Her Story

Memories

That night, Moira uncovered the mattress wrapped in plastic in her old bedroom and put a fresh bed sheet on, one she dug out from a packed box in her walk-in, the ones her mother had bought after countless hours of begging. Pink and blue unicorns over a pale blue background. They had been her favorite up until her 'superhero' phase and then she wanted nothing but Wonder Woman lunch boxes and Spiderman bedsheets. She wouldn't be caught dead sleeping on unicorn bedsheets back in Chicago, but she was in her old bedroom and nobody was going to be around to see it.

There was another pile of cardboard boxes in a corner of her room, marked 'do not open'. Curious of what she had packed away, Moira peeled the tape off the top box and pulled out its contents. They were her old notebooks, filled with drawings, doodles and stories she had written. Writing had always been her escape. All through high school, friends or no friends, her notebook had been there to help her pass her time. Characters she had imagined living a life she wanted and people experiencing adventures she dreamed of. Moira could have gone shopping or to the movies with her girlfriends, but she preferred a night away from all of that. Just a Friday night with her notebook and fast food.

A piece of paper slipped out of the notebook Moira was holding and dropped on the carpet. She unfolded the paper and looked down at her scrawled handwriting. Her eyes were wide, and she was awash with unwanted feelings. Not all her stories were fiction. They were also nightmares of truth she could never get rid of…

…My lungs burned. The wind had picked up and I could feel my throat drying, my eyes watering and my lips becoming parched. But I didn't want to stop running.

It was around 8'oclock and there was hardly anyone on the street. Main Street usually started to shut down at 7'o clock when all the shops closed up for the night. Only the restaurants and small cafes were open for dinner time. I ran past an ice cream shop that used to be my favorite. Mom used to bring me here when I was eight. A time, when we weren’t miserable. We had our share of problems, but we were good.

Now, in the middle of winter, I was chasing a lost cause. Streets were covered in snow and Christmas was three weeks away, people still adding to their decorations in their houses or shops. But I didn't want to laugh or smile or celebrate Christmas. I wanted to get rid of the gaping hole in my chest created by my dad. He had packed his suitcase and left us, for another woman. As cliched as it was, we no longer were going to be his responsibility because his whimsical wiles and pregnant secretary.

My legs were about to give out. I had long lost the yellow cab from view, the one my father had sat in without a goodbye. Turning into an alleyway, I crouched down, heaving next to a dumpster. Both my heart and mind were racing against each other. I wanted to hate him so much, but my heart couldn’t. He was going to abandon me and my mother. We were merely a thing at the bottom of a "to do list".

My breath hitched and, in the silence, I heard a moan from the end of the alley. Peeking out from behind the dumpster, all I could see was smoke bellowing from the chimney of The Brie cafe. I rested my head back against the wall, chalking it up to my imagination. It was the piercing scream that came after, rattling me.

Swish. Something sliced through the air. It was the cleanest noise I had heard. No hesitation. My hands braced the wall behind me as I tried to listen closely. It had become eerily quiet again. Everything was still clouded with smoke, but I could make out the glint of something shiny. Metal. Something, or someone, was bent over the concrete floor. The silhouette straightened and through the mist, it disappeared.

The vent from the café whirred. I jumped. Clenching my chest, heart beating fast, I walked out from the shadows of the alley and to the body. Lifeless on her back, and arms splayed in odd angles. Black boots, black tights, a maroon turtleneck and a small apron tied around her tiny waist. Cafe Brie. Pixie haircut, bruised cheeks, mascara running down her face and parted lips. Her final act before death; scream. And then there was the clean parting of skin from one side of her neck to the other, oozing dark crimson liquid, thick but never ending.

Somewhere behind me, a door opened, and another scream echoed through the alley. A crowd started gathering from inside the café. Whispers, camera flashes and a loud voice talking to 911, but all I could do was stare at the girl’s face. Those parted lips as if all the life in her body had escaped through there. Her eyes were open, staring into nothing and her hair was messily laid behind her head. I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me away. Someone wrapped me in a blanket when the alley suddenly lit up with red and blue lights. I could hear murmurs of disbelief. I could still hear her screams…

…Moira clutched the piece of paper in a fist as the memory played like a film in her mind. She was impressed and scared at how much her fifteen-year mind had detailed the event. If she hadn’t ran away that night from home, she wouldn’t have stumbled upon murder. Every night, she was haunted by the same image, the pooling of blood and her dead eyes, pleading up to the sky. No therapist could erase that image in her mind and no cop ever brought the dead girl justice. Countless statements and hour of sitting at the police station had only kept the memory alive in Moira’s eyes. It was the summer her whole life had changed.

 This town taunted her. It made her feel helpless and alone. She never wanted to come back to this town and she knew she had to get out of here or she would suffocate.

**************************

The phone rang early in the morning. In a daze, Moira pressed the green button on the screen and groggily greeted the other person on the line.

“You are back in Hardy and you didn’t think to mention it?” Her best friend, Beatrice Stenson, complained on the other end.

“It was my managers untimely stunt, Bee,” Moira yawned near the speaker. She sat up on the mattress and looked at the screen of the phone. It was seven in the morning, “Why are you up so early?”

“I got a strange call from your boyfriend,” Bee huffed, as if blowing a stray hair dangling in front of her face.  “Wanted to know where you were cause apparently you didn’t tell him either. Why are you being distant?” Her irritated voice boomed in Moira’s ear and she had to hold it away from her face.

“Bee, please, it’s too early for this,” Moira trudged to the bathroom and unzipped the toiletry bag, removing her toothbrush and toothpaste. “Plus, I left right after the Rowley interview. It’s a one-day event hosted by the Mayor and I want to leave as soon as I can. It wasn’t worth mentioning.”

“Well it would have been nice if you had at least texted me, or I don’t know, your live-in boyfriend,” Bee whined just as Moira started brushing her teeth.

“Mhmm”

“Mhmm is right!”

“Wait, how did you find out I was in Hardy?” Moira asked after spitting into the sink.

 “Your socials of course. ‘Moira Veer in Hardy’ was a big flashing notification on i********:,” Bee said begrudgingly. “So, the Mayor is hosting huh? Is this the same Mayor who was high school crush of our famous author?”  

Moira laughed as she washed her face. As she started at the mirror, Moira noticed the girlish smile spreading across her face. She thought back to the girl who still believed in the ‘love at first sight’ concept and how heartbroken she was when she never got to reveal her feelings to her childhood friend. She remembered the look on his face when he ran up next to her in that alley, fresh with tears as he watched his sister’s body being covered with a white cloth. How she could never hold him and comfort him.

Her breathing slowed suddenly as she recalled more details from that night. Time moved slow as she watched Derrick sink onto his knees next to her. She could hear her heart hammering and her pulse quicken when the stretcher passed her with the body, vacant eyes watching Moira. It was cloudy suddenly and Moira closed her eyes, inhaling in short bursts. There was no air, just the smoke from the café blowing in the alleyway. It smelled like fresh baked bread mixed in with the sharp taste of blood. Blood. Moira had bit her tongue and blood was swirling inside her mouth. Tapping her palm on her chest, she tried to inhale again in quick pants.

“Moira? Moira? Are you there?” the phone crackled with Bree’s voice.

She tried to speak. She tapped her palm on her chest to calm her down but all she could feel was her throat and nose blocked.

“Honey are you okay?” Bee’s panic was blatant. “Moira, should I call someone. Is this another panic attack? I know that town holds some disturbing memories for you but focus on my voice. Oh god, just focus on my voice and think of happy thoughts.”

Moira closed her eyes and tried to picture anything but that night. Her dog back in Chicago; the unicorns on the bedsheet that had made her so happy. She tried to imagine the smell of fresh lavender from her backyard, her safe haven, surrounded by basil and roses. In an instant, she felt her nerves relax, the twist in her stomach untying and she gasped for air. She leaned over the sink to spit out the blood collecting in her mouth. It was like someone had finally popped the cork of the wine bottle and let the air out.

“Here,” Moira breathed hoarsely.

“You frightened the f**k out of me Moira,” even Bee let out a loud huff of breath from the other side. “You haven’t had an attack like that in a while. Are you sure you should be doing this?”

“No, it’s not a good idea.” Moira looked at herself in the mirror, the color setting back in her cheeks. “But I’ll deal with it.”