NIP 28

Brad holds up a battered envelope. Amanda Hayes is written on the outside of the envelope. It is sealed. I snatch the envelope out of Brad’s hand. Without thought, I tear it open.

“Dear Amanda.” I evenly read aloud. “I love you so much my sweet baby girl. The only lesson I am able to teach you is this-Life is not always as it seems. I will live out my days missing you and wishing we had a much different ending. Please know in your heart I did not murder your mother and step-father. You will read articles and encounter people who will try to tell you otherwise. I am being punished for this crime and I chose this fate. I chose this fate to keep you safe and make this nightmare end. If you ever want to know me please come find me. I will always welcome you. This is your decision my sweet. I will wake every morning hoping to see you again and be given your understanding and love. When the time is right I will explain all of this to you my love. I love you with all my heart and soul. Your father, Ed.”

My lips rest. My eyes stay on my father’s cursive handwriting. Most father’s handwriting is so familiar to their children but not in my case. A tear threatens to escape down my cheek. I inhale…deeply, violently, mystified.

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Oh Marcy. I am so sorry. You were the most wonderful person I ever knew. You didn’t deserve this! I choke on my tears. Rage consumes me. I sit helpless and pathetic tied to this chair. It is pitch black except for the TV inches from me…my only friend. My enemy.

This nightmare has been silent for hours now. I have no hope. This is nothing but the calm before the storm. Oh Amanda, where are you? Are you safe?

“You’re a prick baby.” His gruff and gruesome voice announces his presence. “Cry prick baby.”

“Fuck off.” Defiance is my new weapon. I have played along for years…for decades…and I am done.

“Ahh…acceptance of your situation. Nice.” His smirk is disgusting. My muscles flex under these ropes. I grit my teeth and fight the pain trying to break free. “Ha. Ha. Weak. Weak. Weak. You are weak.”

“Oh no. You are a weak piece of shit!” I spit in his face. He lunges forward. My face stings from his powerful strike. I taste blood.

“Like that!” His eyes are wild with lunacy. “Want more?!?”

“I kept your secrets and lies all of these years. So why…why now are you eliminating everyone in my life.” I roll my tongue over my teeth to ensure he did not knock any out.

“In your life. HA! What life? Please. Spare me the psycho babble. You know exactly who I am and what I am capable of.” He hisses.

“Bravo. Bravo.” My blood boils. I switch tactics. I need to get to his level in order to reserve manipulate. This man has turned being a sociopath into an art form. I must think faster on my feet to outsmart this fucker.

“Alright. I’ll bite. I’ll tell you everything. You’re dead anyway.” He nonchalantly crouches next me. His vicious energy penetrates my skin. His breath burns my nostrils. “Too many connections threaten my secret. How was I to ever predict Sari Clarke would get so close to me.?. Ha. Fuckin’ funny! And thus…everyone near it...near me must be removed. I’ve made it this far. And I REFUSE to lose.”

“Asshole!” My veins pump thick out of my neck. I lose my cool. Amanda cannot be punished for any of this…a mere coincidence. I scream until my throat is raw. “You win! You win! You win! You win! You always have. You are a sick bastard. You are as twisted as those you put in prison.”

“Nah.” To my dismay, he is cool as a cucumber. “I get shit done.”

He coolly saunters out in the footsteps he entered. With a sinister hiss he says, “Don’t take your eyes of that screen. Breaking news…BAM!”

His menacing snigger echoes his departure.

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My fingers anxiously fumble sorting through thousands of photos, letters, memos, magnets and scraps of paper. The tips of them are raw. We have been edgily hunkered down over these boxes for hours. Countless hours. All contents are haphazardly strewn about. I no longer have any desire to leave Aunt Clara’s personal effects in tact. I tender the same respect for her items as she has my life.

“Sar, slow down.” Brad sympathetically rests his hands on my knotted shoulders. “Let’s take a break.”

“Can’t. Won’t. Ed is innocent. I can’t fucking believe this.” I pant. I rant. “Aunt Clara is somehow responsible for all of this. My gut knows it. Look at all this crap! Who in the world has this much compiled junk? She is hiding something! She is destroying my family. Has destroyed…”

“My gut is not so sure.” Brad swallows in trepidation.

I aggressively pivot shocked.

“Are you having temporary memory loss???” My pitch is piled high with derision.

Brad composedly clears his throat.

“That letter from Ed was unopened. Consider this…if she was behind all of this then she would have read the letter and then burned it. She would have disposed of all the evidence of betrayal and admission of innocence and/or guilt. Follow me? She didn’t know. She thought Ed was guilty. I am sure of it.” With renewed determination Brad kneels before a box, his eyes spotlight its contents as his theory uninvitedly forces its way into my thought process. “She was saving that letter for you.”

“She never gave it to me!” I am indignant. My fingers stiffened into fists. I bang on the mound of boxes in my wingspan.

“There is more to story. We’ll find it.” Brad’s eyes are kind. They are begging for my patience and cooperation. “We’ll find it.”

I defiantly say nothing and resume my tireless dig. I belligerently sigh with a juvenile roll of my eyes. I catch a glimpse of fanned photo albums fallen from the pile of boxes I knocked over. I free one album. The album is dated 1973. I toss it to the side. I pick up another album…it is dated 1974. And 1975. And 1976. And 1977.

“Brad…look.” I confidently present the albums. This is it. I know it. I feel it. I am sure. I found it! I have no words to express my triumph.

“Holy shit. Open them!” His face eagerly lights up.

I push our search debris aside. I conscientiously lay out the 1979 album. The year I was born. Cheek to cheek we impatiently hover over each page of the album. The photographs are dingy and yellow. The people look like they are dressed in costumes. Even my mother and aunt are barely recognizable to me with outdated hairstyles and fashion.

“There’s Ed!” I shriek. Ed is leaning against a blue Volkswagen Bug. His emerald eyes caught my attention…despite the photo’s distortion they remain so green. Just like mine. His hair is tossled. His smile is magnificent. The corners of my mouth involuntarily try to turn up.

“Yes!” Brad nearly applauds. “We got it. We are on track now. Is this Aunt Clara?” Brad points to a picture of my Aunt sitting on some guy’s lap. The photo gives off a promiscuous vibe. Something strikes me as odd about this picture.

“Yeah, that’s her. But something is off.” To get a closer look I slip the photo out of its cover. The photo is so small. Much smaller than even a 3”x 5”. I zoom in on my Aunt. What is weird about this photo of her? My vision pans left on the man. I prickle. That’s it. “This guy is familiar.”

“Really? Who is he?” Brad asks.

I shrug.

Brad takes the photo out of my hand. His fingers graze mine and the electricity is palpable. “Whoa!”

“What?” I attempt to regain composure quickly as if Brad can read my thoughts. He didn’t…right?

“Sari.” Brad uneasily murmurs. “This is Hughes.” His dilated pupils swallow up his hazel irises. My stunned reflection is staring back at me.

“Did you say Hughes?” I stutter. Neither of us blink.

“Yes. Detective Hughes.” Brad’s straight face is as smooth as a 10 year old boy.

‘Glamourous. G.L.A.M…” Fergie is announcing a text from Lizi. Without hesitation I snatch my phone out of my back pocket.

Message 1
FROM: Lizi

Sounds great sis. I could use a twirl. C U soon.

“Wha…” My mouth agape. “See you soon. What is….why? What?” My forehead crinkles in utter confusion.

“Did you text her?” Brad harmonizes my perplexity. “Is she coming here?”

“No.” The panic launches in the tips of my toes. “I didn’t. Who is she responding to? Who is she meeting?”