Page 11 of Ashes to Ashes
I tell Hunter to drive down the street and take a left at the four way stop. It’s like I’m on autopilot, I know where I need to go. And where we end up is at Mariah Darlen’s house. No, she never did anything to us, but she’s perfect for this moment. I know Cala will actually be sad about this one, but she will understand when everything comes to light..
Peck and Daze go in, finding a window open and soon they’re bringing a body out the front door.Some people need to learn to lock their windows, there’s a serial killer on the loose. Geez!
We drive to the warehouse and they bring Mariah out. She reeks and I realize she pissed herself, “Mariah, have some decorum.”
Her eyes jerk up, “Cala? What’s going on? Is your Mom here?”
I look around, “Why would my mother be here? What do you know, Mariah?”
“Me?” she stutters, “I don’t know anything. What is going on?”
“Sorry, not sorry for this,” I shrug as I stab her in the eye.
She knows something. She’s seen something and is lying about it. So maybe Miss Suzy Homemaker isn’t as innocent as I first thought. She screams as I pull out the knife, and then plunge it into her heart, stabbing her over and over. I don’t know why but something snapped inside me and I found myself wanting to stab her over and over, until I collapsed.
Hunter takes the knife as Peck helps me up and whispers in my ear, “Go sit in the car, we’ll clean up.”
Daze helps me to the car and guides me into the passenger seat. I don’t know what came over me. I feel so weak and I’m guessing it’s because I need Cala.
Chapter 10
Cala - The Dark Side
I wake up groggy, like I hardly slept and I can’t understand why. Last night I went to sleep early so I could be up early to get to school. But I feel like crap. I’m going to have to push through since today we have a bunch of graduation stuff to attend to; such as getting our caps and gowns, grabbing yearbooks, and securing tickets. I won’t be there all day, but I do need to go.
Mustering all the energy I can, I shower and dress. I take the stairs two at a time, landing at the bottom to the sound of tears. This time it’s Mom that’s crying.
Stepping into the kitchen, it looks like no one has cleaned it in a while which says a lot about things going on. I ask, “Did someone die?”
I have no idea why I asked that way, but it’s out there now. I’m usually more reserved but lately I’ve felt braver, stronger.
Mom looks up from her coffee that isn’t steaming anymore so it’s probably gone cold, “Mariah’s dead.”
That stops me cold, Mariah was Mom’s best friend and out of everyone in their circle I really liked her. She was always kindto me, bringing me cookies and presents. When I couldn’t go to Mom about things, I went to her.
I slump into a seat across from her, Dad nowhere in sight, “What? When? How?”
She stares at the coffee like it has all the answers, but refuses to give them up, “She was murdered, that is all I know. I don’t know how I’m going to go on.” She starts to wail uncontrollably.
Standing, I pat her shoulder, “I’m sorry.”
She shakes me off, “You need to get to school. I’ll have more answers tonight. Your Dad is cooking a special dinner for you.”
Dinner? For me? Yeah, probably not. I hate dinner time, and try to avoid it. But today, I’m not going to argue.
Without another word, I walk out the door, looking across the street at my classmates' houses. It’s weird to stare at them, but I can’t help it. Am I sad that they’re gone? Not really. It’s weird to know that their families still live there, but no one has seen them. The daughters might have been cruel, but the rest of them were okay.
With a shrug, I get in my car to drive to school, rolling down the windows, feeling free. I will soon be gone from here and free from all of their dramas.
Instead of parking in the back, I park out front, in my senior parking spot and walk through the front doors. It feels wrong and yet it also feels so right for me to do this.
There is a line for cap and gowns and I get in right behind Briar and Belinda, “Did you hear about my mom’s friend?”
They both turn around and nod and mumble a solemn, “Sorry.”
I wave that off, “It’s okay. It's sad and I will miss her. I just wonder what happened, who did it?”
They shrug and so I turn the conversation to graduation. We all have different plans, different colleges, though I never submitted my essays or applied. I think I want to take a gap year,but don’t say that. Whatever happens, the minute I walk that stage and toss my cap, I’m out the door. I make a mental note to start packing and loading my car to be prepared—only the essentials.
