Misfortunate Misdeeds

The faster I run the closer the man in black gets. I run faster, breathing heavily, desperately trying to escape him. I’m trying so hard not to trip as I run and keep an eye on his distance. I look down and at the last moment see a huge piece of metal sticking out of the road. Bam.

I jolt and suddenly wake up. Phew - it was just a dream.

I open my eyes and see the sunlight peeking through the window. I grab my phone and slide off the bed and out of the cotton comforter I’ve been wrapped in for 15 hours. Something about this place cocoons me at night and gives me energy in the morning.

It’s the fifth day we’ve been here. We don’t go on vacation much but when we do it is usually just some random city or the mountains – this time it is a dream, we came to the Maldives. My dad chose the smallest island in the Maldives, Vaavu Atoll. It’s the most beautiful place I have ever seen: crystal blue see-through water, white sand and hot weather dulled by a light breeze. This place makes me long for the peaceful care-free life I know I can’t have.

I throw on some jean shorts, my favorite blue tank top and wrap a blue flannel around my waist in case it gets breezy. I head downstairs and call out for my parents with no response. Mom is probably at the market for breakfast and dad is probably fishing somewhere. I decide I’m going to walk to the beach to get some good morning photos of the view before breakfast. I grab a croissant from the bread bin to hold me over and my camera off the kitchen counter. I throw my camera around my neck and head to the beach.

The walk from the house to the beach is supposed to take about 10 minutes but on my second day here I found a shortcut through some alleys behind the local stores and apartments making it 7. Alleys are creepy in America but the ones here seem peaceful and don’t unsettle me at all like the ones back home. I put my earphones in and spend the walk through the sand-covered streets, peaceful alleys and parks listening to Jack Johnson.

When I finally get to the beach, I spend thirty minutes taking pictures of the sun, water, the locals and all the unique shells in the sand. I sit down for a minute to breathe and look at the beautiful view. Clearing my head feels good and this is the perfect place to do it. I stand up and decide to go back home because I'm starving and pancakes are calling my name.

On the walk home I soak in the sounds of the birds, chatter and wind around me. I smell delicious food cooking, laundry drying and can faintly hear the bell of the docks as I approach the alleys. Halfway through them I see something strange near the dumpster. I walk towards it and see there’s a man sitting on the ground.

As I get closer I realize he is clearly dead. I glance around to see if there is anybody else and when I confirm there isn’t I look back at the man. I debate what to do when something catches my eye – a small black duffle bag sitting on the ground beside him. The curiosity of the bag finally wins over my good morals. I look around once again and quickly bend down and unzip the bag. I can’t believe my eyes when I look at what I just unzipped.

Full of adrenaline and bad decisions I grab the bag and cover it with the flannel I tied around my waist. I walk quickly as I make my way back to our rental home. Breathing heavily and extremely paranoid, I constantly glance over my shoulder to see if anyone is following me until I finally get to the mailbox of our rental home. As I briskly walk to the front door, I realize my parents aren't home but thank God they aren't.

After fidgeting with the electronic lock, I finally get the door open, quickly closing it behind me. I swiftly run upstairs, knocking things off everything I pass, open my bedroom door and throw it on my bed. What really just happened? What should I do? I keep replaying what happened- full of adrenaline and shaking uncontrollably. Who was he? Where did this come from?

The thoughts race through my mind and I finally decide to lock my door, close my blinds, grab the bag, sit in my closet and look in the bag. Before I open it, I ponder how much it is – I come up with the number $10,000. In six months, I will be 18 and with $10,000 and the money I save from work, I can get my own apartment and pay for my first semester of college. I have to get away from my parents' house, I hate seeing them fight and the older I get the more they fight.

As I dump the money out onto the floor a black leather Moleskine notebook the size of a postcard falls out, held together by the black strap affixed to it and a rubber band. This is my favorite kind of notebook, they’re so sturdy and useful. I see a piece of tattered white paper taped to the front so I readjust the rubber band and make out “Things to Know When I Die”. Hmm. What a title. I am incredibly intrigued by what this could possibly be but the anticipation of how much money is in the bag is eating at me.

I organize the bundles into stacks of four, there are 20 bundles here. Curious to know how much is in each bundle I count one stack: there is $1,000 in twenty-dollar bills in the bundle. As I finish counting this, I realize this means that I have $20,000. I start crying and thanking God for putting this money in my hands.

Suddenly I feel an overwhelming rush of guilt – where did the money come from? Who was this man and why was he killed? Where is the person that killed him? Why would someone leave all that money? Quickly that guilt turns into complete fear and panic and I remember the little black book. Maybe it can tell me something about this man or the money.

I unravel the rubber band off of the little book and it seems as if every page has been written on. It is thick, dirty and the pages are all crispy as if they have been exposed to various spills over the years. The first page is titled “Diaries of a Hitman: John Rune”. This has to be some kind of novel in progress. As I turned the page it says:

January 8th, 2008. Las Vegas, Nevada. Cindy Miller. Paid $5k by daughter, Lily Sandler. She had remarried after cheating on Lily’s dad. Gunshot to Head after blind date set up by daughter. Buried under what is now Lily’s garage. Daughter set it up to look like she ran away.

I pause.

What kind of book doesn’t have full sentences? What kind of book just has the juicy information and no paragraphs? There is no story, it’s just random scenarios. The more I read, the more that I feel sick. If this is real – this can be the key to a missing persons case.

But no, this can't be real.

I continue to read.

After what feels like an hour reading these entries, I get to the last page, number 95. The last two sentences are almost undecipherable and seem as if they are hurried. It says:

June 19, 2020. Vaavu Atoll, Maldives. Eliza Louvre. Paid $20k by husband, Edward Louvre. He wanted to marry his mistress. Gunshot to head while pretending to be a fisherman on a boat that had been secretly rented by Ed. Killed Ed too after he shot me trying to set me up for murder-suicide, make it look like I was her lover and keep his money. Left both on boat set up as murder-suicide.

I stop.

I dial my mom and hang up when I realize what is happening.

Mom and Dad always used to play tricks on me; they haven’t done this in so long that I don’t even care. They put the book out on the hall table, knowing I would see it, to get my reaction. When I ran past the hallway table, I knocked it into the bag.

I head out of my bedroom and downstairs to walk to the market my mom loves. Maybe my dad is with her.

As I wrap my hand around the doorknob, I hear a knock at the door.

I look into the peephole of the door and freeze. Through the peephole I see three police officers waiting for their knock to be answered.

All I can think about is the bag – they know I have it and they are going to arrest me for taking it and murdering that man.

These thoughts play on repeat in my head as I debate whether to answer or to get down on the floor and slither out the back door.

Fight or flight, fight or flight.

I replay all the conversations I had with my Grandmother about taking responsibility for your actions to keep your name honest.

I decide to open the door and confront my actions.

Opening the door, it surprises me the cops don’t look angry. In everything I’ve watched they always look angry when somebody does something wrong – this place really is paradise.

The officer in the middle speaks first - “Good afternoon ma’am, my name is Officer Lowe, are you Everly Louvre?"

I unsteadily reply “Yes sir I am, how can I help you?"

How can I help you? Really, Everly?

Officer Lowes’ somber expression deepens and he says “Everly, unfortunately we’re here to tell you there was an accident that involved your parents today."

My mind raced. No. No. No. No. No. This can’t be real. Are these really cops? Have they really gone this far with a prank?

Officer Lowe interrupts my thoughts “We received a report about an abandoned boat, when we went to investigate, we found that your father had taken the life of your mother and then his own. We’re very sorry for your loss. We'd like for you to come with us to officially identify their bodies at the morgue."

As he says the words “identify their bodies” I can’t help but feel numb.

I start sobbing. This isn’t true, this is a dream, this isn’t real.

As I close the door behind me and walk to the police car reality sinks in – I have to tell the police what I found and tell them what an awful thing I had done taking a bag from a dead man and not reporting it to the police.

Even worse than that... I have to live with knowing I took and planned a future away from my parents with money that killed my parents.