THIRD PERSON
The clamorous downfall of rain began as Helena and Peter stepped back into the living room, their eyes darting around the room, searching for clues, evidence, anything that could lead them to the basement. The one place the killer had been in that video footage. Flipping mounds of clothes and piles and stacks of old books and old empty photo albums, the two of them searched desperately for something, anything. Peter lifted his head as he opened a timeless classic from the shelf.
"Found anything yet?" He spoke, flipping through the pages with care. Helena tilted her head, before returning to read through a small calendar diary she picked up from the corner of the kitchen counter. She pointed aimlessly at multiple pages, only sighing slightly. Peter closed the book, tossing it back into the bookshelf behind him. He focused his attention towards the window, watching the rain pour down into the backyard of Luke's home. Helena stopped reading.
"Unless you call doctor's appointments and visiting his mother clues, then sure." She sighed, closing the calendar. "We really have nothing." She rose to her feet, stepping forward towards Peter. He had perched himself on the floor by the window sill, staring wondrously out towards the worn out grass, the rain dancing wildly in puddles, splattering over squares of greying concrete. Peter dipped his head, pressing one hand close to the window sill.
"You think any of this stuff means anything?" He whispered, staring intently out the window. Helena presses her hand on his shoulder, kneeling behind him. Peter begins to remember back to this morning, when he had been waiting eagerly for Jasper to join him for coffee. He sat there, alone and upset, as he watched this ghost he thought he once loved drift away from him, drifting to the opposite side of the room, the opposite side of his world. He regretted opening himself to his past, knowing that Jasper was his former one true love, knowing that he desperately wanted to move forward, and most of all, Peter regretted ever thinking the missing year would be forgotten. Now, as he watched the man of his dreams dance around him, he hated that he destroyed all of the changes he made just to please Jasper.
"Hey, what's up? Before today, you would've jumped at the chance to investigate the crime scene or the house of the victim. Is it something I said to you in the car?" Helena spoke, resting her arms around Peter's shoulders. She too gazed willingly out the glass window. Ivy vines creeped over the small garden shed, the rusty ochre red door bearing a small oval-shaped lock. Helena ducked her head to see inside the building, only spotting the darkness, and brushed off the building as Peter turned his head towards her. The heavy thumping of the rainfall continued to lull for a moment, before returning to the rising storm.
"It's not you, and I think that it does mean something, it's just." He sighs, tilting his head. "It's just that...life as I know it for me doesn't feel right. Every time I wake up, with Jasper by my side, I feel sick, like I want to vomit." He begins to stand up, stepping further away from the window. The painful state in his eyes materializes into tears, and he tries to cover them with his hands. "I feel sick thinking about this all. Why did this have to happen to me?" He wiped furiously at the tears with his sleeve, searching the deserted house for a tissue box.
Helena pauses, watching him scatter around the room. Something stops her from helping him, but she brushes it off and walks towards him, tearing him away from his clutch on an empty tissue box he discovered under the couch. "You want to know what I do, because you're not alone. I feel sick thinking about working for my sister, but I tell myself to keep moving forward. It won't help if you cry now." Peter smiles, pulling his colleague into a tight hug. "It won't help to hate yourself."
They release from the hug, frozen in front of each other. "I'm okay now. Thank you." Helena smiles, and begins to walk off towards the other end of the compact house. "Now, let's find that killer." Peter pipes in, heaving the large back door open, staring intently towards the garden. The garden shed, to be exact.
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"Light touch, heavy hand. She knew the weight of her slim figure was dancing around the sensational thrill almost in a whirlwind of expectation." She spoke, fluttering her eyelids towards the onlooking circle before her. They stared intently as she darted her wide eyes around the room, the small white paper in her hand as she read. "The colossal stream of pressure crushed her aching bones. She only needed to scream, to beg him, but she drifted into the cold reality she led." The crowding group smiled or cheered on the occasion, until she spoke the final line.
Her eyes darted wearily as she opened her thin lips. "Her fingers gripped eloquently to the man's severed limbs. She couldn't break the thought that she had won." The woman sighed, slipping back into her chair as the circle hadn't decided whether to applause or worry. They gave in, clasping their palms together. The doors behind them creaked open as the leader of the group nudged his head to the late arrival.
"Miss Bennigan, thank you for coming." He smiles, as the rest of the circle stare towards her as she collapses into an empty chair. "We were just listening to Thelma's beautiful portrayal of...well, her short story." He laughed, then corrected himself as he looked towards Thelma, who had nestled her head into rereading the story in her head. "Why don't you talk about something?" He gestured to Elise, and she swallowed her breath. She knew she had done wrong, and she knew no one could know. Killing Luke felt perfect in the moment, but now the repercussions are all coming back. She sighed, straightening her posture as their eyes focused in on her.
"Hi, my name is...Elise Bennigan, and, well, for a while, I was an alcoholic, and I...I was a mess, struggling to survive through the drugs and the pain. I know I'm not healthy anymore, it's hard to say I ever was." She murmured, having stood up. The circle surrounding her smiled in support. "I...I've done something wrong. I spent all of my life picking up the pieces of my shattered life all to see it crash and burn last night." She spat, desperately attempting to hold her voice. She cleared her throat and fell back into her chair, biting her lip.
The leader frowned, pressing his hand to his chin. He stared around the room for a moment, before returning to look to Elise. "If you don't mind me asking, Elise, what did you do last night?" She froze, staring around. Before this morning, when the news of his death spread around town, Elise thought she could escape the truth. She was wrong. The wandering eyes had drawn themselves to her, as she slouched in her chair, hiding the fear, hiding her guilt. She rose to her feet, swallowing the bile that rose in her stomach.
"I killed someone."
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The pouring rain drizzled furiously as the storm beckoned the escaping sunlight. Her car muffled under the thundering rainstorm as she stepped on the acceleration, sliding on the slippery bitumen street. The slashing pelting of raindrops charged towards her car as she glanced mistakenly through the foggy windows, searching for his house. Her phone chirped the tone in the cup holder beside her, and she made the foolish mistake of checking it. As she continued driving, foolishly, her life flashed before her eyes.
And she knew she wasn't going anywhere else tonight. The bright torch of her headlights shone iridescently onto the sprawling oak tree in front of her car. She clicked her phone off, gasping in shock.
"Shit." She spat, the air bag comforting the blow. She pressed her palm to her forehead, finding blood. "Shit." The car door swung open, as Marie stepped out into the thundering wind, her hair soaking amidst the rainstorm. She thought about the accident, she thought about how horrible her night had just become, and then she saw him standing there, holding a wide black umbrella in his fingers on the other side of the road. He smiled, crossing towards her with his arm outstretched, and she forgot about how much she loathed the idea of a date with Grant, because all she needed now was shelter. Shelter from this storm.
The warmth of his house reflected against her as they stepped into the open living room, a small portable heater rotating hot air from one of the kitchen counters. Marie stopped by a window, staring hazily out towards the whirling storm, when she felt the warm touch of a hand on her shoulder, but it wasn't Grant's.
"Marie? What happened, you look terrible." The other woman spoke, causing Marie to turn around in one swift motion. Reyna had tied her hair into a high ponytail and was wearing dark grey jeans and a dark red sleeveless button-up. She drew her boss into a tight hug, questions racing in around her head. The blood on Marie's forehead had now been bandaged but Reyna had too much to ask. "I'm sorry if I startled you, I was just stuck here since the storm started. I was just visiting my uncle." She spoke, but Marie stopped listening after that last line. Her uncle.
Marie interrupted and began to speak. "This is your uncle's house? Grant is your uncle?" Reyna nodded, and somehow, that was enough to turn the magazine boss away from dating this man for good. She didn't know whether the idea of dating a police officer or the idea that this man was the uncle to one of her employees changed the matter, but ever since her last break up, nothing had been the same again. "I'm sorry for barging in then." Grant came striding in, carrying a tray of hot chocolates with him. He handed one to his niece, then one to Marie, who smiled sincerely at the gesture. Somehow she knew staying here was wrong, but as she collapsed willingly onto the sofa, sipping at the warm cocoa, nothing mattered.
Not yet anyway. Reyna reached for the remote control, flicking through the vast variety of television channels as she rested the mug on a coaster on the wooden coffee table. She stopped on a news broadcaster who spoke about the tragedy of the death of Luke Tepp.
"Today we said goodbye to a great pillar of our smaller community. Luke may have been distant at times, but for years he was someone brave, strong, even charismatic." She read, standing by the crime scene. Marie thought back to her first impression of the grass fields. The tragic mystery. She wanted to find that killer more than anything else in her life right now. The broadcaster continues to speak. "As many knew him, he was an honorary member of our town, and he will be remembered." Grant had joined them on the couch, checking his phone.
"This is stupid." He replied, speaking towards the television with his brows furrowed. She continued to ramble about how this man, who the serial killer had an attachment to, was a decent and loyal subject of the monarchy of life, or whatever. Marie glanced down at her phone as she felt the vibration in her pocket, reading the text message. It was him. He had nearly killed her by texting her while she was driving, but she had looked down to answer back to him. She had nearly killed herself.
"What's stupid?" Reyna spoke, resting her head on the side of the sofa as she watched excitedly at the news broadcaster.
"This whole situation. The police force is in charge of the investigation and this town is branding the deaths as high end stories to sell to the papers." He yelled, sipping from his cooling down mug of cocoa. The darkening fields of once green grass had become an empty barren piece of terror. The once elated fields that saw children dance excitedly around with friends now became the single most talked about location of the week. Grant was right in some ways; this town was feeding off of the killings.
"Publicity happens." Marie muttered, tucking her phone back into her pocket. The television newscaster stepped around the crime scene tape, pointing roughly to where the bodies had been found. She continued to speak about the tragic loss and their immediate search for the killer, although they never had before hand. The darkness cornered in on the woman as she spoke to the camera. "We're all involved." Marie spoke louder, but she was cut short when the sound of a gunshot echoed through the living room. On instinct, Reyna collapsed to the floor, but the gunshots weren't coming from the house.
The newscaster gasped in dread as she collapsed to the floor, grasping at her back as she held tightly to one of the cameramen, who yelled continuously for assistance. The news reporter had been shot. Someone screamed as the reporter heaved in her breathing, but she hadn't realised one thing; she had been shot once more. She gasped once more before the screen faded to black. Marie, Grant and Reyna didn't speak, their mouthed stuck wide open. Someone had shot the newscaster. Someone had killed her.
"Well shit." Marie was the first to speak, clutching tightly to the phone in her pocket as she rose to her feet. "The killer wants blood." She began moving towards the front door, but stopped, turning back to face them. "She didn't kill her husband. Someone else did."
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The sunlight streamed in from the glass window, the sky having cleared away the storm. The morning rays shone onto her face as she sat in the grey chair by the window. She brushed her hair as she turned towards her hospital roommate, who stood awkwardly beside the opposite grey chair. "Marcy, you shouldn't be afraid to sit next to me."
"I'm not afraid." She whispered, sitting down in the chair beside the other girl. "I know you're not the killer." She rested her hands in her lap and asked for the brush the other girl had just rested on a small table beside her. Faith passed her the brush, smiling freely as she played those words over in her head. I know you're not the killer. Marcy trusted her, she thought to herself as she gazed down at the streets she loved walking by, watching the world she loved for all it's beauties live on without her in sight. She couldn't wait to escape hospital to visit close friends or forget the time of day. Here, she had nothing. Nothing but Marcy, every day they spent chatting felt so real. When she left this place- she knew that had to be soon- her and Marcy had to stay close. No more lying.
"I'm glad you trust me." Faith spoke, resting back in the chair. Marcy's trust was enough for her, but she had no idea that her newest friend had met the devil's bride in person. Faith had no idea that her friend had been nearly killed by the famed killer herself. There was a creak at the doorway, and Faith turned to see the nurse step into the room, a wide smile plastered on her face.
"Miss Hyatt, there's someone here to see you. A guest." The nurse spoke, returning to open the door for the visitor. Faith shrugged, turning in her chair before she could see who wanted to see her. Nobody mattered, besides Marcy. She couldn't care less about who wanted to speak to her. When the guest stepped gently on the white tiles, Faith continued staring aimlessly out the glass window without a single care in the world. Somehow, cutting ties had made her free.
Marcy moved out of the way, leaving the room as the guest sat down gently beside the window. "Hey, Faith. Can I apologise?" He spoke, not in a whisper but quietly, as if he didn't want anyone to hear him but the nurse who smiled politely and left the room to give the two privacy. Faith knew exactly who he was, and as usual, she couldn't care less.
"Get the hell out." She spat, turning to face him. The look of utter betrayal covered her face as she stared back at her attacker, Brady Artell. The memories dashed in her head as he smiled politely, the washed performance he was trying to pull off failing as she thought of his sinister eyes peering down at hers, the blood-stained white t-shirt covering his bare chest. He had wiped some of yes blood on his skin, and she remember feeling sick as he left he alone. She didn't want him to escape after all this, but nobody believed her story. After all, the blood escaping her body told other stories.
"Let me explain." He claimed, noticing how aggravated Faith looked. "I never meant to hurt you." He hesitated for a moment with his hand close to her knee, but pulled back and turned to let his eyes wander out the glass. "My mother thinks I'm insane, and I don't blame her. It's a wonder I haven't killed her, when that's all I'm good for in this world." His hair was ruffled and his brows were messy and untrimmed. He wore dark jeans and a dark green singlet, and the way he was staring out the window, his eyes trailing around passers by and driving cars, forced Faith to sink into her chair further.
"You shouldn't be here." She spat, biting her lip. "You don't deserve freedom, Brady. You don't deserve to be able to walk the streets like you're all happy and dandy when you tried to kill me. When you've killed innocents who wanted their life to be inspiration and forgiving." She snickered, rising slightly in her chair. She pushed the escaping strands of hair from her face. "You killed those people. Their families can't forgive you."
"It was all an accident." He thought it was, he thought his mind had escaped and wanted revenge, but Faith knew the truth. He was afraid of the truth. "I never meant to hurt them."
"Oh, is that true?" She spoke, rising to her feet. She felt into her pocket for a small knife. "Because that's now what I remember." He collapsed into his chair, staring bleakly at the small compact knife.
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The killer placed a single finger to her lips as she pressed the end button on her phone. She turned to her right, leaving the phone on the table now behind her. She grinned, walking towards someone strapped down to a wooden chair. She pressed her lips close to their ear as she murmured to them. "Thank you for coming." She stepped back, standing in front of the woman in the chair. "You wanted to hear how I met my husband?" The strapped down girl nodded. "Well, I'll tell you the story."
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~Flashback~
It was the first time they met one fateful night. She was sitting alone in the bar, perched on the bar stool sipping from a glass of gin and tonic. She tightened the skin-tight purple dress she wore as she fidgeted in her seat, staring around nervously at the men who whistled her way. She couldn't help it to stop, but as the men objectified her body with their dirty thoughts, she couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to destroy their kind. She felt their manipulative eyes centre on her back. She felt their tongue wipe against their lips as she turned her head to the side ever so slightly, as she only slightly displayed her tight figure even further. She didn't want the feeling that these men wanted to make her theirs, and that's when she met him.
At the time, she was dating Jasper Boughten, and while she thought she loved him, she saw right through his lies, and she saw the affair coming. But this is the story of how she met her husband, the late Luke Tepp. He was different. He wasn't like all the other men who watched her in the bar; he didn't stare, he made his moves. He sat down beside her on the bar stools and suddenly the room was quiet. The room fell still as the two of them talked for hours, hours on end, and even until the bar closed in the early hours. She had found her calling, and she had found herself a man who wouldn't leave her side.
Until death do they part.