Keys of Life

Chapter Five: SMithy

Chapter Five: Smithy

   As soon as she turned her face towards me I knew who she was. The girl who, one year ago, asked where Jason lived. The man who died on the same day she came.  

   "Why did you do it?" He'd been one of my best friends, a good, not-so-honest man who'd always helped me when I needed it. She had killed him. I should have been lost in a torrent of rage, the amount of times I'd cursed her face or hoped she'd died. Seeing her here before me, though, that was a different story.

   Her eyes were full of sadness, confusion, and all I could think about was how lost she must feel, having done something so terrible for reasons I would never know. I'd plotted her death a thousand different ways, but how could I ever hope to do any of them, with her glinting, green emeralds looking so pitiful.

   "What?" she whispered. She either didn't have a clue what I meant, or she was one of the best actresses I had ever seen. Oscar nomination kind of stuff.

   "You killed him. You killed Jason. Why?" I had managed to raise my voice above a whisper, the sadness still permeating the edges of my mind, casting shadows and darkness where there should only have been logic and utter clarity. Lucky for the girl.

   "No! No, I didn't! He was my brother, why would I murder my own brother!" an edge of panic set into her voice, as if noticing my heavy frame for the first time. The confusion still lingered in her gaze, the complete bewilderment of a child finding herself lost and alone.  

   "Of course you did. You came here with an address, looking for him. Do you expect me to believe that his own sister wouldn't know where to find his house?" Pain twisted in her expression, as if this had been a thorn in her side, prickling her with every movement.

   "He said he liked his privacy. That he would come to us if we wanted to see him. He gave us his street though. Just in case." A haunted look came into her eyes, repeating the words like a mantra that she had been told to say. Was she telling the truth? It certainly sounded like Jason, although privacy had been the least of his worries. Interfering girlfriends and unsatisfied clientele would have been closer to the truth.   

   "What was Jason's date of birth?" That should be easy enough, if she was his sister. I could vaguely recall him mentioning a younger sibling once or twice, maybe around eight years his junior. She should be about fifteen now.

   "Seventh of September 1987. Mine's the first of August 1995 before you ask." She smiled, just a small, shy flash of teeth and the corners of her lips curving upwards. She was the right age, and she had seemed desperate that night, not the cold and calculating actions of someone planning a murder. Anyway, I had no choice but to believe her. I couldn't hold her guilty in my mind when I knew that Jason would have wanted me to let go and move on. Even if this wasn't his sister, at least I would eventually find out what had happened. She couldn't keep up a masquerade forever. 

   I turned and pounded my fist into the wall, using the physical pain as an outlet for the rage that suddenly flashed through me, burning at the very core of my being. I had blamed this girl for the death of Jason. I didn't deal well with emotions like that; fear, anger, hate. I'd been stockpiling them for the past twelve months, waiting for the day that I would see her blonde hair and green eyes again. 

   She watched me calmly as I smashed the wall over and over with my fist. When I felt the surge of fury ebbing away to nothing more than a trickle, I stopped, leaning heavily against the counter. My breath came in ragged gasps, showing the effort I had expended doing such a pointless task. A stream of scarlet ran lazily down my hand, the seams that were my veins no longer holding the precious liquid. I didn't care. I felt better, and it was safer if I damaged the plaster rather than Jase's supposed sister.