Murder Day [The Novel]

Chapter 2

Mrs. Macaulay leaves her house now, I turn to see her stand over the spot where Mitchell fell. Her husband joins her and she pushes him away, “He was too young Todd…he wasn’t allowed to celebrate…”

“I know he was, but there’s nothing we can do about it,” Mr. Macaulay says as I move to comfort them.

“If we knew who did it…if we could find the person who murdered him we could do something,” Mrs. Macaulay pushes me away and finds comfort in her husband’s arms.

“The inspectors will help,” I say but nobody is listening, “It’s their job.”

Mrs. Macaulay shakes her head and begins to cry again, she pushes her husband aside and runs back into their house. He looks at me and sighs, sadness in his eyes as he – like me – cries for the first time in years.

“They will, they’ll help,” I whisper and he shakes his head at me.

“You’re a fool if you believe that,” He says as he turns away, “They don’t care about us, they don’t care about my son.”

I try not to believe his words, I try to imagine that someone is still interested in doing the right thing, but obviously I know I’m wrong. Had Mitchell been from a different part of town, had he been born to a family of privilege and esteem I know things would play out differently.

“I care,” I say as Mr. Macaulay hesitates at his front door, “We all care.”

“And what good is that going to do?” He says as he turns to stare at me, “Caring just leads to heart break, remember that,” And with that he disappears inside his dark and drafty house, not willing to listen to any more of it, not wanting to hear the pathetic ramblings of a sad sympathetic.

A glimpse through the window reveals Mr. and Mrs. Macaulay sitting silently in their living room, their backs to one another. Neither is speaking, or doing anything for that matter, Mr. Macaulay is fiddling with his wedding band while his wife whispers prayers, a long black rosary twisted around her fingers as she allows her tears to flow freely over her cheeks and neck.

It’s impossible for me to understand their pain, though I’ve lost people close to me it can’t possibly feel the same as losing a child – no matter how disobedient that child may be. Content with allowing them to have time to themselves I turn to go back home.

On my way up the disgusting stairwell, I hesitate at the door to my floor. Without thinking much I continue up the stairs and find myself at Agnes' door, but something's not right. It's open, and I hear sounds from inside.

"Hello?" I ask and slip carefully into the apartment, "Hello?"

The rustling I heard stops and I hear a frantic whisper, I reach out and grab hold of a cane sitting next to the door, Agnes has never used it as far as I can tell but she's always refused to get rid of it. I find myself suddenly thanking her for her stubbornness, something that in life I didn't think I'd ever be able to do.