Eclipse

MURDER WEAPON

ECLIPSE - CHAPTER 5:

Marcus woke up and did not know where he was.

That was the first thought. Not who he was, not what happened. Where.

The ceiling above him was not his ceiling. His ceiling at home was high, white, smooth, with recessed lights that his interior designer had called "cloud lighting." This ceiling was low. Cracked in the corner. The paint was peeling in a small patch. And there was a faded square in the middle of it. A perfect square, lighter than the rest of the paint. Something square that had been taken down very recently.

He sat up too fast.

The sheets were plain white. Not his 800-thread-count sheets. Small. The bed was small. One bedroom. One window with cheap blinds. The room smelled like old coffee and paper and fried chicken from two days ago.

His mouth was dry. His head pounded so hard his vision pulsed. On his ankle, something was beeping. Slow. Red light.

Beep... beep... beep.

The ankle monitor.

He couldn't remember . Not the night Kayden died — he still couldn't remember that — not last night.All he could remember is falling asleep after thinking about Kay

He swung his legs off the bed. Barefoot. His black hoodie was on the floor next to him. He picked it up. His hand was shaking.

He walked out of the bedroom.

Elena was in the kitchen.

She was wearing a plain grey t-shirt, not the black tuxedo, not a blazer. It was too big for her, hanging off one shoulder. Her hair was tied up messy, not severe and pulled back like in court. She looked younger like this. Not 25 and undefeated. Just 25.

She was chopping meat.

On a thick wooden board, big chunks of raw beef. She had a large kitchen knife, the chef kind, heavy, sharp. She was chopping fast, hard, like she was angry at the meat. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The sound was loud in the small apartment.

The knife had blood on it. Fresh blood from the meat, bright red, running down the steel blade onto her fingers and onto the board.

She didn't hear him at first over the chopping.

Marcus stood in the bedroom doorway, hoodie in hand, and watched her. A woman in a grey t-shirt chopping raw meat with blood on her hands in an apartment where the walls had faded squares where his face used to be.

Then she looked up.

And saw him.

She froze, knife in mid-air. Her eyes went wide.

Without thinking, still holding the bloody knife, she raised it up with both hands, like a greeting.

"Welcome to my home!" she said. Loud. Too loud.

Marcus froze. His whole body went stiff. His eyes locked on the knife. The blood dripping from it.

In her head, Elena screamed at herself.

_Get a grip of yourself. Get a grip of yourself, Elena. He is your client.

She lowered the knife slightly. Her hands were still bloody.

She tried again. Professional voice. But it cracked.

"Nice to meet you again, Mr. Marcus," she said. It sounded like a grimace.

Marcus took a step back. His bare foot hit the cold floor.

Elena, still holding the knife, stepped forward to explain. "I was making — I was —"

She was still pointing the knife towards him without realizing it. The morning light caught the blade and the red light from his ankle monitor reflected in it, blinking red on red.

Beep... beep... beep.

Marcus took another step back. Fast.

She took another step forward, still holding the knife out.

He stepped back quickly until his back hit the wall of her small hallway. Hard. His knees gave out. He slid down the wall and fell to the floor, sitting, hoodie crumpled under him, white polo riding up, ankle monitor flashing red.

He was breathing hard, staring at the knife.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry!" Elena gasped.

She dropped the knife immediately into the sink. It clattered loud. She ran to the tap and washed blood off her hands fast. "I'm sorry, it's just beef, I was making stew, I swear it's just beef!"

The water ran pink for a second, then clear.

Marcus didn't say anything. He stood up slowly, using the wall. He picked up his hoodie and walked to the door.

"Marcus — wait —" Elena said, hands wet.

He opened her door. Just one lock. One click. Not three. Her apartment only had one. It was normal. It was the only house in this whole story that didn't have three locks. And he walked out. Barefoot, white polo dirty, hoodie in hand, ankle monitor beeping red, down five flights.

Elena stood in her kitchen, wet hands, knife in the sink, heart pounding.

---

The street was cold. Morning in Brooklyn. Garbage trucks beeping.

Ethan was coming up the stoop with two coffees, his hoodie on backwards. He had been sitting on the stoop all night.

He saw Marcus coming down. Barefoot.

Marcus saw Ethan.

Marcus ignored him. Walked past him, shoulder almost hitting him, not saying a word.

Ethan ignored him back. Just watched him go, then went inside.

Elena was holding a dish towel, hands still shaking.

"He ran," she said.

"I saw," Ethan said. "I don't think he's a morning person or....he woke up on the wrong side of the bed"He smiled trying to make a joke

"Ha ha so funny" She threw the towel. "I said welcome to my home with a bloody knife to a man on trial for stabbing.Laughing to a silly joke isn't on my morning list"

She wiped her face. Lawyer mode back on.

"I need to go to his house. For evidence. Black Box gave me the emergency key. I need to see the bedroom before they seal it for trial. The three locks. The spot."

---

Marcus's house in the hills was quiet again.

Black Box had paid to move the press two blocks down. Two guards at the gate knew her face.

"Ms. Blake, house is still sealed, but you have the key."

"I do," she said.

She used it. Front door, inner gate, outer gate. Three locks. Click, click, click. The sound was heavy, metallic. Not like her one lock at home. This was the sound that mattered. The sound Mrs. Smith made every night. The sound Marcus said was locked when Kayden died.

She stepped inside. Air conditioning too cold. Marble floor shining. Mrs. Smith had cleaned everything. Too clean.

She went to the master bedroom. Police tape across the door, cut and retaped. She ducked under.

The bedroom was huge. Bigger than her whole apartment. New white carpet where the old one had blood. On the floor, near the window, a faint darker patch where bleach had eaten into the sealant.

She knelt where Marcus had knelt. Took pictures with her phone.

She heard the front door open downstairs.

"Hello? NYPD? This house is supposed to be sealed!"

Elena stood up fast, gloves on. "I'm counsel! Elena Blake, Sterling & Cole! Authorization!"

Footsteps up the stairs. A man in a navy suit that cost more than her rent, hair slicked back, briefcase.

He stopped in the doorway and stared at her. And Elena's blood ran cold.

"Jace?"

Jace Miller. 27. Senior Deputy District Attorney. Her rival since Brooklyn Prep.

He had bullied her since sophomore year. He was the one who started it all. In 10th grade, in the cafeteria, he and two boys had poured a whole carton of spoilt milk on her head because she had beaten him in a debate and she never washed her hair in the morning because she studied late. It was clumpy, sour, white, running down her black hair, her white shirt. The whole cafeteria laughed. They filmed it. They called her Stinky for a month. Stinky Blake. She had to go home early. She never forgot the smell.

He was the only person who had ever beaten her in moot court — once, in 11th grade — and he never let her forget it.

"Oh wow," he said, smiling slow, the same bully smile from high school. He looked her up and down, gloves, evidence bags. "If it isn't Stinky. Stinky Blake. In a murder house. With gloves you aren't allowed to use. Still trying so hard."

Elena's hands balled into fists inside the latex gloves. Her face went red, not from embarrassment, from anger she had held since she was fifteen.

"Don't call me that," she said, voice flat, cold.

"What? Stinky?" He stepped into the bedroom, stepping right on the spot where Kayden died. "Why not? You earned it. You smelled like spoilt milk for a week. Remember? Everyone remembers. You ran out crying."

"You bullied me in high school, Jace. You poured milk on me. You're not going to bully me in court."

"I didn't bully you," he said, opening his briefcase. "I taught you how to lose. Which you're about to do for the first time in your life. Twenty-eight and one. Has a nice ring to it, Stinky."

He pulled out a file and read loud.

"We have fingerprints on the kitchen knife, Stinky. Murder weapon. Marcus Hale's. Clear. We have blood spatter on his white polo that matches Kayden's DNA. We have Mrs. Smith, your precious three-locks lady, who heard Marcus and Kayden arguing at 11:47 PM about going solo. She heard him shout, quote, 'If you leave, I'll kill you. Eclipse dies if you leave.' Sworn statement. And we have no forced entry. Three locks, right? Front door, inner gate, outer gate. Mrs. Smith locked them from outside. No one could get in. No one could get out. Only Marcus and Kayden inside. And now Kayden is dead. It's over."

He walked past her, close, whispering.

"You have a client who says 'I don't remember' and 'the sky went dark.' I have a jury that will hear jealousy. Who do they believe, Stinky?"

Elena didn't move. She watched his expensive shoes on the bleach mark.

Then she said quietly, calmly, the way she did before she won.

"You missed something, Jace. Like you missed that the milk carton was expired because you stole it from the trash. You were so focused on humiliating me, you didn't check the date."

Jace frowned. "What?"

She pointed at the big bedroom window, floor to ceiling, blinds open.

"The sky," she said. "Marcus said the sky went dark. Like an eclipse. At night, when it was supposed to be clear. Mrs. Smith locked three times from outside. No one could get in or out. So if no one could get in, and no one could get out, and the only two people inside were Marcus and Kayden... how did the sky go dark inside a locked house with no windows open?"

Jace stared at the window. Bright hills outside. No eclipse.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about reasonable doubt," Elena said, taking off her gloves. "I'm talking about the fact that you have a house locked three times, no forced entry, and my client says the sky went dark before his best friend died. That is not jealousy. That is something else. And a jury will have to wonder what that something else is."

She walked past him, leaving him alone on the spot where Kayden died.

"See you at arraignment, Miller," she said over her shoulder. "Try not to pour milk on the evidence this time."

She walked out of the house with her temper slightly higher than when she entered