My eyes found her again in an instant. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t cried, hadn’t even spoken from what I could tell.
I longed to be next to her, to hold her and comfort her. Tell her that I was sorry, that everything would be okay. But I doubt she would’ve believed me anyway. Not yet anyway.
I’m sorry Anastasia.
I turned away as the man started to raise the gun. I knew what was gonna happen next - that made it even harder to keep my cries quiet. I didn’t want the last image of my father to be one of a bullet going through the back of his head. The shot rang throughout the house. Then they left.
I sat there, never moving from my position under the stairs. I made sure to keep my eyes from wandering by staring at the wall, at the floor, at the painting on the wall that I had always loathed. My cheeks were a never-ending pool of wetness.
I awoke to an officer asking me a flurry of questions. It took a minute for my mind to process all the background noise. Cops flooded the house, the courtyard, even as far back as the street. Flashing lights greeted me as officer Harvey led me away from the scene inside, he sat me down on the porch steps and wrapped me in a blanket. But nothing had been enough to pull me away from last night.
Physically I may have been sat with the police outside but mentally, emotionally, I was back under the stairs. The sun started to lighten the sky, I watched as the rest of the world continued to move, the world continuing to spin…as my world seemed to be crumbling away.
The sight of my aunt, sneaking in from her boyfriends’ house, finding me there outside hours later, crushed what little was left of my soul. The way her face fell at the sight of the cops huddling together. Everything happened in slow motion. As if to torture me even more, I got a front-row seat of my aunt crumpling at the news.
I was lost amongst all my thoughts, the memories of that night like a dagger slicing through me. Rationality couldn’t compare with the flashbacks that were playing on a movie reel in my mind. My body was there, I knew because I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the casket. It scared me that I wasn’t registering the world around me - the people, the whiff of my aunt’s perfume, the breeze that moved the branches of the trees nearby.
I should’ve been scared of what was going to happen next. I could’ve been walking on eggshells for the rest of my life - hiding from the monsters that hid in the darkness.
Maybe my aunt was right. Maybe I should have taken her up on her offer to move back in with her. But could I really live in that house again? Walk the halls they had dragged my father down, pretend like I hadn’t seen it? Sit at the dining table and stare at the space where they’d beaten him? I couldn’t.
A cold shiver runs down my spine at the very thought. His screams would forever be bouncing off the walls of the home I grew up in. It was tainted - ruined forever.
Of course, I couldn’t tell my aunt the truth. The sweet lady had no idea that I witnessed it - no one did. I figured I was safer that way. If no one knew then no one would come looking for me. Plus, Carol would’ve had me committed, thinking the trauma would wreck me without some form of psychiatric treatment.
I was alerted that the service was starting by a nudge of my aunt’s elbow, otherwise, I might have missed it. Reverend Carmichael stood before us to start with an opening prayer. When planning the funeral, my aunt had asked me if I would do the eulogy but I couldn’t bring myself to accept. As the Reverend continued on to speak personally about my father, I knew I had made the right decision.
My father had been strict about a lot of things, he ran a tight ship. One rule that I never minded was that I wasn’t to ever miss church. I still didn’t understand why because it wasn’t like my father was an overly religious man. I didn’t disobey, but I went because I liked it.
Church had always been a fun place, a place of community where I could interact with other kids in the neighborhood. It was one of the only regular outings that Dad and I had, just us two. That thought left a sour trail through my mind.
I had been raised by nannies at home but shown off as his daughter when we were out. I got used to it, it was our routine - the only way I’d ever lived. I just wondered if there was anything I could’ve done to bridge the gap between us. But I knew there wasn’t. His problem with me apparently stemmed from higher up. I had looked too much like my mother, I reminded him of her. That was what Aunt Carol had always said anyway, and of course, not to blame myself.
It was hard to conjure up many fond memories of my father. He had been cold, distant. He had a bad temper and used to snap over the smallest things. But, the Reverend spoke highly of my father, he only had kind words and funny anecdotes.
As I looked at the people around me I saw slight nods here and there, agreeing with him as he reminisced. Maybe it was just me, maybe I was the one thinking of this whole situation wrong.
I was torn between my feelings of hate for the man and my sadness for his death. He was my father, I should be mourning him like everyone else, but how could I truly mourn someone I hated. I had shed so many tears over the course of my life. Top ranking, was that night I witnessed my fathers’ murder. A close second was the night of my sixteenth birthday. But today? Nothing, there were no more tears left to shed.
I lingered behind as everyone else started to slowly clear out, my aunt merely whispered that there were some people she needed to speak to before leaving as well. It was another couple of minutes before I finally stood from my chair. The coffin hadn’t been lowered yet. I stepped closer to it. The flowers people placed on top had been a nice touch, but he had always hated flowers, he’d thought that they were a waste of time and money.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t make a scene,” a hoarse voice whispered in my ear, pulling me from my thoughts. My scream was stolen as a hand covered my mouth and pulled me backwards.
Something dark covered my eyes causing me to freak the fuck out. I squirmed and struggled to break free of their grasp but my arms were quickly restrained. When we stopped moving, the blindfold was ripped off. Men in black clothing surrounded me. I spun around desperate to find an escape, but I was enclosed from all sides.
Everything had happened so suddenly, my head spun. I’d been here once before but never did I think it would’ve happened again.
One man stepped forward drawing my attention. My narrowed eyes ran up and down the length of the man, taking him in. He was seemingly tall, dark and handsome but in the worst way possible. Movement caught my eye, causing my attention to shift - to several men crowded around us. From where I stood, I could barely see between them, back to where my aunt and the last remaining guests were huddled across the cemetery grounds.
“You scream, you die. So, don’t.” The man in the middle spoke with authority. “You don’t know me, but I know you. My boss has been eagerly awaiting an opportunity such as this.”
“I don’t understand. What’s happening? I promise, whatever you think I did, I didn’t.” I rushed out in a panic.
They had to believe me. There had to be a mistake, they couldn’t possibly have been after me.
All my life I’d never been in trouble - with school, with the law, not even with my father. I had worked hard at keeping away from trouble, away from the kinds of people that caused trouble. It had always been a struggle, just like everyone else I’d had a dark side but I’d kept it tucked down inside, harnessed by thick chains.