meredith told them about.

  “Besides, I think he’s a closer guess than Meredith. Things don’t add up with her, but he’s definitely weird. I remember him at the party staring right at me, and then looking at the punch bowl. He looked weird, almost like he was regretting something.”

  “Okay Charlie you sound ridiculous.”

  The two were quiet the rest of the way. Charlie opened the garage door and entered the home. He reached in his pocket and made his way to his room, locking the door. Inside was a wrinkled, aged note from Meredith folded in half. He took a breath and read it:

  Who will make me a liar, and make my speech nothing worth?

  16

  Kate Is Road Kill

  By nightfall, Clare sat wrapped in a fuzzy blanket on the couch with a box of chocolate in her hand. Night was when thoughts of Vivian hit her the hardest. She played every memory of them together in her head. The doorbell rung, playing much louder in Clare’s ears. She made her way, chocolate smeared on the corner of her lip.

  A tall man, presumably in his twenties, stood at the door. He ran his hand through his dark brown hair, and then smiled at Clare.

  “Are you Clare Stillman?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “My name is Jason Claremen. I was Vivian’s cousin. I’m moving back for obvious reasons. I used to live here, with Vivian, though.”

  Clare examined the young man.

  “How long has it been since you moved away?” she asked.

  He chucked. “I’ll tell you for a glass of water,” he said.

  She stepped aside, making room for him to enter.

  “It hasn’t been long—just enough time to finish some business. I’m looking at this as a blessing, though.”

  Clare stopped pouring the glass of water, looking at him like he was crazy.

  “You mean what happened to Vivian?”

  He stepped back and put his hand over his heart, realizing how it must have sounded.

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry—I just think my family might accept me now,” he said.

  Clare asked him what he meant, and more about his family. A drunk driver had killed his parents, and Vivian had taken him in.

  “I’m fine now, but it never leaves you, you know?”

  Clare nodded and crossed her legs.

  “Vivian talked about you all the time. You were the only one she trusted,” he added.

  She smiled at him, taking a sip from her glass, those thoughts of Vivian swarming inside her head again.

  After about five seconds, Kate ran to the door, hearing a knock. Two police officers stood in all black uniforms—unusually dark—, showing her their badges.

  “Are you Kate Stillman?” one of them asked.

  Kate nodded and he told her she would need to answer some questions.

  “About what?”

  “You were at Vivian Jones’ party the other night, correct?”

  “Well, I–”

  “It will only be a couple of minutes,” he promised.

  “So why didn't I ever see you at Vivian's?” Clare asked.

  “She hid me, she thought it would be bad for me to associate with her friends, in case I became violent. She wanted to keep her reputation clean.”

  Clare offered her apologies.

  “I'll get out of your way. Thank you,” he said, wiping off his seat after standing.

  “For what?”

  Jason told her she was the only one who opened her door for him.

  “You hit one kid making fun of your dead mom and suddenly you’re a killer never to be seen with in town.”

  They took their glasses to the sink, and Clare saw the policemen by the front door. Jason awkwardly slid by them, waving back at Clare one last time.

  “Is there some kind of problem officers?”

  “We are going to need talk to Kate a little, ask her some questions. Just protocol,” the man said.

  Protocol? Clare looked at him like he was nuts. She explained everyone had already been questioned at the party.

  “Not her,” he said strictly.

  Kate couldn’t help but wander why they hadn’t asked for Charlie, as well. He was with her that night, after all. The cops led Kate into her room, leaving Clare outside.

  “Can you tell me why you weren't there when we came and questioned everyone that night?”

  Kate took a long breath, knowing she would be doing a lot of lying in a short amount of time. “Well my brother CJ was crying and tired, and I went to put him to sleep and let Charlie stay with him for the night. And I was going to leave before that anyway because I forgot my purse.”

  Without a reply, the man shot another question, this time about a red earring.

  “A red earring?” Kate asked.

  “Yes. We were sent anonymously a red earring with a tip that it was linked to Mrs. Jones' death, and is being treated as evidence as we look for suspects. It was found next to her body.

  Kate began to hear her heartbeat through her ears, and feel blood pumping through her thin veins.

  “Yeah, I'm not sure what you're talking about. I don't know who would send that.”

  “Interesting—because we were also sent this,” he said, pulling out a bag with a small photo on it. The photo was of Kate, her earring clearly visible. She hovered over somebody as she held her hand over his or her mouth. Of course, Kate knew that was Charlie, but the picture was blurry and the angle made it nearly impossible to reveal that. Kate muttered something but there was no getting out of this—the photo was proof enough.

  “You don't need to say anything else right now. I think we need to continue this at the station.”

  Kate, too stunned to respond, followed the men as they headed towards the front door again. Clare met her fearful eye. The men explained they needed Kate to come with them to the station, alone. She wasn’t a cop, but it didn’t’ seem like that was necessary for them to do; they hadn’t done anything like that with anyone else after the party. She shot her daughter an it-will-be-okay nod and saw her being lead outside the door.

  The men guided Kate
’s head into the car and shut the door. Kate’s hands shook as she played the future conversation with the men in her head. Would she be framed for killing Vivian? Who the hell took and sent a picture of her to the cops? She suddenly thought of Michelle. She was being framed, too. That’s what didn’t make sense—who would frame two people, and what kind of evidence had there been on Michelle? Kate wondered if she would see her there at the station, being further questioned.

  The driver slammed the brakes at a stop sign at the end of the neighborhood, thrusting Kate’s body forward. She eyed the photo of her in the front seat. It made her look so...guilty somehow. She noticed in the bottom left corner—where the man’s finger had covered when he showed it to her—a black smear that looked sort of like nail polish, but not quite. The man turned on his signal and began his right turn onto the road.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  Kate understood. She looked to the left at the accelerating black SUV zooming towards them. It had come out of nowhere. The cop swerved the steering wheel and cussed several more times, the other one holding onto his hat and the seat belt. All in an instant nothing else mattered to Kate—not being framed, the murder case, nothing. She was going to die.

  17

  The Body Count Rises

  Kate’s head smashed the top of the vehicle as the SUV smashed its side, causing it to roll on its side then flipped upside down in the middle of the road, the black SUV now seemingly out of sight. The car seemed to be driving itself, as if it was hiding in the trees, and then sped at them with the help of a remote controller. The explosion of the airbags echoed in Kate’s ears, making her believe she was somehow still alive—even considering the speed at which the SUV hit them. She couldn’t say the same for the police officers, who sat breathless with glass piercing their skin. All the remaining energy in her body pushed herself out of the car, her skin tingling from glass pricking her arms and legs.

  Something tingled her skin more, though. Once she stumbled back on her feet, she turned towards the area where the SUV had somehow appeared, and there stood Meredith with a concerned look smeared across her thin face.

  “We should get you all cleaned up. Let’s go back to my place. Are you going to obey me now?” she said.

  Kate mimicked her voice as if she was talking to a dog being a trick. Kate didn’t have to “obey” anybody. Kate’s picked off pieces of glass and rejected her offer, leaving her behind once more. She folded and shoved the picture of herself into her pocket.

  “You’re welcome,” Meredith said.

  Clare looked through the peephole, her concern level rising as she saw Kate with several cuts and what looked like glass stuck in her skin. She opened the door, and Kate walked the best she could, her arms noticeably shaking.

  “Honey what happened?” she said.

  Kate’s throat still felt raw and she looked down at her cuts, shaking her head back and fourth. She sniffled and held back tears while her mother brought her inside and tried to clean her up.

  An hour later, Charlie spit and wiped the toothpaste off of his mouth. As he opened the bathroom door, he noticed Kate slipping out of the front door once more. He could tell it was she from the bracelet she had been wearing. He was far too tired to worry about where she could have possibly gone now, so he hurried to bed instead, lifting his cold sheets over his body.

  Michelle sat on her bed. Her eyes were red and her hair greasy. She hadn’t slept in days. In her hand was a Book that she placed on the other side of her as she turned the television on. The volume had been left up high, and she jumped at the noisy children’s theme song that was on. She lowered the volume enough to hear the squeak of her cracked-open door. She lowered the volume more and turned her head, but nobody entered the room. She hadn’t remembered the air conditioning being strong enough to open her door, though.

  “Mom?” she said.

  She pulled the blankets over her body when her feet dropped in temperature. Her gaze stood on the door. The hallway light that lit up the carpet next to her door shut off. If her mother or father had turned off the light, why hadn’t they responded? What was even weirder was the idea that her parents would even be home. She had no idea where they would go during the nights—definitely not anywhere caring about her. As Michelle gripped the edge of her blanket with her sweaty fingers, the door squeaked wider—but stopped almost like on cue. She saw what looked like the edge of a man’s dark dress shoe, but didn’t have more than half a second to look. Michelle belted out a scream and jumped out of her bed, darting for the window. Her body sunk and felt hot and tingly. Something in her feet felt like a thousand needles pricking her in sync. The last thing she heard was the chanting of the children’s program.

  18

  Skeleton In The Closet

  Charlie walked into Kate’s room, seeing Band-Aids and creams over her numerous cuts. She lifted her head.

  “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up. Mom wanted me to see how you were doing,” he said.

  She smiled at him and said she was fine.

  “Good thing you rested all night.”

  Kate turned from him.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “How late was it when you got in?” Charlie asked.

  “You were there, weren’t you?” she snapped back.

  “Right, sorry. It’s just crazy how that car flipped. Kate, were they going to accuse you of anything?”

  Kate threw off the covers and opened her curtains halfway, the sun blazing on her left cheek.

  “I don’t know anything anymore, Charlie. It’s not like they can’t arrest me—or you, for that matter.”

  Charlie took a step back, looking at the ground.

  “I know. We can’t keep what we did a secret forever,” he said.

  “Well we are just going to have to try,” she said before leaving the room.

  Her mother checked on her and fed her two eggs with a pancake on the side. She smiled; looking at Kate’s cuts and bruises which seemed remarkably better. After breakfast, Kate heard her phone vibrating. She looked at the message that popped on the screen, and attempted to remain calm. She offered to go get some more Band-Aids and ointments.

  “Honey I’ll do all of that. Besides, how are you ready to be back on the road?” Clare asked.

  “I have to do it at some point,” Clare said, reaching for her car keys.

  She glanced at her phone one more time. The message was from Michelle: Come over.I know who killed Vivian. It seemed like forever before she finally pulled into Michelle’s driveway, her hands sweating against the leather steering wheel. How had Michelle figured it out? And why hadn’t she called Kate instead of texted her? That was something that deserved a phone call. She shut the door and grabbed her spare key as she walked to the back of the house. The mess inside the kitchen was not hard to miss. Plates were cracked, the sink was flooded, and the chairs were on their side.

  “Michelle?” she called out.

  Walking up the carpeted stairs, she noticed a black mark that looked like a foot print—way too big to be from Michelle.

  “Michelle? You here?”

  Finally she walked towards Michelle’s room, only to hear nothing. The door was cracked, and she pushed it open. The room was empty. On the unmade-bed was an un-topped highlighter on top of a Bible. The television was turned to a televised church service, but she didn’t pay attention to that.

  Kate pulled out her phone, glanced at Michelle’s message once more, and called her. She waited a minute, before hearing Michelle’s ringtone—coming from the closet. Before thinking, she lifted the handle of the closet, immediately dropping her phone. Michelle’s lifeless body stared back at Kate with open eyes. Her hair fell across her face, and there were two smears on her neck that looked as if someone wiped black nail polish across her. Had someone murdered Michelle because of what she found out? Did that mean she had just been murdered—right after she sent that text to Kate? She couldn’t think anymore. As soon as she saw the image her body fel
l back enough for her elbow to fall on top the Bible on the bed, but she didn’t care.

  At home, Clare frowned at the sight of her garden. It had been nowhere near as good as it used to be. Plants that usually blossomed hadn’t shown any sign of life whatsoever, and even the grass began to die. She looked for the hose for several minutes, finding it in the backyard. Heading back to the front of the home, her foot tripped against a small shovel stuck in the ground. She didn’t remember doing any gardening there. She pulled the shovel out, seeing a black ribbon attached to it. The ribbon was at least three or four feet long. She tugged the ribbon until it began harder to pull. The ribbon was caught on something. Clare got up from her knees and slowly stood as she yanked the ribbon, wondering what could possibly make it this heavy.

  There was plenty of mulch covering the bottom of the ribbon, some which was clearing out of the way. She tugged one more time—regretting that she did.

  Charlie heard his mother yell out. He looked out the window seeing her lying on the ground and quickly ran outside. Kate, who hardly had strength to press the gas pedal, pulled in and saw Charlie headed towards the backyard. Charlie looked at whatever could cause Clare to scream like that, and instantly his face turned pale. Kate wiped her eyes and made her way there, too. At the sight the warm dizzying feeling of vomit turned up into her esophagus, and her knees collapsed. In front of them sat something far worse than having Mr. Jones’ body discovered by Clare—Michelle’s rotting body with a black ribbon tied around her neck.

  Out of his blurry eyes, Charlie made out a figure walking towards them to be Jason, wearing a dark jacket and torn blue jeans.

  “Oh, there you are. I thought you weren’t home, Clare.”

  It was as if he didn’t have eyes, or any human emotion. He ignored the fact that they were standing over a dead body, devastated. Each of them ignored him until he wandered away. Clare alerted the police, and Charlie couldn’t help but think his backyard was beginning to turn into a cemetery.