Rise of the fallen

My alarm goes off as I open my eyes. Groggy from staying up late developing pictures. Good job, MJ, I think, pulling myself off of the bed. Putting on the soft silk dress I picked out years ago for this very day, I think back to the picture of my mother. Her tan skin glowed with hints of olive in the sun; her hair was as dark as night brushed to conceal a secret that she wasn't yet ready to reveal. Her red dress with white polka dots fit her figure so well, but even that wasn't enough to keep her secret a secret. Then, just three days before going home to the states to her family, the tiny thing growing in her belly decided to reveal itself. It's all I have left of her now, that picture and this dress.   "s**t, I'm late!" I grab my bag before heading to my little black bug. Bugzy was my ol' reliable. She got me around everywhere and has been my trusty car since my mother passed ten years ago. Tossing my bag into the back seat, I head for the town square for the press conference.   The old jenny memorial was starting to get packed. I reminisce once again about my mother as I smooth the wrinkles out of my dress and head for the podium next to the well filled with old decaying flowers from people still paying their respects to little jenny. My mother used to take me here as a kid when I was younger—forever fascinated with the little jenny who fell down the well in our itty bitty small town in Texas. It's the biggest thing that ever happened around here. That is until the Bushtown killer. The whole reason I'm here in this square is that my dad, who happens to be the governor of the state, is giving a press conference to talk about the actions that the police will take to find the killer.   As I set up my tripod and camera, the hustle and bustle of reporters all around me gets louder. I put my headphones in, listening to calming music to drown out the sound and zooming into the podium as my dad begins his speech. The wind is light today as it rustles throughout the blooming trees sending pollen everywhere. Sneezing, I bump my camera lightly, knocking it off-center. Then, pressing my face back to the camera, I notice a commotion on the fire escape across the square.                                                                                                                                                           -Her heart thumping loudly, each step seems like a mountain to her as she frantically runs up the fire escape only to be grabbed by her assailant. She tries to kick him off using her other foot, allowing her to get a few more steps before he grabs ahold of her again. "Please! don't do this! Why are you doing this?" she pleads with her attacker. Mustering every bit of strength she has left, she kicks him hard in the chest. He stumbles back, allowing her to climb onto the rooftop. Her bare feet slip several times as she fumbles across the loose gravel on the building. Hoping and praying she can reach the door on time. She can see the door.   Fear fills her mind, not letting her adrenaline run out just yet. Finally reaching the door, she tries to fling it open. Yank... Pull... Nothing… The door won’t budge, and the man is now on the roof with her. She can see his smirk in his deep-set eyes. A twitch under his black ski mask confirms his smile. "Please! Don’t do this! I beg you! Let me live! " Ignoring her pathetic pleas, He grabs her by the throat, raising her to her feet. Slowly he inches her toward the side. Little by little, with each step, she sobs harder, begging and pleading for her life.-                                                                                                                                                           I can't close my eyes. I can't stop watching... I can't even open my mouth to tell anyone. I am in shock. this isn't happening. I lean into my camera once again, staring at the young blonde girl. She fit the profile, but the murder was wrong. Who do I tell... What do I do? I begin to breathe harder and harder the longer I stare at her fear-filled face, mangled from the fall. Blood flows onto the sidewalk around her as a crowd begins to form. I scream; knowing nothing else to do, I scream. The press swarms me. I feel like I can’t breathe. With each question, the air flows out of my body, being drowned by the words of my fellow peers. The closer and closer they get, the less I can breathe. Everything is fuzzy. It is all happening so fast. I reach for my camera, trying to steady myself. As it slips from my hand, I feel the searing pain when my head meets the sidewalk.                                                                                                                                                           Fluttering my eyes open, the light above me blinds me, forcing me to cover my eyes and close them once again. The pungent smell of alcohol and iodine hits my nose as I notice the beeping machines around me. Wincing at the sting of the iv in my arm, I look around to see dad fast asleep in the chair beside my bed. That man has the infinity to fall asleep as soon as his butt hits a chair. This is why we can't go to Sunday services. I sit up and clear my throat as  Dads’ eyes flutter open. "Morning sunshine," my smile is weak but noticeable. " Good morning to yourself. I thought this was supposed to be a simple assignment about the press conference, and then I watched you almost get trampled by the press?! What happened? Someone said you witnessed a murder?!” His face begins to turn red with frustration "I watched as a man in a mask threw that poor woman off the roof..." I wince at the terrifying memory of her blood-stained dress. Her body contorted and mangled as blood filled the concrete around her. "What did you see?” The concern on his face is apparent. “Nothing.” I whisper as the image flashes before my eyes once again, “I watched him throw her off the roof, but I didn’t see his face.” “You’re sure you didn’t see anything else?” he presses. “No, dad. I didn’t see anything else. Can we discuss Rainey jay?” I ask, hoping the subject will change. I know I will have to repeat the story to the authorities, but I need peace from the horrific picture etching itself into my brain. “You just witnessed a murder, and you want to talk about your sister?” He half-heartedly chuckles. “Priorities pops!” I exclaim. Seeing the plea in my eyes, dad brushes a few stray hairs behind my ear and whispers, “Let’s just focus on one crazy person at a time?”   As I approach my old yet sturdy red door to my apartment, I can hear the love of my life crying for me on my bed. I open the heavy door and hang my keys. I miss him. I always do when I’m gone for long periods during the day. I hate having to lock him in my room, but it’s the only way I can keep him from getting into trouble. I walk towards the slight whine/ sigh coming from my room, making a detour at the hall closet to grab one of his favorite snacks. Time to face the demon. I slowly open the door and see his little face pop out from the pile of pillows and blankets on my bed. He’s a big dog but doesn’t tell him that; he’d never forgive you. Now seeing the treat, he leaps from the bed. Thud. Instantly my thoughts go to the time and neighbors below. They’ve never really had a problem with him in the past, but I don't want to give them a reason to report my 70-pound pit.  I hand over the treat willingly, and he scarfs it down in an instant. Walking to the kitchen, I can hear his big bear paws padding on the carpet after me. He knows what time it is. Dinner time. He may be a big dog, but he eats like a frilly show dog. Warm ground canned meat with half a cup of dry dog food. He won’t eat it cold; he won’t eat it hot and sure as hell won’t eat it without the canned food. See what I mean by frilly? Picky. If that’s the cost of a good dog’s love, I’m willing to pay. Once Lucky is fed, I take out my camera in hopes I can salvage what pictures I did manage to take. THUNK! The camera hits the wall. The lens shattered beyond repair; the camera won't even turn on. There’s no way I can fix it. Luckily the film is fine. I head towards my spare room. It’s not much, but it works as a dark room for now. I begin the process of developing each negative, placing each paper perfectly under the light. As I start to hang what I’m hoping will pass as a somewhat decent piece at the magazine, I notice something in one of the pictures. Grabbing my magnifying glass, I stare closely at an old red brick apartment. Yellow and purple flowers hang out the window, blocking the face of the woman. Faintly, In the back, a dark figure lurks. Quickly I start to check the other images. I know this man.  I’ve stared at this man every other day at dinner my whole life. Jumping at the sound of the phone, I think to myself, feeling froggy, MJ? I can’t help but laugh at my stupid little joke before answering the phone with a simple, “hello?” “MJ! About earlier, are you sure you don’t remember anything?” My dad’s deep voice buzzes in my ear. “Dad, I remember everything.” “You do?!” His voice is becoming higher than usual. “Ya,” clarifying my answer, “but I didn’t see anything. The killer was wearing a ski mask.” “Did you get any pictures?” He continues to question me as if searching for something. Should I tell him? Does my dad have a secret doppelganger here to destroy his reputation, or is my sweet teddy bear dad a killer? Of course, we always joke about RJ being crazy, but maybe it’s a family trait? “No, my camera was destroyed when I fell on it. It looks like I’ll be needing a new one.” I glance over at the broken camera by my feet, deciding its best not to till I know all the facts. “useless piece of- “ “I’m sorry to hear that, honey,” Dad's words seem to be rushed, ”look, I just wanted to check up on you. I have to go, sweetheart! Love you! Bye!”