Twice a Murder

“Maybe she had gone crazy after finding her sister’s body,” the whispered gossip told, traveling from door to door. The news was shocking to all the men and women of the neighborhood. “Oh their poor mother… first Sarah committed suicide, and now this! She must be devastated!” But no one ever considered that maybe the incident had a meaning. Maybe it was all tied together to form a story, told with different endings and plots to the small town of Sunset Haven.

No one had really paid attention to the fifteen-year-old Annahlei after her sister, Sarah, had supposedly committed suicide. She was incapable of thinking as an adult. Adolescents should not be taken seriously.

No one noticed her wavy black hair, as dark as the sky at night, had fallen to her shoulders instead of flung into a ponytail, her sharp, ice blue eyes tired with a hint of dark anger instead of the usual soft, dreamy look, her obsessive need and want to know all the details and evidence of the incident.

The police suspected suicide only after finding the knife curled into Sarah’s stiff, golden skinned hand. But Annahlei would quietly retort that it hadn’t been suicide; she knew the murderer. And so did everyone else.

She knew the truth, the things that no one ever would know. She had found the evidence herself, the night that Annahlei and her parents had gone to the mourning at the Werther’s house. They were their close friends, Derrick Werther was Annahlei’s boyfriend, and had dated Sarah before.

She had walked up to his room, carefully avoiding scattered toys and papers that were littered across the stairs. She poked her head into his room, but he had not been there. Instead, she was shocked by what she saw. His room was eerily organized, with nothing out of place. His bed was her immediate attention. On its body lay dark, navy blue sheets, striped with grey and greens as the colors of the ocean were, neatly tucked and folded to contrast with the blinding white walls. His clothes were placed perfectly on the left corner, waiting for him to come home and change. She noticed that he was going to wear his dark green shirt, the one he had worn so many times before. She hadn’t noticed, after all the times she had seen him, that the shirt looked brand new, without one flaw. Fear prickled up her spine at this thought.

But the room had been so clean, so organized, and so perfect; she understood how she had not felt the dread and suffocation that was muffled inside the walls. It was not until her eyes fell upon his furnished, mahogany bedside table that she figured out the reason for her fear.

Screams echoed her mind. Blood gushed everywhere, a knife buried itself deep into her flesh. She covered her ears, trying to drown out the terror and agony she felt. But the echoes were inside her mind, stuck deep into her memory, and only succeeded in making the screams louder than ever. In blind terror, she had raced over to the stand and thrown open the drawer, toppling over the perfectly centered Victorian lamp.

The screams had subsided, and everything seemed to melt away. All that was left was her shallow breathing, her slow coming thoughts, the horrific terror that was bursting inside her heart, and the knife in the drawer, still caked in her sister’s blood.

Stunned to stupidity, she picked up the knife into her pale white hand and stared at it. She didn’t know how long she had stood there, and quite frankly she didn’t care. She was only brought away from her daze when she heard clunking footsteps climbing the stairs. She quickly slid the kitchen knife into her pocket, turned the doorknob to the right, and flung it open, only to stand face to face with the murderer himself.

That was when she vowed to get revenge.

He had looked at her so happy, so content, with not a guilty wrinkle anywhere on his eighteen-year-old face. His dark brown eyes, beautiful as those of a doe’s eyes, smiled and danced with love, shining in the light. His head of curly, light blonde hair shined and fell around his ears, delicately framing his face. He wore a dressy light blue shirt and cargo khaki pants, as if he had come to take her out to dinner.

She couldn’t take it. She ran past him before he could say hello, and walked all the way home. She hadn’t noticed another pair of eyes staring out through the closet. A small smile sat smirking on his face in content and loathing, his eyes slit and glinting red as those of a snakes.

She snuck inside his closet, awaiting his arrival back home. Her breath was ragged and frightened, but she forced herself to stay calm… her sister needed to be avenged, tonight. It had already been a week since she had found the knife, and had planned carefully to make sure that his parents and brother were out so that no one could hear him scream.

Fate’s footsteps traveled to her ears, and she gripped the handle tightly. Tensed and afraid, she placed her left hand on the door handle, and looked out through the shudders. Time slowed down as he drifted through the door, one foot inside, then two. On his third step, she took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and leaped out on top of him, screaming madly the same phrase over and over, “You killed my sister, and now she will be avenged!”

In blind fury she raised her arm, which had become as heavy as lead. As his dark brown, doe eyes widened in surprise for the last time in growing terror, she brought the knife down, and stabbed his chest.

Her ears filled with blood curling screams, full of agony and torture. It was at that moment that Jack Werther, Derrick’s brother, stepped into the doorframe laughing manically. Annahlei lifted her head, feeling a bead of sweat drip down to the tip of her nose, and realized that she had made a huge mistake. He drifted to her, laughing softly, mocking her. Daring her to lash out and kill his smiling face.

Which was exactly what she did.

As he threw his head back for another evil laugh, she let out a warrior’s cry and stabbed him in the stomach.

Jack fell to his knees, looking up at her with half dead eyes. She stared at him, blinding stupidly, the growing realization that he had been the murderer, he had set Derrick up, loomed around in her buzzing head.

“Why did you do this?” she whispered, her body starting to shake uncontrollably.

He raised his head, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. “I only wanted her for me… but she said no… she had to be destroyed, she broke my heart…” He slumped forward, and didn’t move again as far as she knew. A puddle of blood was mixing on the floor, two brothers bleeding together to their death.

That was when she ran. She had been hit with the sudden realization that she had killed her loved one in blind fury. She had committed the murder she had tried to avenge in the beginning.

Her head was filled with nothingness, staring into the dripping knife that was still in her pale hand. Tears sprung in her eyes, blocking her field of vision. She tripped and fell on a loose rock, and stayed there kneeling on the ground, her shins and knees bleeding through her Old Navy jeans.

On that faithful corner as the sun fell down below the horizon, setting the sky into bright red and pink, she raised the knife which had been responsible for the death of three others, giving into her fate. Placing the knife carefully over her delicate beating heart, she slid it into her easily. She didn’t scream, barely felt any pain; she just lay on the sidewalk, staring into nothing. She felt her life slipping out of her body in currents of red, blending in with the sunset setting.

And so the neighborhood never knew the whole story. A finding of three bodies, all wonderful friends if not more, left them all with unanswered questions and unknown facts. Frustrated, police and detectives gave up on the case after three months of searching for clues. But, then again, maybe it was better that no one knew the true story. If they knew it was twice a murder, then no one could trust each other. For if best friends and loved ones go and kill each other bloodthirstily, the people in that little town of Sunset Haven would look into the sunsets it was known for, and see only the blood that haunted their dreams.