A murder-suicide wasn't something I'd have wished on my worst enemy. As much as I despised my aunt, I wouldn't have wished her into a situation like that either. Scratch that, death in general wasn't something I had the balls to wish upon anyone.
So, why was it cast upon a seemingly innocent girl? And why was she the one who did it?
A picture-perfect family, almost too perfect to be true, painted my laptop screen with their honor and glory. There was one mom, one dad, one son, and one daughter—same eyes, same eye color, same hair color, and same skin. But like all perfect things, there were cracks. And within those cracks, there were lies.
I laughed under my breath. It was funny, their perfection (fake or not) almost made me jealous. I might have been . . . if there wasn't such a gruesome headline attached to the image.
"FAMILY OF FOUR DEAD AFTER MURDER-SUICIDE INCIDENT", was what the headline said.
Bile slithered up my throat, but I had succeeded in keeping it down. A headline like this wasn't something I would have liked to be greeted with, my third day in town. Shit happens. I knew that. But when shit like this happened in the home—the very room—I'd been staying in, that was where things got weird.
My assumption was right. They were an Asian-American family, specifically Korean-American, as stated in the article. I had barely made it five lines in before I found myself consumed in the case. Photos, articles, police reports—I had done so much research I could write a book with the information I found.
No evidence of a struggle had been involved. One minute they were alive. The next minute they were gone, just like a memory. I wondered if people in this town still carried their memory. It was just a thought.
The cause of death seemed to have been gas. Though, I couldn't find what kind of gas it was. Had it not been identified in the autopsy? No, that couldn't have been possible, if they knew it was a gas that killed them all.
It was strange. Every time I thought I'd filled a missing hole in the truth, another hole appeared. It was like their death was absentmindedly written off as a murder-suicide. Like the media was covering something up.
"Are you ever going to come downstairs and hang with me? Or have you developed a strange new addiction to the dark while I was away? I cooked dinner!" Skylar's voice rang through my ears. She drew her last sentence out in a high-pitched sing. There was a hint of hope in her tone, as if she'd been trying to pry me away from my laptop for hours now.
Had I been sitting here that long? I'd been so occupied she was able to cook dinner without my nose sniffing it out. Now that I thought about it. . . When did she walk into the house? And when did the sun start going down?
Suddenly, the light flickered on, brightening the darkroom. I scrunched my face at the window. A full-developed moon reflected back inside alongside a palette of white stars that lit the sky. My pupils burned with anguish as the deadly light sunk into them.
When I adjusted, I turned to the door, eyeing her pouty face. "Yeah, I promise. I promise. One second"—my stomach grumbled, interrupting me—"okay, I'm coming now."
"Yay!" she cheered with a clap.
After closing all the tabs and shutting my laptop off, I followed her downstairs to the kitchen, where there was a large pan set on the stove. The scrumptious smell of stuffed shells bled through the air, urging my taste buds to life. Sheesh, I had forgotten to eat all day.
"What were you doing by the way?" she pestered. I opened my mouth but caught myself before words flew out.
Skylar had been staying in this house since August of last summer, a few months after their bodies had been cleared out. Could she have known about its dark history? I mean, would she have cared? Every piece of property must have had some kind of past to it. A past I wasn't so sure Real Estate agents would have willingly shared so easily.
Hotels, houses, apartments, and the list went on. So, this wasn't any different.
But Baskerville was a fairly small town. It might have been one of the smallest towns in Connecticut. So, someone, if not everyone, should have known about what happened to Delilah Kim and her family in this house. Which meant, Jason, or one of their friends could have warned her before she moved in. Maybe I was reaching. Was it that big of an issue? Well, I didn't know.
I guess I was just trying to make sense of the situation now that I had been placed in it. By what? I couldn't convince myself what the answer to that was either. I wasn't exactly keen on the idea of a ghost attaching itself to me. Not that, that was possible. Though, the idea did cross my mind once or twice while I was carrying out my research.
That would explain the weird visions, wouldn't it? No, memories. Yeah, that's what they boiled down to. I was thinking too much again.
"Hellooo?" Skylar had already grabbed two plates and a spatula. I could tell she was judging me. Trying to figure me out. If I was her, I'd have been too.
I tensed and before I knew it, I was blurting, "I found out who the bracelet belongs to!" What the actual fuck, Chastity?
"What?" Skylar asked, her bottom lip hanging.
The dumfounded expression on her face matched my thoughts perfectly.
"She's dead," I added on. That earned me a facepalm. Mentally, of course. I couldn't afford to look more stupid than I had already sounded.
"Way to spice up the mood. . ." Skylar muttered. "Um, care to elaborate?"
"I'm sorry, that was random. I just meant—uh—did you know someone died in this house? A family?" I asked.
Why the hell was I still rambling about this? Even if she did know, what did that matter to her? Skylar had no connections to anyone in this house. So, I was sure knowing a stranger died here, might not have shifted her mood the slightest bit unlike my mood, which had shifted into the depths of hell.
"Oh, I didn't know that," she said, acknowledging my outburst, while continuing to fix what I presumed was both our plates, "dang, that's sad. Did you know of the incident?"
Her attitude towards the newfound information was exactly how I imagined it'd play out. '
She didn't care enough to be scared of living here anymore. After all, she'd been living here for nearly a year. Of course, something like this wouldn't drive her away from the house she put so much effort into making her own. Perhaps, if she knew about this before, she would have thought twice about her decision.
"No." I shook my head. "I just found out today. Her and her family died. It just feels weird." I gently pulled at the bracelet, mesmerized by its silver charms.
The initials made more sense when I looked at them now. D.K. stood for Delilah Kim.
I wondered how her bracelet ended up in the cracks of the floor. How it had gone unnoticed and survived in perfect condition for an entire year. Surely, cops would have done a thorough search of the house after what happened. Was it possible they missed the bracelet? Eh, maybe. I wouldn't put it past them. But it was in plain sight.
"So, do you want to pawn the bracelet or something? I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable wearing a dead girl's belonging, we can totally do that. I understand—"
"No, no. That's not what I meant, I just"—I sighed in defeat— "I honestly don't know why I said that. I'm not sure why I'm telling you any of this. I guess I just needed to vent." I laughed awkwardly.
She hadn't said another word. Her eyes seeped into mine until she said, "It's amazing what being in front of a computer screen for hours can do to you." But she seemed to have shrugged it off. And I was thankful for that.
* * *
Photography helped ease my mind. My dad had done it for years. So, it only made sense that I took after him. I had taken after a lot of things from my dad.
Besides, photography had helped him too. It was either that or he would have moved onto his next option—alcohol consumption—and we all knew what happened when people drowned their sorrows away with alcohol. Some grew an addiction to the foul bitter taste and wasted their energy into it. It was destruction from the inside-out until it ruined them completely.
I sighed and locked my tripod into place.
The view of the creek was nice from this angle. It wasn't as beautiful as it was during the evening near Andrew's cabin, but it was still nice. Maybe that was because it was set in a wide picnic area, with benches, and grass, and heaps of shade under the trees. It might have been one of the prettiest creeks I'd ever laid eyes on.
"Charlie!" I jumped at the voice chanting through the trees.
Damn, I thought I was alone in these woods.
"Here boy!" the voice chanted again.
Something rustled in the bush beside me.
I straightened and tightened my hands on my tripod. My legs were already prepared to run with my camera if I had to. I'd have gladly followed them too. The rustling grew louder. I felt my fingers curl with anticipation. Then, a splotch of brown and white hopped out. My eyes bulged out of my sockets and I had nearly pounced out of my skin.
"Eek!" My screech ripped through the clouds. I stumbled back, my bottom hitting the ground.
"Charlie! You damned dog!" That wasn't the feminine voice I heard before. That was—
"Oh, Chastity." Andrew's voice cut my thoughts short.
"Oh God, we're so sorry!" A tall girl jumped out of the trees behind Andrew.
Wow, she was almost just as tall as Skylar. She chased after the dog that almost gave me a heart attack, calling to him loudly. The dog finally obeyed and ran back to its owners, where a leash awaited him.
Andrew's eyes hadn't left me. But his shock had soon been replaced with a smile. The lone dimple on the left side of his cheek stuck out like a sore thumb. I wasn't sure when I had grown a fascination with dimples. It might've been in seventh grade, when Jazzy Maxwell flashed me hers. I had fallen in love with them instantly.
I lifted myself off the ground. "It's fine. No worries. Cute dog," I said, dusting off my pants. Meanwhile, my tailbone wept in agony. But I didn't complain. Hopefully, the pain would go away on its own.
"Thanks, he's a pure breed Bernese Mountain Dog," she answered proudly.
"She didn't ask," Andrew murmured.
"Shut up!" she barked at him. "Jealousy doesn't look good on you big bro."
"Everything looks good on me, Camille. It's all about how you wear it," Andrew stated cockily. He was clearly joking though.
Siblings? No, that couldn't be. They didn't look anything alike. Then again, they could have been half-siblings, or one could have been adopted, or they simply just didn't carry the same genes. I wasn't sure if it worked like that. I wasn't the best when it came to biology.
Compared to him, her long loose curly black hair resembled that of a Goddess. Add in her darker shade of brown eyes, the yellow t-shirt tied in a knot at the bottom, draped over a short denim jean skirt, and she was a walking beauty. If that didn't make the differences obvious, their skin tone did. While his skin was a very faint light brown, hers was a bit darker—an almost golden brown tone might have been the best word to describe it.
I bit back my laughter and fixed my glasses on my nose. "It's okay. I don't mind."
"See? This is why you should mind your business!" She shot him a grin and stuck her tongue out. He rolled his eyes. For a split second, Camille's eyes connected with mine, and I swore the world around me faded.
I sucked in the breath that had been briefly knocked out of me. My gaze got caught in Camille's. And I couldn't deter it away. What was it with my heart racing like I'd done something bad? It pounded harder against my chest as I thought about it. Something about her felt familiar—like I had met her before. That's when it clicked. No, not me.
Delilah.
Was it crazy of me to let that thought cross my mind? Maybe. But what else could I have reasoned with? It was the only thing keeping me sane.
". . .Going to be late for my date with Makayla," was what I heard when I shook myself out of my trance. Camille was saying something else to Andrew. I took that as my chance to study her until I finally had enough.