Murder Mystery of Arck

Summers and Winters

I was about twelve when I started understanding the world. That’s about the age you step out the little bubble your parents keep you in to protect you. That’s when you start noticing what’s happening around you.

It was also the age I took interest in reading the newspapers. I used to think it was such a waste of time. There was too much reality in newspapers for me to handle.

I used to wake up early and wait outside for the newspaper to arrive. I wanted to be the first to read it; before my mother and father did. After reading everything I did, my mood would either be disturbed or made; depending on the news. There were times when you read something nice.

After a few months of doing this, I read something that baffled me. I remember this rather vividly considering my blurry memories. It was the first I read about suicide. I had heard the term before but never gave it that amount of thought.

It baffled me to think that someone would take their own life. I never understood the things people had to bear; struggles in their lives they had to live with.

Life was nothing but timing passing by for me. I would go to school, come back home, take a nap and study. That was my life. There were no struggles for me, except for the burdens of being the firstborn.

Even this burden didn’t hit me till I was fourteen and my brother’s teacher called me in the office to inform me about my brother’s wrongdoings. I was silent the entire time, looking at my feet, unable to say anything.

Richard whined on the way home and tried to convince me that he didn’t do anything wrong. I heard him till the end and thought how could my brother think that he did nothing wrong.

Yes, he was only eleven and immature. Yes, he was a little annoying- he still is. But I never would have thought that he would fight someone.

‘You hit another person and that is wrong, Richie.’ I remember saying. I remember him clenching his jaw, holding back his words. Later that day, mum and dad scolded him at the dinner table.

But I still thought something was wrong. I realized I didn’t know why he fought a boy a year older than him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four years ago

“I’m going for a walk with Angie,” I said as I ran down the stairs. It had been a while since my best friend and I went for a walk after dinner. “Be back in an hour,” mum shouted from the kitchen. She was washing dishes; I could hear the water running.

I clutched the woolen sweater I was wearing closer to my body as I wore my shoes. It was awfully cold that night, but I liked it. As soon as I stepped out, I saw Angie waiting for me on the sidewalk in front of my house. She huffed when she saw me and put her hands on her hips.

“Couldn’t hurry up, could you?” she said as I started walking towards her, “It’s not like I’m going to die of this godforsaken weather.”

I rolled my eyes at her dramatics. She liked summers more than winters. We were pretty much polar opposites, but ‘it was nice. We could make each other try things one of us hated’, she said once when I pointed it out.

We usually talked about what was going on in our respective classes. She didn’t like the class she was in and even asked the class teacher to change classes.

But the teacher refused, although indirectly, saying that she should try and adjust in the new class and environment. She soon realized that she wouldn't be able to change classes, so she gave up. It was a headache to talk to teachers again and again about the same thing.

“Richard fought a boy today,” I said, looking straight ahead. She immediately spoke, without giving it any thought, “Did he win the fight?” I looked at her; her eyes were widened, shining with curiosity, and her eyebrows were raised in excitement as she looked back at me.

“Yeah, I suppose he did,” I murmured. Her face glowed when she smiled ear-to-ear and exclaimed, “Good for him. Why did he fight, though?” I shrugged, turning my gaze to the ground.

“I don’t know,” I said after a moment of silence. “Did you ask him?” she questioned, bumping her shoulder to mine. “No, I didn’t. I just-” I muttered, pausing before I continued, “-I just assumed that he did something wrong.”

I stopped walking and sighed, my fingers fiddled with one another in anxiousness. I sat down on the sidewalk and hugged my legs. Angie sat down next to me; I rested my head on her shoulder.

“You’re going to talk to him, right?” she said, resting her head on mine, “You should, you know.” I closed my eyes, taking in the bitter cold air and mumbled, “I know.”

She sighed before wrapping her arm around me, patting my back. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Rosie,” she said. There was this warmth in her voice that reassured you and comforted you. “He did hit a person, didn’t he? I’m sure there were better ways to deal with the situation; whatever it may be,” she continued.

I hummed in response. We just sat in silence for a long time after that. She didn’t stop patting my back for one second. I knew I could always rely on Angie. I could tell her everything; what made me happy and what bothered me.

I just hoped she knew she could rely on me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After I returned home that night, I talked to Richie about what happened. The boy he punched was teasing a girl in his class. Richard thought it was alright the first 2-3 times. ‘That’s what boys do’ he thought.

After the girl told the boy to stop teasing her and that it was enough, he continued and even started getting physical. Richard could take it anymore and tried telling the boy off. The boy punched first and, naturally, Richard responded.

I patted his back and said that I was glad he stood up for his fellow classmate and that he punched the boy hard enough to bring him to his senses. Nevertheless, I also told him that in any other situation; he should avoid choosing violence as much as possible.

I handed an ointment before bidding him good night. A smile found its way to my lips as I closed the door to his room. I knew he wouldn’t fight anyone for no reason.

I should have trusted him more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walk along the fence line towards the other end of the graveyard. There are shades of trees covering the graves there. I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket; I regretted giving Sebastian his overcoat back since it hasn’t stopped snowing and it is starting to get chillier. But it’s fine. He must be cold too.

Sebastian catches up to me after a while. He just keeps walking quietly beside me. I’m sure he wanted to ask where we were going, but thought it would be better to just follow. I won’t really mind if he asks. The person I loved died a long time ago.

I stop walking and stand in front of the grave of the person I have loved and admired more than anyone. I knew her the most and more than anyone I have ever met; the person who had always comforted me and supported me. She had seen me cry and she had seen me laugh.

She was there when I was the happiest. But she is not here when I feel the most trapped.

“This is my best friend,” I say after taking a deep breath, “Angelina Daisy Cameron; ‘Angie’ for short. She committed suicide when we were 15.”

I look at him. He is already looking at me with softened eyes that hold an understanding in them. He knows what it’s like to lose someone you love. I wasn’t planning on telling him but I wanted to share it with him for a long time, knowing that he would understand.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he mumbles, bowing his head with respect. I look back at the tombstone and point my finger at him and say, “This is Sebastian Worde. We study at the same university. Sorry for visiting after a long time. I’ll try to come more often.”

“Pleased to meet you, Angie,” He says, putting his hands behind his back, “Your friend and I are working together for something. And I am keeping her from failing in the university-”

“-I’m sorry, but those are my own efforts,” I interrupted him after giving him a look of disbelief. He chuckles slightly, bumping his shoulder in mine. I shake my head and smile at the grave in front of me.

I wish she was here. She would have liked him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three years ago

“Her diary,” Angie’s mother said, handing me a worn leather book, “She left it for you.” I took the book in my hands and stared at it. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cameron,” I said, looking at the frail woman in front of me.

It had been two days since Angie committed suicide. Everyone had gathered at her house after attending the funeral.

I walked out of the house and sat down on the porch. It was the middle of the summer season; after a long time, I could feel the sunlight on my skin.

It wasn’t even for a brief moment before the grey clouds consumed the warmth. I was surprised to see the clear sky as it had been raining just a few days ago. Angie liked this kind of weather.

I turned the pages of the diary till I reached the last entry.

April 19, 1974

Today was a wonderful day. It is still cloudy, but I haven’t lost hope for the sunlight to shine. It could be any day soon. Rosie was in the mood to devour ice-cream on our way home, so we bought some. It was her treat.

She was very happy today because she received her allowance the day before. I hadn’t seen her smile in a long time, but I’m glad I did today.

We were talking about what we wanted to do as this was our last year, walking around the park near my house. Rosie said that she wanted to do something that was meaningful.

“Although all jobs and careers are useful and beneficial,” she exclaimed, sitting down on a swing, “I want to do something that is meaningful and helpful to everyone.”

She has always been like this. Even though she was calculated and sometimes confused about what she felt, she would always think about others before doing anything. I am grateful for her friendship.

She has always been there for me whenever I needed her and I know that she’ll always stand up for me and correct me if I am wrong. That was the kind of friendship I yearned for and I still couldn’t believe I’ve got her.

And it is no surprise that she is the person who comes to my mind when I am at my lowest.

I hope you read this someday, Rosie. And I hope you understand that there are no words in this world and in any language that can describe my love for you.

I hope you understand that I am truly sorry for leaving you. There is nothing you could have done, I’m afraid. And I want you to know that I am not scared and that you’ll always be my friend, my sister.

With all my love,

Angie C.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Let’s go,” I say as I turn around and start walking towards the entrance of the cemetery. Sebastian doesn’t follow until after a few moments have passed. He was mumbling something, but I couldn’t make out the words.

“We should visit Mark’s family,” He exclaims as we walk out of the graveyard. Eric is no longer standing outside the car. I could see him sort some papers out through the windshield. “Before that, could you perhaps gather some information on the officer?” I ask.

“Already ahead of you,” he says, opening the car door for me. I mumble a ‘thank you’ and slide in with a frown on my face. What does he mean by ‘already ahead of me’?

He sits down opposite me after taking off his overcoat. “Eric, did you find anything?” He questions, holding out his hands for something. “Of course, I did,” Eric replied, handing Sebastian the papers in his hands, “What do you take me for?”

He passes me some of the papers and says, in a commanding voice, “Names of all the police officers and police stations that work in an eight mile radius from our university. The underlined ones are female officers. What was her name again?”

“Officer Linda Stevenson,” I replied, going through each and every underlined name. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?” Eric asks. It seems like he already knows the answer to that question.

“Thank you, Eric,” Sebastian says, without giving him a glance. He sighs from the driver’s seat and questions, nonchalantly, “Where to?”

“Walter Road, Uphill.”

I glance at Sebastian, before focusing back on the work in front of me. “Is that where his family lives?” I ask, not being able to hold back the question. “Yes,” he answers.

We should pick up some flowers to pay our respects. I forgot to remind him before we came here. As I am thinking about which flowers to pick, my eyes fall on the name I was searching for.

‘Name: Linda Mary Stevenson. Police Station: Rosemary Street, Chester Arck.’

“Found her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~