Chapter Fifteen: The One With The Anonymous Murder

"You can't just kill my child. We're blood, remember? Does it not bother you that you shot your own cousin? Where's your conscience?" A husky voice, yet a voice so undistinguishable it could pass as a man or woman spoke angrily nearby. I could tell they intended to keep their voice at a whisper level, but the sobs that once fell down their cheeks were hindering whoever it was from doing that. The person put their anger for the shooter first evidently, but what made it more unsettling is the voice was eerily familiar, like I've heard it recently.

I shut my eyes, like that would make the sight of Samuel that I was hanging up like a poster in my head go away, but with them closed and getting watery, and my body shivering as if it were cold, that picture held on for dear life. I wanted to scream, but every attempt not only got caught in my throat, yet shoved back down further, so it wouldn't dare come up again. It wasn't getting any better either. Not for as long as I had sense of hearing.

"We were never close, jeez! How could I possibly care? He's too young to have ever been on my level. I wasn't able to do that before with how I was, but I can now, so there's nothing to stop me." A second voice paused, and it was making the air even spookier than any night I've ever had to live through. That says a lot. "I know that look," it continued, "You were expecting me to apologize, get down on the floor on my knees and beg for your mercy? Well, I'm not going to. What's done is done. You can call an ambulance - I saw that you did - but based on his condition, it doesn't look too promising. Let's sit and wait if that's what you want. I'm not afraid. My reputation is pretty awed by the community."

A few steps went along the grasses, trudging along with this new confidence, like a killing added to the ego and strengthened an aura. "Besides, are you saying that girl you killed didn't have cousins, friends, parents, or siblings? Someone out there mourned the death you caused. Your hands aren't all that cottony, snowy white for you to be allowed to talk like that. They're pretty crimson, and now we're equally guilty. One and one. We're on the same page."

The shadows continued to lurk among the trees. They were leading themselves exactly to where Samuel and I were once hiding out together, but I haven't gotten ahold of myself enough to flee from the scene. My mouth just as well be duct taped, and my hands tied - it wasn't working with me anyway.

"You know we're not equal. I did what I had to do because of you, and I would've never done it otherwise. I might've hated that girl - but go through with a murder? That's not in me. I'm a well-respected person, more than you've ever been. I'm older than you, I've had the time to build it up more than what you could've done and I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that. You made me do it. That's on you."

Taking blame was clearly not either one of their fortes, but for the snippet that I've heard I had to blame both of them. I might not know the whole story, but anything regarding human life, or life in general, and with the actual proof still in front of me that they were people of their wicked word with dirty hands, I didn't need more information. Whoever these people were, if I could get the courage I needed to peek out to see their faces, with a blessing of passing light from the street, instead of how it cursed me, they deserved punishment. They needed to be locked away. This city truly is a place of so many secrets. Terrible, terrible secrets.

"I asked you to do it, yeah, but you did it because you wanted to. I didn't force you to do anything. That was the decision that you made on your own. All by yourself, like the big girl you are." There was a gun loaded in the second voice's hand, and it clicked as they were inching closer to where I was sitting. The tone was so joking and teasing to be holding something that could end someone without trouble. "Money talks in whatever language it needs to, doesn't it? And your youngest passed then, so if money talks, emotions must move the body."

There was no response, and as a bystander I knew that it was because the other wanted to argue but didn't have a fireback to bring up. Being part of their insanity wasn't necessary to know that much.

"Don't you remember anything you told me?" The person with the gun muttered unsoundly. "You told me how that girl ruined your life, and the entire time, my complaints and yours? They were directed at the same person. She deserved that outcome for being the way she was. And your son and her are exactly the same. He was about to ruin ours too, in his case giving out information that he's not supposed to know."

The footsteps stopped, shifted, and turned back in the other direction. I finally exhaled, listening in to the sounds from their mouths they consistently lowered. "Hey, about that. Why does he know about it? Are you stupid enough to tell your eight year old son about your gun mistake? That occurrence itself is pretty dumb, don't you think? Leaving evidence behind and all, on the property, because you thought it'd be good to 'slip in' with the nosy crowd that wanted to know why police were everywhere to blend in, but telling your child is a whole lot worse. You know how kids talk out of place without knowing any better. If you think about it that way, it is technically you who killed him. If he didn't know, there would've never been a bullet in his brain."

"Well I'm sorry that I'm not a professional murderer like you are. Are you proud that it comes so naturally to you? That you like people dead and watching others be sorrowful?" The husky voice retaliated. Finally peeking around the tree to see them better, the one person stuffed their hands into their pockets, and brought the beanie on their head lower down toward their eyebrows, facing their body in another direction so the most I could get was their side profile, that didn't have prominent features or a clue that gave them away. They didn't know where I was to the pin point, but the two of them both had their guesses, obviously. "Stuff comes out sometimes when you live in a household that actually has people in it that listen to you, even if you're mumbling. I'm sorry you don't have people in yours that care about you. Must be tough."

"You bish." The other answered, offended. An arm was stretched up into the air, and by two bangs, bullets were fired up into the sky to serve as a warning. Based on her stance I was expecting one more shot, but it changed fairly fast with a swift movement to hide it at the back of her waistline. Wailing noises and red and blue lights showed why she got a bit frantic. As smoothly as she talked before about not being afraid of those officials, she couldn't live up to it when they were coming by.

They both ran a bit deeper into the forest before going out into the opposite direction. My chest cracked, realizing that neither of them stayed back to help the helpless, whose condition was critical. One of them lacked in her role as a mother, as much as I'd usually claim I have no say in how someone raises their child, and one of them lacked the meaning of feeling apologetic, empathetic and up to the standard of a living soul.

"Samuel." I called to him myself, when I could manage to get something out, though under a whisper is all it was. I was too afraid to touch him too, in case that would make things worser than they already were, but I kept wishing on whatever out there that would listen, that this can turn out for the better. That he'll be okay in the end. "Samuel, stay with me alright? We're gonna get you help. The paramedics are coming and they're going to make you okay again. Don't give up yet, do you hear me?"

A withering whine came out of him, and nothing else. Putting pressure on the wound that was drenching his surroundings, down his neck, and onto his shirt was too much to bear, but I felt like an idiot to feel that way when I wasn't the one with ammo through my skin.

The drizzle, the ooze, the stream of this bright red was piercing to me too, and though I could never know how it feels, I swear it hurt me, somehow - even if it was in my mind only, even if it was just a phantom. Maybe I wanted for it to transfer to me, maybe I wanted to feel that pain in his spot, maybe I wanted to be the one in risk.

The blood on my hands made me feel like a criminal, but they ached like the innocent, my insides churning, and I had to lift that feeling up to get anything done, instead of be scared of consequences that I'd never have, rightfully.

"Help!" I yelled, the single piece of vocabulary that I needed in a situation like this, a word that was much better off if it didn't have to be said. The cluster of paramedics had passed the forest, and had began searching a little further up the road closer to my house and our store, which grouped a mix of bad memories from Camille's passing back up to my brain. That didn't change from one scream, and I had to debate on leaving his body and bringing them over or staying put and shattering my vocal cords. Getting up and leaving him felt like betrayal. What if I couldn't find this spot in the woods again?

I shouted out to them once more, my throat sore and beginning to burn, willing to take just a few steps away from Sammy. I noticed one person on the team turn their head, unsure of where the sound was coming from, and unsure of where to look. Finding that lead, I waved my hands crazily in the air, in hopes there was at least the minimum amount of light for someone to notice that too, and after a while, the nearest person of the crew did, making their way down the hill from the house and deeper into the forest of trees.

Several of them crowded around the boy, checking up on him and monitoring his condition. One of the group had bombarded me with questions, so used to their job that they didn't have any sympathy for the shock and the trauma that a person had gone through. They'd hold only a pushy attitude to get answers for what went down, without any respect for anything else - the common phrases of us having the need to speak with them, and to come out of whatever trance we are taking over by from the experience.

That's easier said than done. Every sound came out as this high pitched ring in my ears, and I couldn't manage to say a single thing to them. What I saw - it seemed to have happened too fast, and it was all too much to happen in such a small period of time. Shaking my head to come back fully to reality, I couldn't answer anything that they wanted. I had one worry in my head, and nothing else.

That kid knew Mew. He was bringing her back to life in his words. and even described the side of her that I didn't know as the same person that I did. There wasn't any contradiction in her like I once thought there was. He's a good kid, and it bothered me that if I would've told him "no" from the start to take a walk, I would've never gave anyone that opportunity to injure him. I have as much fault as the person behind the trigger.

"How is he? Is he gonna be okay? Take care of him. Please tell me that he's going to heal, that he's going to recover."