Category : Books-Fiction

Sub Category : Drama

I spent my youth consumed with anger and guilt, looking for my father in the face of every stranger I passed with no luck. I never thought that his face would fade from my memory, thankfully I have an old wrinkled photo of the both of them that I have held onto all of these years. It’s my only reminder of the way things used to be, everything else was sold or destroyed. I didn’t have any say in what happened with all of my family’s belongings due to the fact that my parents put my old Aunt Edna in charge if anything were to happen to them. Turns out, she didn’t want me or anything to do with my family. She sent me away and got rid of every reminder of my wonderful, yet simple life I had with them. I thought about her often, I hated her. I vowed to find her one day and make her pay, I still have yet to search for her. My days are spent looking for clues to what happened that night twelve years ago. Nobody would listen to me when I was younger, and now that I am older, they just blow me off. Apparently they have more pressing issues to deal with than a cold case from more than a decade ago. My mother always told me, “The squeakiest wheel always gets the oil,” I never knew the meaning of those words until now. Each week I mailed a letter to the head detective on my parents case in hopes that one day he will reopen the files to take a second look.


 Just breath, I kept telling myself when I woke abruptly drenched in sweat. I had another nightmare, I saw those piercing blue eyes again, those same eyes that gazed upon my mother before he murdered her. The salty tears burned my skin as they fell slowly down my cheeks, it was the noise that caught me off guard, it called out to me to open my eyes and look. I wish I didn’t. The knife went in with such force, it reminded me of the time my dad was playing around and shoved a knife into the watermelon before he cut it up for us to enjoy. He always made us laugh, however this sound was haunting and not humorous in the least.  I closed my eyes trying to escape that memory, the pain my mother enured as her blood leisurely dripped onto the hardwood floor, like an old leaky faucet in an unfamiliar house. The stench burned my eyes as I wrinkled my nose to try and find some relief, I finally I closed them and  just held my breath. I must have passed out because the next thing I remember is being carried out by a man in uniform. I looked over his shoulder as we walked out of my parents room, she was still there on her back, wearing her pretty pink sweater and her dark jeans she put on right before her and my dad left for their date.
Just as the memory of that night came flooding back, I started screaming for my father and thrashing about. The officer lost his grip as I fell to the floor, I got up and ran through the house frantically screaming his name. He wasn’t anywhere to be found, suddenly the room started to spin out of control then everything went black, again.



 I was just rinsing off in the shower when I heard my phone ringing, with soap still in my hair I hurriedly grabbed the towel and ran into the next room to answer my phone. “Hello?” I said breathing heavy from my short sprint into the other room. “Hi, Miss Barrett?” The voice on the other end asked. “Yes, this is Miss Barrett, who is this?” I questioned. “Good morning, my name is Detective Mendez with the San Francisco police department,” he introduced himself. “Oh yes, hi, is this in regards to my letters?” I asked. “Miss Barrett…” “Please, call me Layla,” I interrupted. “Of course, Layla, I would like to meet with you to go over your statement you made back in 2005 regarding the murder of your mother, can you come down to the station this afternoon?” He inquired. “Yes, definitely, just give me a time,” I demanded. “How about 2:30? Are you free then?” He said very matter of fact. “Yes, of course, I will be there. Thank you so much,” I said before hanging up the phone.


Sitting in my towel on the edge of my bed, my hair still  wet as the soap dripped down my back, I dropped my phone. This is really happening, I thought to myself. One of my letters must have made it into the hands of this Detective Mendez. I can’t believe they were going to re-open my mother’s case. Maybe now I can find my father and catch the bastard  who, not only murdered my mother, but stole my childhood from me. I jumped back into the shower, the water was cold now because I didn’t take the time to turn it off when I jumped out. I shivered as the water hit my head and ran down my naked body. I stared at the drain as the white foamy bubbles circled around before escaping into the unknown. I turned off the water and grabbed my already damp towel for a second time, I dried my body that was covered in goosebumps then threw my drenched hair up in the same towel. I was still in shock as I scoured my closet for something to wear. It was foggy out as it usually is in the morning here in the city. Layers, I would be safe dressing in layers because once the fog lifted it would be warmer in the afternoon. I slipped on a pair of black leggings with a baggy white T Shirt. Apparently I needed to catch up on laundry. I found a gray sweater lying on the floor, I picked it up and gave it a good sniff to see if it was clean enough to wear again. With a little perfume, It was good as new I convinced myself as I slipped it on over my head. Laundry would have to wait another day I thought as I combed my wet hair and tossed it into a messy bun. Once I had my shoes on I took the key that I wore around my neck and unlocked the drawer in the table next to my bed where I kept my folder of all of the letters I sent as well as anything I had from the case, like newspaper clippings, etc. I opened the folder to inspect the contents before I headed out. Out fell a little plastic sandwich bag which contained my prize possession; the old faded photo of my mom and dad. I kept it in the bag to keep it from falling apart any more than it already had. 


 I recall the time in one of my first foster homes, I kept the photo under my pillow, it helped when I woke from my nightmares. I would wake up and reach for the picture when I was scared, similar to the way I reached out to my parents when I had bad dreams as a child. It comforted me to see their faces when I felt alone. This one particular night, I reached under my pillow and it was gone. I sat up in a panic then suddenly I felt a strong hand over my mouth. I tried to scream but I couldn’t. It was dark in my room, but the street light gave just enough light to see the man who had his hand around my mouth in the reflection of the mirror on my dresser. I started to cry  when I realized that it was my foster father. I thought he was going to be one of the good ones when we were first introduced. What did he want, where was my picture? I thought as I tried to break free. That’s when I saw my parents faces staring back at me from the floor. I was filled with rage as I tried to fight him off. He was big and strong and held onto me so tight. I tried to bite his hand but was unsuccessful. I must have made a lot of noise because his wife came in. For a brief moment I was relieved thinking that she was there to save me. When he saw her, he let go and started telling her that I must have had a nightmare or something and he was trying to calm me down. Clearly she didn’t believe him as she walked up to me and reached out with her hands and grabbed me by my hair. She yelled, “I will not have another slut staying in my house a minute longer!” Next thing I know, I was on the floor as she kicked me over and over. I reached out and grabbed my picture and curled up in a little ball while she viciously attacked me. Even though I felt every blow, I was thankful that she saved me from a fate that could have been drastically worse. The next day, the social worker came and took me to another home. As long as I had my photo of my parents, I didn’t really care where I was. Even though my parents were not physically with me, they were still there to comfort me through the eyes of a simple photo.



                                                               Chapter Two


 I was nervous sitting alone in this room all by myself waiting for Detective Mendez. The walls were gray, the same color as the ceiling and the floor. There was a single table and three cold, uncomfortable metal chairs, one of them for me. There was, what I assumed to be, a two way window. On my end it looked like a mirror, I tried not to look into it as it made me feel a little uncomfortable. Were they in there just watching me squirm, just like they did in the movies? It felt like forever when the door opened. Standing in the doorway was a tall hispanic man, maybe mid thirties, clean cut and shaved except for a dark patch of hair around his mouth and chin. He had a muscular build, he must work out, I thought. He wore a light blue dress shirt that was unbuttoned around his neck. His shirt was tucked into his black slacks that was held up with his belt. “Miss Barrett?” he asked. “Yes, Layla please,” I requested for a second time. “Ahh, yes. My apologies, Layla,” he said. He walked over to the table, set down a manila folder, and reached out to shake my sweaty hand. “Thanks for coming in today, I appreciate your cooperation,” He said with a smile as he sat in one of the three metal chairs in the room. “I appreciate your cooperation,” I said in return, very matter of fact as I stared into his dark brown eyes. He seemed to ignore my words and just started in. He said there was an incident as he slid the folder across the table for me to look at. I was confused as I looked up at him, then back down at the folder. “Go ahead Layla, take a look,” he said as he gestured to the folder. Nervously I reached down and opened it. I gasped in horror as I couldn’t take my eyes off it. “What is this? Is this a joke?” I said then I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I saw a frail little body, laying on a bed, a very familiar scene. She wore one of those old lady housecoats, but this one was covered in dark blood. She looked like she had been there a while, her body was turning black and her face was sunken in. Wait, I knew that face, my hands started to shake when I realized who I was staring at, Aunt Edna.