Kapitel 4: Chapter Four: To Tell the Truth
Dominic:
Fear burned in my eyes at her having a full blown panic attack and then passing out. Seeing her smile when she woke up did little to ease my nerves, her head resting against my chest. It was I who didn't deserve her love, my heart shattering for her. Glancing out the window, the orange rays of dawn painted her delicate features. Cars were pulling into the driveway, my cell phone ringing. My new secretary was wondering if I was coming in today, my short no sufficing. There was no need for me to be there, my priority lying with my wife. Sitting up, she stumbled into the wall. A worn expression met mine, my own expression not far off. Black bags haunted her eyes, her blank look scaring me. Walking into the bathroom, she poked her head out.
"Do me a favor and pick me out an outfit that doesn't scream that I am a monster." She uttered simply, stripping off her clothes. "You do that and I will give you the best blowjob ever." Turning on my water, she began to clean herself up. Exiting my room, I entered hers for the first time since I brought her home. Everything was a mess, the bin had been filled to the brim with tissues. More evidence of a deep depression greeted me at every corner, the only thing that was organized was her desk and closet. Walking over, I picked out an olive button up dress with a lilac bra set. Picking up her boots, she was already waiting on my bed with only a towel on. Brushing out her snarls, she twisted her hair into a simple bun. Curling her bangs, her shaking hands accepted the outfit I picked out. Tugging it on, she struggled with the buttons again, a long sigh escaped her lips at me buttoning up her dress. Rough knocks snapped her out of her trance, her feet sliding into the boots. Rushing downstairs, she let in the filming crew. Watching them set up the camera, she began to pace back and forth. Chatting with the producer, they shook hands. Guiding her to the makeup chair, they gave her a light gray smokey eye. Taking her to the kitchen table, she began to recount everything with a growing anxiety. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks the whole time, horror setting in on the crew's faces. They weren't the only ones, the images of her words flashing in my mind. No wonder she acted the way she did, her serial killer parents treated her the same as her victims and never brought their victims. Pausing for a second, she struggled with the story. Her body language screamed of honesty, most of the crew not buying her story.
"I will say this once and only once, I only saw one victim from each and I stopped them that night with the very skill my father taught me. I was in my bedroom when my mother brought home Sarah Smat and my father had brought home Lilianna Swatos. Noticing the two girls, I knew I had to help them. Taking out my father's many hunting rifles, I made sure to be quiet. I came upon my mother first. Aiming for the lower spine, his bullet disabled her in an instant. Sarah was still alive and well so I moved on to the woods around my house." She explained through a wall of tears, everyone getting moved by her words. "I climbed the tallest tree to get the perfect view of my father. Luckily he wasn't too far and I shot him in the same spot. You may think that I am cold for what I did but two girls are alive because a thirteen year old girl did what the police couldn't do." Her last statement came off a little harsh but she was correct. Putting her hand in the air, a sad smile dawned on her face.
"That being said. I apologize for my parents' behavior. Please stop coming after me." She pleaded sincerely, holding back more tears. "I didn't do anything so it doesn't make sense to attack the only living member of my family. Might I point out that I have never charged any of you. I am sorry for your loss." Rising to her feet, the director yelled out cut. Crossing her hands, she rubbed the back of her neck
"How about I make all of you lunch?" She offered sincerely, wiping away her tears. "I promise it won't kill you. I simply need to know your allergies. Does anyone have any?" No one said anything, her head dropping to the floor. Salty tears dropped to the floor, the crew beginning to clean up. No one took her up on that offer, whispers of disbelief caught my ears as they left within one hour. Walking silently to her room, the door slammed shut. Screams of frustration burst from her lips, only ten percent of them believed her. Something told me to hang back, my heart aching for her. Maybe I should talk to her but once again a voice nagged at me not to.
Waiting patiently for her to come out, that would only happen for her to eat the minimum amount of food and to take a shower. Two months had passed, her empty expression meeting mine when I caught her in the kitchen. Rolling a hard boiled egg around, she looked like Hell. Embracing her from behind, my chin rested on her head. Her arms hung limply by her side, her broken tone scaring me. How could one day break her more than all of that trauma?
"No matter what I do I will always be a monster, won't I?" She sobbed brokenly, her eyes falling on the news. "They hate me even more. I told the truth and everyone is tearing my character apart. I am not a bad person. I saved two women and that doesn't matter." Pushing her plate away, her hand fell to her flat stomach. Running up to her room, I stepped over the pile of chaos in the corner. Opening her bathroom door, several tests caught my eyes. Picking them all up, they were all positive. Crashing downstairs to the kitchen, she stood in the greenhouse. The early morning sun bathed her beautiful sadness, the scarlet sweatshirt dress made her all the prettier. Running into the greenhouse, her fingers danced along the yellow roses. How could she look any lovelier?
"They say that yellow is the color of joy." She wept softly, picking a single rose. "They were my favorite flower growing up. No matter how dark the world was, their color always, brought me the smallest joy. I remember the first one I saw when I was five and my father ditched me in the floral garden. Most people hate the thorns on a rose but I find them endearing. It amazes me how people walk around like they are perfect but the truth is that we all have our thorns. Mine are a little bigger. You knew I liked yellow roses from my novels, didn't you? Normally I would be freaked out but maybe your thorns are as big as mine." She wasn't wrong, my mother had a nasty habit of emotionally abusing me. Clutching her close to her chest, the rose dropped out of her hand, my palm catching it. One of the thorns pricked me, a small drop of blood pooled on the tip of my finger. Kissing my fingertip, she sucked away the pool of ruby.
"Careful with the thorns or you might get hurt." She joked tenderly, her real smile returning. "I forgot to tell you that I am pregnant so I have been making sure that I am eating enough. We did one thing right even though the whole country seems to hate me." A deep pain hid beneath her smile, my hands cupping hers. Not pushing me away for the first time in a while, I had to live in this moment.
"I happen to like your thorns." I returned with my genuine smile, her anxiety melting away for a second. "I can't wait to have a family with you. This is good news. Now I need to get to work. Would you like to come? I have missed you by my side." Smiling warmly up at me, her laughter twinkled in the air.
"Like hell you have. I bet you are getting more work done without me there. Besides, I look like a mess." She chuckled softly, her gorgeousness stealing my breath away. "Now let me play at home. I will have dinner ready for you. I do have some serious editing to do because the publisher had a lot to say while not attempting to annihilate my message. I can show you the papers if you wish. Go onto work. I will live in solitude as always." Walking back into the house, I was on her heels. Thrusting my briefcase into my chest, she was already skipping upstairs to her room. Climbing into my car, this still didn't feel right. The drive to work never ending, my new secretary meeting me at my car door. Letting him ramble on about my to do list, it seemed to never end. Struggling through the work day, the problems had been solved. Rushing home, the door was open. Something seemed off, a bruised and battered Remy laid on the couch. A teenager with stringy hair popped up from behind the couch, his dark eyes glittered with malice. Raising his gun in my direction, my bleeding wife needed a hospital. Groaning awake, her right fist met his cheek. Yanking him down by his tie, she used her body weight to hold him down. Knocking his gun out of his hand, a snarl twitched on her lips.
"Did I not tell you fuckers to leave me alone! I didn't do anything! If I recall correctly, I saved your mother, you fucking brat. I see Sarah's face in your features. I am sick of everyone hating me!" She bellowed venomously, salty tears falling on the young man's face. "What's your fucking problem?" Knocking her to the floor, he hovered his fist above her face. Looking unfazed, she couldn't help but feel bad for him. Resigning herself to her fate, his fist refused to move.
"She committed suicide after your little special, you bitch!" He spat viciously, his eyes rounding out at her embracing him warmly. "What are you doing?" Hitting her back repeatedly, his tears soaked her face. Waiting until he was done, she let him go. Watching him climb onto the couch, he looked like a broken teenager struggling with life. Climbing back onto the couch, she poked the bleeding cut on her forehead. Glancing at the blood coating her fingers she let it go.
"That is horrible but I had nothing to do with that. I have no clue what occurred in that van." She comforted him kindly, kicking the gun over to me. "Can I call your dad to come pick you up and you can say that a kid punched you at school and I will tell him that I am a clumsy idiot. If you excuse me I have to go get some ice for my face." Rising to her feet, she disappeared into the kitchen for a second. Closing and locking the door behind me, his eyes rolled as he let out a long sigh. Coming out of the kitchen with a second bag of ice, she dropped it icily into his palms. So she was human.
"Do you want to tell me if that is your father's gun or one you stole?" She asked impatiently, my eyes noting the bruises covering her arms. So she had blocked her stomach with her arms or so I had hoped. Pressing his lips into a thin line, she snatched his phone. Typing in the address of our home and the words come get me, she sent the message. Laying back on the couch, the boy snatched his phone back. Bitter tension hung in the air, neither person saying a word for a second.
"It was my father's." He admitted angrily, his phone dinging. "He can't come get me. He is on another drunken evening with a new lady. Just like always. My mother loved me but never my father. Something else was weird about the whole situation, there were none of her fingerprints on the rope and a typed suicide note." A dark realization dawned on me, her fingers curling around my car keys. Apparently it was time to prevent a disaster. Why must life be so dangerous with my damn wife?
"I am going on an errand run. Come after me if I don't come back by tomorrow." She shouted as she left with my boots in my hands. Tugging them on the way out, his father had murdered his mother and was getting rid of the evidence. Climbing in, the engine roared to life. Leaping into the passenger's seat at the last second, her determined expression illuminating her features. Damn she was like a bloodhound, everything making sense to her somehow. Peeling out of the driveway, his father owned a scrap yard. Typing in the address of the scrap yard, she dialed my police officer friend. All she got was her message greeting, my face falling.
"I need you to meet me with a warrant at Ted's scrap yard. I think he killed his ex-wife and covered it up poorly. Come on Ashley. I need you to help a girl out." She blurted out oddly, hanging up. Hoping that she would trust me, I drove until I was a mile down the road from his scrapyard. Hiding his car behind the bushes, I began the long hike into the backside of his scrapyard. Checking my pocket, her trusty recorder rested in her pocket. Chances are that I would run into him but his son deserved better. The cops would be there soon and I didn't have much time. Reaching the torn fence, she let herself in only to be greeted by a click. Motioning for me to hide, I had no other choice. Ted pressed his gun into her forehead, his greasy gray hair clung to his chubby face. Grease stains covered his navy overalls, a wicked grin darkening his face. Sliding her hand into my pocket, she pressed record. My face paled at the very scene, my lips curling into a twitching snarl.
"A little cat came to my front door." He mused coldly, undoing the safety. "You do know that the whole town would celebrate your death. You are a pathetic little loser. So say goodb-" Struggling to keep my cool, she let a sly grin dance across her lips. Don't do anything stupid.
"Fuck it! I can't even argue with that point. Just tell me one thing. Did you kill Sarah?" She queried cautiously, his brow cocking. Licking his lips, his ego was about to do my job. A flashlight dying down caught my eyes, my friend hiding behind the shed with her camera watching. Pressing it deeper into her forehead, a fit of laughter burst from his lips.
"Of course I did. She was taking too much of my drinking money. Her son is a leech that I don't want to take care of. Come tonight when I pick him up, he will be sweating poison if you know what I mean." He bragged gleefully, confusion dawning on his face at her widening grin. "I even made sure to write up a note for him. I am a clever b-"
"Put your hands up!" Officer Ashley shouted, horror widening our eyes at him swinging it towards his direction. Knocking her to the ground, the bullet whistled by our heads. Officers took him down, Ashley's caramel eyes meeting mine. Graciousness burned in her eyes, her dark chocolate bun cushioning her head. She must have been Remy's only friend in high school, Remy helping her up. Stopping the recorder, she dropped it into her friend's palms.
"Thank you for listening to me." She thanked her profusely, the two of them jumped at me coming out of the shadows. "I am so lucky to have you as my friend. Now give me a report to fill out so I can go home. I officially just ruined a kid's life and I couldn't feel any worse." Tears welled up in her eyes, guilt dimming her eyes. More red and blue lights flooded the streets, Remy trembling away in her spot. Following Ashley to her car, Remy had a report filled out in seconds. Sliding over her business card, Ashley tucked it back into her pocket. Telling her to get out before the other officers working for her aunt hounded her. Embracing her warmly, she dragged me onto the road. Walking back in broken silence, I placed her on my back. Crunching back to my car, harsh words needed to be said.
"How did you know that he did that?" I demanded hotly, setting her down in the passenger's seat. "You could have died, damn it!" Clipping her seat belt, she let out a long breath. Leaning back into her seat, her lips parted to speak several times.
"It was just a hunch. I didn't graduate from high school at the age of fifteen without being stupid smart. The lack of fingerprints was my first clue and then the typed suicide note. The final nail in the coffin was the way he said her father was a drunken ladies' man. What else would cramp your style except for a child support payment with which you are required to pay. Bingo, the mystery was solved." She explained briskly, scratching the top of her hands. "You can leave me if you want. This is the biggest part of what everyone hates about me. They think I am a know-it-all." Kissing her passionately, none of that mattered. She was my genius and not anybody else's. Driving back home, her scratching grew worse. Unlocking the door, the boy had fallen asleep. Sitting down next to him, she pulled his head onto her lap. Salty tears soaked the top of his head, her cell phone ringing. The conversation led to shifting expressions, the phone dropping out of her hand. Nervous laughter flowed from her lips, violent sobs wracking her body.
"Sarah left Lucas with me the moment her ex-husband was placed in jail. It was as if she knew and had it made official." She stammered anxiously, her eyes flitting between the teenage boy and me. "I ruined his life and it is all my freaking fault. I am a monster." Stirring awake, her expression said it all.
"My father got put in jail and you put him there didn't you." He groaned bitterly, sitting up. "You must be the person my mother left me to you. Of course she did. She wouldn't shut up about this thirteen year old girl who set her free. She hated the media for everything they did to you. Sorry for trying to kill you. I was in a bad sort of way." Ruffling the top of his head, she pulled out a junior writing magazine. Opening it to his short story, she placed it on her lap.
"Is this what you want to do with your life because I can take places you can dream of." She promised him honestly, smiling sadly in his direction. "I see real potential. Tighten up the grammar and learn some new words by reading. Write some stuff for me and I will help you figure it out. One more thing, use your trauma to evoke the raw pain to make your characters more interesting. Go take a shower and borrow some clothes from Dominic. We can pick up your stuff tomorrow. Have a nice evening." Excusing herself to our bedroom, he was in the spare bedroom in minutes. Wandering upstairs, a small smile dawned on my face as she slumbered curled up into a ball. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I tucked a piece of hair behind her head. She played the hero today and caught the eye of a depressed teenager. Shifting through the box of my old clothes, they appeared to be his size. Dragging them into his bedroom, he sat in a towel at the end of the bed. Wet eyes met mine, shame dimming them instantly. Bruises dotted his body, my eyes averting to the ground. The abuse was rather clear from the bruises and the way he was behaving.
"These should fit you. I was a little Gothic in my high school days, so sorry about that." I stammered nervously, his head shaking. "She isn't a bad per-" Snapping his head in my direction, his next words dashed any of my worries.
"Jesus Christ!" He shouted with unbridled frustration, hitting the bed with his fists. "I already know that. She risked her life for me so how could I hate her. Then she landed my shithead of a father in jail for me. My mother was right about her. Did you know what she told my mother the moment she freed my mother? She told her to run back home. My mother hung back but she pushed her out of the house. Refusing to move, she told my mother to go back to her life of joy and minimal trauma. So please don't you ever think that. Then she had to go and be stupid by saying that she liked my writing. I want to hate her but I can't. Don't worry, I won't run away. That is the least I owe her for attempting to kill her. Could you please leave now?" Backing up, my footfalls echoed down the hall. Screaming out in her sleep, her hand reached out for me. Yanking me onto the bed, her arms clutched me tightly. Snuggling her head into my back, sweet slumber soon stole me away.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
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Stein