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The killer is back
by Katerina Charisi
2016-05-29 09:50:04
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That morning I saw the clearest, brightest deep blue sky. The lake downhill looked silver shining and still, like an instant photograph. The trees were dark green and red and fire orange. Coloured leaves covered the ground. Birds were singing and the chickens clucked. A cool breeze chilled my skin. Winter, I thought. Winter is coming. The song repeated in my head. I pushed it away. Such a beauty.

I stepped out and looked around for the cars. They were still in place, so, where did everybody go? I walked towards Sam’s shed, maybe Frances was there, and I heard Michael calling me. I turned and saw him on the roof. He looked funny and cute in his red overalls and the awry hat.

“Hey there, sleepy head!” he waved a hammer in the air.

“What are you doing up there?” My goodness, wasn’t that roof slippery?

emil01_400_01“Just a few nails here and there. There’s a leak.”

“Oh. I didn’t notice water anywhere.”

“You checked around?”

“Not really. I just came out.”

“It’s in the bathroom. I’ll be down soon. Will you make some coffee?”

“Sure! What about breakfast too?” He didn’t hear that, though. He started hammering the nails. It would be nice to make some coffee and breakfast for us two. All this time Frances was the only one who did everything in the kitchen, and I had really missed us being a couple and not just “Frances’ children”. Michael and I should really have a talk about that matter.

I forgot about the others. I went back inside and on the stairs. Would there be anything in the small fridge upstairs? Maybe I could boil a few eggs and bake some bread... What about oranges for juice? We should go to the market to buy a few things. Maybe that would be a nice chance to start living like a couple again. We could do that, couldn’t we? Frances wouldn’t have to cook all the time for all of us and Michael and I could spend more time together. We sure needed some privacy. All day, every day, someone would be around, every time we tried to talk, someone would just interrupt or overhear. Not to mention at nights when we wanted to... I remembered when Marianne giggled as she told me that our bedroom was right above Frances’ bedroom. Now I knew that she picked the smallest bedroom next to ours in purpose, when she first came here to live with Bradford. I should have been smarter.

Speaking of the devil, I found her standing out of our room, with her arms crossed on her chest, tapping her leg nervously. What was wrong this time? I wondered.

“Where you here earlier? Good morning! That was a hell of a rain last night, wasn’t it? Michael’s on the roof, you can hear the --

“Now, the killer always returns to the crime scene, they say”. She held something on her hand and showed it to me. “Of course, in our case is not a killer but a thief! Just look at what I found all accidentally in your room!” And she pointed a lipstick on my face as I got closer. Well, call me naive, but honestly she got me so by surprise, that I didn’t realize she had actually been in our room while everybody was out. I stared like a rabbit blind from a car’s headlights, so stupid must I have looked. The moment this thought went solid in my head, I got furious.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Sneaking in people’s rooms and messing around when no one’s there?” I yelled at her. Oh, I so yelled at her. I wanted to rip her jumpy reddish hair off. That bitch. How could she do that?

“YOU stole it! I found it in YOUR dresser! YOU THIEF!”


emil02_400_01“Are you nuts? What are you talking about? What is that?”

She came so close that I felt her warm breath burning my eyes. She was tall and big and only then I realized her size. Bradford and she made a perfect, big couple.

“You know perfectly well what it is! My favourite lipstick! The one that Brad bought me from New Orleans and had lost it for so long! You thief! THIEF!” Her eyes sparkled and her hands trembled. For a moment I thought she was going to hit me. I stepped back.

“I have nothing to do with any of your stupid lipsticks, Marianne. I don’t even use those stuff, don’t you see? Put yourself together and get the hell out of my way!” I pushed her and ran in the bathroom, shaking in anger, feeling my tears escaping and pushed myself hard not to cry. She banged the door. “I will tell everyone what you did! Thief!”

I wanted to scream. I was shocked. How dare she... But I’m telling you, that was only the beginning. I opened the door so hard, that hit the wall and the glass trembled and cracked. But didn’t break. I saw her fear, only for a second, but I saw it. And I used that in the future, when Marianne did all sorts of things to accuse me for anything she put in her mind.

“Don’t. Don’t you even dare make a single step again inside my room, or I swear I’ll...”

I will kill you. I would say that. I wanted to say that. I would probably do that. Frances came up running, murmuring something at Michael who was coming behind her.

“Look, mother, look, I found it! I found it in her room! She took it! She had it all the time!” she ran and put her arms around Frances and burst into tears, and big and massive as she was, the image of the little woman lost in Marianne’s embrace, was really funny and awkward.

Frances looked at me, then at Michael, tapped Marianne’s back, like a small child. “Shh, shh. Its ok, my dear. You can relax now. I am sure this is all a misunderstanding. Come, let’s go downstairs. I’ll make you a cup of hot milk with two large spoonful of sugar, just the way you like it. Come”.

Michael and I stared at each other. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how I felt. I felt angry and somehow betrayed, and regretted for been there and stupid. Just stupid. I knew that for as long as Marianne lived in that house, not a single day would be good from now on. It would be her... Or me.

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