Chapter 12: .two_faced
I couldn’t stop thinking about her story as we walked back to my apartment later that morning. Jen was actually pretty quiet as we walked. I guess she was thinking about the story she just told. I imagined the fearfulness of her situation. It struck me that Jen had never called me, only sent me texts. She was probably afraid of phone calls because of the weird phone calls she got from Benjamin.
I didn’t want to go to school today. The sleepless nights had started to catch up on me, and I was in a catatonic state.
“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Jen asked before leaving. I answered that I had calmed down, and that I was ready to move on. I lied.
As I entered I locked the door and ran to the kitchen to check the window. It was closed with both bolts. I opened it to look outside. I didn’t see anything, except the neighbour’s cat, simply named Kitty. I respired really slowly and went to the living room.
I was pretty happy with my apartment. For a broke university student, I was doing pretty well. Mum and dad had given me a lot of money, so that I could afford to pay the rent. It was quite expensive, but the neighbourhood was nice and it was peaceful.
I sat down on the settee and lit a cigarette. I technically wasn’t allowed to smoke inside the apartment. The landlord would flip out if he saw or smelled this. Thankfully, he was out of the city.
He would come around sometimes. His daughter was a cop. I think her name was Chrissie. I had seen her down at the station, but I didn’t say hi. She was as old as Scott, twenty-three years old, and she used to be such a bully. I knew Scott liked her in the past.
I grabbed my computer and checked the news. Believe it or not, the main headline still was the incident. I looked at the different articles and I saw a picture of me, throwing up in the bushes, and another one of me crying into Chris’ chest.
There was an interview with Scott and his superior, Cameron Brown. I read through the interview. Most of the information was either lacklustre or flat out lies. The interview ended in a picture of the Bashor family. They looked so happy.
I clicked another article. It was a picture of 45 Sundrive Avenue. Then another one, where there was a picture of Scott. I started reading and got sick as I continued down the side. It was side up and side down talking about Scott’s incompetence. It even spoke about his private life. How could the newspaper have this information? This was a big city, and it wasn’t like everyone knew everything about everyone. That was true for small towns, but this was the third biggest town in the country. I felt sorry for Scott as I continued down the webpage. I realised this was more of a tabloid newspaper, talking about the local “celebrities.” I read down the page and started reading it again, feeling just a disgusted this time as the first.
Scott Winchester (23) leads futile investigation.
Young officer starts his first formal investigation with a bang, literally. Monday night, alcoholic family-father John Bashor attacked Frank Dominic’s Petrol Station, about forty minutes outside of town. The twenty-three year old officer was assigned this investigation instead of the much favoured detectives, Jonathan and Darren Treble. At the date of this article, there has been no further development in the case. Scott still hasn’t found out the motive of the murders, but according to his superior, Cameron Brown (56), he has also broken police protocol throughout this investigation. It is clear that Scott Winchester has other things on his mind. Things like the death of his girlfriend, Emily A’idah, who also died during the shooting. They had been in a relationship for a couple of months when the incident happened. Scott said, in a press conference, that he had put the death behind him. Who are we to say that he’s lying?
Still, the lack of development in the case is disappointing from one of the country’s biggest police forces.
I closed my computer and felt absolutely speechless. I needed to ride somewhere to take my mind of this horrific article. So naturally, I went to the one place I had decided I wouldn’t go. I rode to school.
Class made me drowsy, and after listening to a lecture about the importance of music in ancient Egypt, I fell asleep. I didn’t do it to be mean to the professor, but I was so tired after the fright last night gave me.
In one of my classes my teacher came up to me and asked if we could have a talk. I followed her out of the classroom and sat down on a bench in the hallway.
“You seem to be distracted,” she pointed out.
“Being a witness to a shooting does that to you,” I answered, looking at her with weary eyes. She was an elderly lady, probably in the late years of her career. I enjoyed her as a teacher, and she knew a lot about music. She was one of the few that actually didn’t shun electronic music. While I loved rock music, it was electronic music that was closest to my heart.
“You were in the shooting,” she gasped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“It’s all right, I’m starting to get over it,” I lied.
“You don’t have to play though with me.”
“I’m not,” I snapped. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long night.”
“If I knew, I would have cancelled your assignments and projects. Do you want me to do that for you, dear?” she asked, still holding my hand tight. I started getting uncomfortable at the level of worry in her voice.
“Right now, homework is the only thing that keeps me sane,” I admitted. She nodded in understanding. It was like a quiet agreement between us. She wouldn’t pry anymore, and I would sit silent and do my work. I didn’t mind. It was better than sitting in my apartment doing nothing all day.
Beatrice was in the hallway after school. She started talking to me about the wake, and how sad she was because of the whole thing. Emily was a Muslim and I knew her family were pretty strict about the Muslim customs. I didn’t even know if we were allowed to come to her funeral. Beatrice told me she had bought Em’s grey Ford Mondeo for a cheap price. She now had two ugly cars. Great for her. Beatrice then went on to talk about how attractive Scott was. I felt my anger rise as I comprehended the level of tact his girl had.
“He’s like a dream. Especially in that uniform,” she said an licked her lips creepily. I stepped back.
“I guess.”
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“You must admit he’s kind of hot.”
“A little, sure,” I mumbled.
“Just like that other admirer of yours,” she said. At first I didn't understand what she talked about. What admirer. Then it dawned on me. I understood who she was talking about. She was talking about the stalker. The Staring-man.
“What did he look like?” I asked, needing to know. If it truly was the Staring-man, I had no clue what he looked like. I had only seen him from under a hood.
“He had brown hair, though it was reddish, and he was tall and strong. Just like a bull... a very skinny bull,” she laughed. I released a relieved sigh because I hadn’t seen a man of this description around, but I still looked around the hallway some extra times before leaving.
I went to meet Chris at our local Chinese restaurant. It was the nice little place we usually went to when we celebrated something. Derrick was with him. His black eyeliner reminded me of the fact that I needed to buy more makeup before the wake. I didn’t usually wear makeup. When I used, it was usually just eyeliner and some mascara. I was boring like that. Some women could create art on their eyelids or their fingernails. I didn’t understand how that was possible.
Chris hugged me as I entered. A young Asian man gave us the menus. His smile was reserved and polite. We were regulars at the place, but I didn’t recognise him. This immediately made me paranoid, and I spent much of the evening sending him suspicious glances.
We sat down in one of the more private cubicles. All the food looked delicious. I kind of fancied their spring rolls. The place didn’t just serve Chinese food; they had all sorts of oriental cuisine. Therefore Chris ordered their chicken tikka masala. He liked Indian food.
The silence made me uncomfortable so I decided to make small-talk. I asked what was going on in their lives. I yawned at their boring answers.
“I’ve been staying at Chris’ house. The child protection wants to give me a communal flat. I’m fine with that though, more independence.”
“I don’t know about you living alone,” I admitted.
“Why? I’m a fully competent young adult.”
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“Cheers for that, and for life," I said sarcastically.
“Ah, life is truthfully remarkable,” Derrick said.
“Sure,” I answered, rolling my eyes.
“You, my monosyllabic friend, need to broaden your vocabulary.” Chris was quiet during this exchange. You could clearly see how uncomfortable he was at the subject of vocabulary. His wasn’t very good. Chris was a jock after all. He burned for sports, and drinking.
We laughed and talked until the Chinese men had to kick us out. Then we went back to Chris’ place for drinks. I rode my scooter behind Chris’ Corolla. He was getting pretty annoyed that he had to stop and wait for me at every resting place. I rode at a slow pace so that turns would be easier. I never rode quicker than 45km/t. Usually my scooter didn’t go quicker than that.
I jumped off the scooter and went inside the house. The lights were off again. Like he had told me the day earlier. I still got uneasy as I entered the unlit house, knowing his lights were usually on, but Chris and Derrick went around, turning them on again.
We opened the liquor cabinet and brought different types of vodka to the bar. Chris had just bought a bar and put it in the corner in the living room. It was fancy with deep red, glossy wood. I sat down by the bar and filled my first shot-glass with vodka. It was probably going to be my only shot of the evening. I didn’t like drinking. I had a beer every once in a while, but that was pretty much it.
Derrick and Chris were on their third shots as I downed my first one. I went to find a beer in the fridge. As I entered the kitchen I swear I saw a silhouette outside of the kitchen window. This was weird. Mostly because on the outside there was only the fire escape. I looked outside of the window and jumped in fright as I saw a cat run down the staircase. I laughed at my own dread.
I looked through the fridge and found some orange juice. As I entered the living room, Derrick was passed out on the couch. He had a peaceful smile on his face and was snoring lightly. Chris was drunk. Really drunk. His hair was dishevelled and he was drooling. As I sat down he got up. He smiled at me.
“I want to sleep, come to the bedroom,” he said. He kissed my cheek, acting like a real gentleman. I got up and helped him into the bedroom. He started stripping, which didn’t bother me at all. He slept naked, so I didn’t pay it much attention. It was when he started touching me; I started to get a little perturbed. He was half naked and he had his hands on my buttocks. I tried to shake him off, but he only grabbed me harder. Then he started kissing me. On the forehead, the neck, my cleavage. I continued to try and shake him off. He started tugging at my clothes. It wasn’t the first time he had gotten drunk and forced himself onto me, but I’d had enough. I would not be afraid. Not now, not ever.
I pushed him down on the bed and tried to run out of the room. He grabbed my hood and hit me square in the face with all his might. I fell to the floor and it all went blank for a moment. As I came too I watched at the sheer look of horror in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he cried. It was too late. I was already out the door.
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