Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
I never spoke to her again. Not that she cared much. With my mother gone, there’d be no one to fill my medicine cabinet with what Andrea referred to as the good shit.
The terrors that came with my mother’s death are justified. I deserve so much worse. I would do anything to go back. Anything.
My numb body finally moves to prevent what’s coming next. The memories of who my mother truly was, an abusive alcoholic who never wanted me. They’re joined by the fears I had back when I was a kid, that she was coming to punish me. That I deserved so badly to be punished.
“She’s long gone,” I whisper as two kids yelling up the street remind me that I’m here, in my uncle’s house, only a block away from my childhood home. And even farther away from where my mother was raped and murdered. More importantly, it’s years later.
As my tired eyes yearn for sleep, I walk slowly down the hall back to the kitchen. The chill of the memories follows me. It took all this time to find her killer, a fifty-year-old man who’d once been a high school teacher. They found him dead in his house three cities over. They only know it was him because he was being prosecuted for the rape of some other young woman and the DNA matched. He killed himself rather than being taken in last Saturday.
That wasn’t even a week ago, and then Amber Talbott died a few days later. She saw and heard everything, yet she did nothing but record part of the attack and send it to her friend. It wasn’t enough to solve my mother’s murder.
Shot from behind, it only captured the back of the man who’d done it as he viciously punched my mother, shoving her deeper into the alley. Amber had claimed she sent it to her friend because she was scared, but the texts between them implied otherwise. I know the video; I can see it clearly now. It’s only half a minute long and was taken from Amber’s window across the street.
My mother saw her in those final moments, or at the very least she saw the phone. Up until the moment I saw the video, I thought the worst thing you could see before being murdered would have to be your killer’s eyes. But that’s wrong. It has to be. Because how horrible would it be if the last thing you ever saw was someone hearing your cries, knowing you were in pain, but choosing to do nothing? Or simply walking away, shutting their window, or worse, filming it for their own amusement.
Amber said she thought the guy had just mugged my mother and then moved along. She told me to my face that she was sorry, and she wished she could have done something else. I didn’t believe her.
She could have done something if she’d really wanted to. She was older than me. She was closer, too. She could have sent that video to the cops. Five years later, just days ago, someone mugged her and left her for dead in an alley next to the hair salon where she worked.
No one did anything to help her, either.
And now Barry’s dead. Two people who I hated so much for so long, both killed within days of each other and after my mother’s killer was found dead.
Barry was an old man who couldn’t be bothered unless you wanted to talk about the winning lottery numbers or placing bets. Horses and the tracks were his favorite. I used to like him because he’d show me pictures of the races. But when I heard how cavalier he was when it came to my mother’s murder, I couldn’t stand the sound of his name, let alone the sight of his face.
I’m glad he’s dead. And if I’m being honest, I’m glad Amber’s dead too, but it doesn’t change the root of my pain.
Nothing can change the past. Nothing can take away the guilt.
I feel empty and hollowed out as I walk back to the kitchen table. The chills refuse to leave me.
Just as the nightmares don’t. But I had those even before my mother died. They were my constant companion, just like the bruises back then.
The night terrors got worse after she was gone, but the bruises eventually faded.
Staring at the cup of tea, I reflect on Sebastian. I remember how being around him, being kissed by him, took so much of the pain away. Even just thinking about him helped.
But I’ll never be okay. It’s only a pipe dream. Sebastian may pull me away, pull me closer to him and into his world, but it’s only temporary. He’s proven that too many times for me to put much faith in him at all.
I grab the cup and dump it in the sink, watching as the dark liquid swirls down the drain.