Chapter Two ~ Beginning of the End
1151 Words
ONE YEAR LATER
The sky hung low over the cemetery, heavy with clouds that threatened rain but refused to release it. The wind moved slowly, brushing over the rows of graves like fingers turning pages no one wanted to read.
Blake Reyes stood alone before a single headstone, the rest of the world quieting around him.
Today was supposed to be her twenty-fifth birthday.
He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t move. His hands slipped into the pockets of his dark jacket as he stared at the carved letters, each one cut too deep, like a blade pressed straight into stone—and into him.
VANESSA REYES.
BELOVED SISTER AND FRIEND
BORN 2000 - DIED 2023
The name still felt wrong in stone.
A soft touch landed on his shoulder. He turned slightly. Andre Reyes stood behind him, face solemn, eyes lined with the weight of a father who had lost too much already. He stepped beside Blake without a word, their silence folding naturally into the stillness of the graveyard.
“She would be proud to have you as a brother…” Andre said quietly.
Blake exhaled, barely holding himself together.
“Today was supposed to be her twenty-fifth birthday, you know… We had plans.” His voice wavered but kept going anyway. “Things we wanted to do. Places she wanted to visit. Aunt Rita said she was gonna make out time for karaoke night on her next birthday.” A sad, thin smile tugged at his lips. “She wouldn’t stop talking about it.”
Aunt Rita—his mother’s sister, had filled the role of a mother after his own mother passed away the night Vanessa was born. She had always been the glue.
Andre just stood there, listening like he was afraid to break Blake’s fragile balance.
“Don’t push yourself too hard, son,” he finally said. “None of this is your fault… Not like you could have prevented the accident.”
Blake froze.
Slowly, he turned his head toward him, eyes tightening.
“Accident? You still run with that s**t?” His voice cracked into slight anger. “It’s been over a year since Vanessa died and you still believe it was an accident?”
“The doctors said so, Blake.” Andre’s tone hardened slightly. “You’re not a doctor to decide what happened to Vanessa. You weren’t there when it happened. We all saw the car, and the case has already been closed. I think it’s time for you to let go too.”
The words hit Blake the way they always did—hard, suffocating and dismissive.
He looked away, his jaw tensed.
“I should have saved her.” His voice broke, barely audible now. “I was the last person she spoke to before she died.”
Andre tried to comfort him the only way he knew how—quiet, firm and fatherly, but even his presence couldn’t stop the memory from forcing itself back into Blake’s mind.
***********************
FLASH BACK, ONE YEAR AGO. WEDNESDAY, 2:14 P.M.
The office was loud, cluttered and full of the usual chaos of a weekday afternoon. Phones ringing. Papers shuffling. Someone arguing across the hall about God knows what.
Blake sat at his desk, buried in reports, when his phone buzzed.
VANESSA calling…
He frowned, then answered immediately.
“Hello?”
“B…Blake…”
Her voice was barely audible, it was shaky and strained. As if she was in danger and trying to steady her voice, afraid to alert whoever was close by.
He straightened.
“Hello? Vanessa? What is it this time?”
Something crashed faintly in the background, it sounded like glass, or something just as delicate. A muffled argument drifted through the line. Then a harsh, low voice cut in, angry and sharp but not clear enough to understand—barking at her from the shadows as if trying to stop her from speaking
“What now? You calling the cops on me?… Give me that!” the strange voice said.
A scuffle followed—brief but frantic. Then a sharp pull. The phone jerked, scraping against something as the struggle continued.
“Vanessa?” Blake stood up abruptly. “Vanessa, what’s going on? Talk to me.”
But it wasn’t clear. The noises blurred, breathless shuffling can be slightly heard—as if the phone was scraping against someone’s clothes.
For a moment he hesitated, confusion mixing with irritation. Maybe she was with her friends again. Maybe it was nothing.
“Jesus...Vanessa, I’m kinda busy right now,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve got loads of work to do. Speak to you later.”
“Wait...”
But the call had already cut.
He stared at the screen for a moment, uneasy…then pushed the feeling aside. It was the last time he ever heard her voice.
BACK TO THE CEMETERY.
Blake blinked hard, his jaw clenched, the memory sitting heavy in his chest. He knelt and brushed a leaf off her headstone. “I’m sorry, sister… I’m so sorry.”
The wind picked up, moving the petals of the bouquet someone had left earlier. Maybe Aunt Rita. Maybe Close friends. Or maybe someone who just remembered her birthday.
Andre took a slow step toward the path.
“You ready to go now?” he asked quietly
Blake didn't answer, he simply nodded, but his eyes stayed locked on the grave like it was pulling something out of him.
“Alright” Andre murmured, He bent down and set the bouquet he’d bought from the flower shop earlier, tucking it carefully beside the other flowers already resting there. He patted Blake’s shoulder once, then walked toward the car. His footsteps faded across the gravel, the sound swallowed by the wind as he reached the vehicle and waited inside.
Blake stayed where he was.
The moment Andre’s back turned, the mask cracked. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm, the last trace of the tears he hadn’t meant to shed.
Then he leaned forward, close enough that his breath touched the cold marble of the headstone.
“I’m sorry, Nesa…” he whispered.
The words trembled, but his resolve didn’t.
He straightened slowly, eyes burning with something sharper than grief.
Something alive. Something demanding.
“I swear I’ll find who did this to you,” he said, voice low, firm and unshaken. “I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care who’s involved.”
The wind pushed against him like an answer, lifting the edges of the flowers at her grave.
“I won’t let your killers walk free while you stay there beneath the earth…” he murmured. “I’ll get justice for you…even if it destroys me.”
He gave the grave one last look, long enough to hurt, long enough to promise—then turned and walked toward the car.
- Writer
