Rich? - Jerome Valeska

2

"Lainey."

I felt my eyelashes flutter on my cheeks when I saw the sunrise shining into my face through my eyelids. I lifted up my hand to shield my eyes and groaned. "What, Ethan," I complained groggily, coughing a bit as I sat up. It was barely morning, I definitely hadn't slept for long.

When I got my eyes open, I realized that he was putting a paper bag into my backpack, which I had been using as a pillow. When he saw my confused expression, he explained, "I've got an early shift at work. I usually don't take them, but I'm trying to move up, to get a better position so that we can maybe buy a place."

"That'd be nice," I mumbled. "Well, have fun at work. I'm going back to sleep."

"Don't squish your food with your fat head when you lay on your bag."

I glared at him and he chuckled, poking my nose playfully before walking away without another word. "Good morning to you, too," I called after him. He simply waved in response and I let my head fall back on my bag, huffing. When my head hit the backpack, I heard a crunch.

There goes the chips in my lunch.

I sighed and shut my eyes tight, but even when I turned around and faced the opposite direction of the sun, I still felt its rays and it seemed like there was no hope of going back to sleep.

As I tried desperately to find a comfortable position, I rolled around, facing all directions. When I was facing the hill, sighed. Ethan, of course, had to wake me up; he couldn't have just left a note.

In my frustration, I slowly dozed off and woke up several hours later. It had to have been past midday when I opened my eyes and found myself still facing the hill.

My mind started to wander as I gradually woke up. I thought of Jerome, of how he wanted me to go to the circus to see his performance. I gazed out at the hill as I thought of him. What would he do in the circus? He didn't seem like one to walk a tightrope, or swallow fire, or even run around as a clown. He seemed too serious to play as a circus act. Although, I did feel a sense of security with him. It almost seemed like he was holding back something about himself, like he was acting or like he was shy but only before you got to know him. There's got to be something deeper about that boy.

I saw a group of people walking on the side of the hill. One seemed to be holding another's hand, or hands, and the other walked ahead of the two. I sat up and watched the three of them in a daze, still trying to wake up.

Thinking of what time it was, I gasped. I still had to find the circus, and I had no idea how long that would take.

I picked up my bag and stood up, ready to start walking, but the group on the hill caught my eye. The third person, who seemed smaller than the other two, probably a woman, either fell or was pushed down to the ground; whatever the impact was, it was heavy enough below her on the hill so that she didn't roll down it.

Then, the person leading, who had been walking ahead before, knelt down beside her, but it didn't seem like he was helping her up. I looked closely and saw something in the person's hand, but before I could tell what it was, he raised his arm and started repeatedly throwing the object onto the woman.

Intrigued, I glanced around the sidewalk and saw a glass bottle on the curb. I lifted one end to my eye and looked through it like a telescope. Although I couldn't see through the imprinted glass base of the bottle very well, it was still an improvement.

I could tell that the person knelt beside the woman was, in fact, a boy, with the same red hair I had seen on the boy I met yesterday. He was raising something with a wooden handle and possibly hurting the woman with it. An older looking man stood to the side.

After several more minutes of this, the two men walked off, towards the road that led to the bridge above me. I squinted and tried to get a better look at the woman on the ground, but the end of the bottle was too far away from my eye.

I strained my eyes for awhile in frustration, then sat down on the side of the road and held the base of the bottle tightly in my hands, close to the pavement. Then, I smashed the rest of the bottle into pieces, letting go of the base quick enough to not get sliced by the broken glass, but close enough to the pavement so that the base wouldn't shatter like the rest of it. I wrapped the broken part of the glass in the sleeve of my cardigan and lifted it to my eye.

I had a much more magnified view now. As I tried to find the scene in this new magnified point of view, I stepped forward subconsciously, a bit closer to the hill, walking in the grass and leaves of the park by the bridge now. I could see there was blood all over the woman's chest and dripping from her head. I gasped and then heard someone laugh and a car door slam, someone on the bridge.

The two men who had killed this woman right in front of my eyes were standing above me.

I held my hand over my mouth, shaking. Every breath I took was as quiet as I could make it, as my heart pumped out of my chest and my breathing became uneven.

They were talking; I could hear a muffled conversation, but couldn't make out any words. They might be talking about who they would kill next, or about hiding the victim's body. I didn't want to die; not at the hands of these two. I would not accept the fate that they gave that woman.

As memories flashed in my mind, I felt tears coming on. In the few seconds that I had let down my guard slightly, something fell from the bridge and nearly hit me in the head. I looked down at it and kicked a few leaves that had blown over it away.

It was a hatchet, with fresh blood stains on the handle and the inside of the blade.

I heard a door slam again from someone on the bridge and heard a car engine start, the killers peacefully driving away.