(no subject)
Author: Sam
Challenge: Fudge Ripple #4, Despair/ Angel food #10, Thy Neighbour’s Wife
Rating: PG- 13
Word count: 1,164 words
Summary: The murder that starts it all
Evans Willis is an odd one.
Not because he’s eighteen, unemployed, not in academia and has no girlfriend. You’d be surprised by how many oddballs are like that- most of which are pitiful virgins.
Evans Willis is an odd one because . . .
One day, I was strolling past his apartment building. I tend to do that, I walk by his apartment building at the most inconvenient time for some people. Anyway, I was walking by, watching the little details- you’d be surprised how many people miss those details. Mrs Harrison has exactly two rosebushes on the top floor of heir penthouse while across the street; there are tulips, thirteen red ones, five pink ones, and 10 yellow ones. The twenty-ninth tulip might just be either purple or pink; I would go for a closer look, but I doubt I’ll be well- received.
Who’d want to see me staring at their flowers like some common peeping tom?
One day, I was walking by the apartment buildings in the downtown section of Illuya. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening, but I was bored and the smallest details could not please me for long. I saw Evans Willis walking towards me, holding a grocery bag and his special little lighter- he never leaves the house without it, I find. His grocery bag seems light- everyone, nowadays, only buy what’s necessary and it’s a wonder I haven’t found anyone starved to death. He passes me without any notice and goes up to the front door. I follow him, as quietly as possible. He doesn’t notice again, and as he closes the door of his apartment behind me, we wonder into the kitchen.
His house is completely bare- one bedroom/ TV room, one toilet, one kitchen. There’s no furniture except his bed, the necessities of the kitchen and a small radio. He flicks his lighter on and off instead of putting away his groceries.
How does he get the money to pay for his groceries? I wonder, as I inspect him closer. Red hair, blue eyes, young face but I can tell he’s hurting. He never blinks at the warmth of the light; he never wants to let it go. He has no parents, as far as I can tell and he’s underage, so how can he live on his own?
He places the bag in the fridge, which only contains alcohol, milk and some vegetables. As I follow him to his bedroom, he still does not realize that I am there.
I am silent, like death.
I sit on his bed, the sheets are thin, the room has his clothes, books and papers in piles, like some sort of OCD. Evans reaches for the wall and the only hung portrait there- it is of a woman, with similar features- she looks so familiar . . . I have seen her before. Evans removes the portrait, but not without gazing at it with a peaceful smile. Behind the portrait is a hole and he presses his face to get a look into the other side.
Curious, I leave the room and head into the apartment next-door. The door is unlocked. I tip- toe across the rooms, there is a pile of laundry to be folded in the living room- it smells of cookies and other baked goods. The TV is humming in the back ground. There is no sigh of anyone...
I continue, noticing an open door. Like Evans, I peer inside and notice a dark- haired woman, changing her shirt- her back to the door, but facing the inconspicuous hole.
This is why Evans is strange.
The second time I saw Evans, I saw the apartments engulfed in fie. He was watching it with a holy amount of fascination, his lighter in his hand. I am not sure about how this started; but as the firemen rush inside, I do as well.
I go up all of the stairs to the floor Evans lives on- most people have been evacuated, standing outside, with all of the gratitude of being safe but the despair of losing their possessions . . .
I don’t feel the flames, as they decompose my surroundings, the smoke engulfing me, as the firemen shout and run.
“I FOUND A BODY!”
I follow their shouts and see in Evans’ apartment the familiar silhouette of a smouldering body- dying, naturally.
The men surround her, take her away.
I place my hand on her chest- there’s a faint beat beneath the body . . . but not for long.
As the ambulance pulls up, as I notice the men in a different uniform surround Evans, they knock out his lighter and restrain him- he shouts and shouts for his Maria, for his saviour, but it is too late. She is dead. And I help kill her.
This is also why Evans is strange.
“Once he gets to Salem," one man tells another uniformed man. “We’ll question the fucker and see if he got anything to do with this,”
“Why him, sir?”
“Only Magihume in the damn building- who else could have started it?”
“True, sir,” the second man replies. “What are we gonna do if he’s innocent?”
“We get rid of him- he’ll have seen too much by then,”
The third time I saw Evans, I was in SALEM detention centre. It was a cold, overbearing building with long, winding halls and crawling with personnel- nurses, doctors, gurneys, suits and politicians and most important of which, officers.
I know he is here, I can sense him- most people I can sense are already dead, personnel or dying. But it is not their time. Not yet.
Evans stays in a cramp, white room with a small bed and dirty sheets. He is strapped in, mouth bound and asleep for most of the time. His chart- one piece of paper with the notes written inject 30 ccs of hertzinfectie three times a day and the signature of the doctors who did. I can see he has tears in his eyes, the chaffing of the handcuffs on his wrists and ankles. His IV attached to the centre of his chest- there is blood in the needle, dripping the dark green liquid.
I feel almost sorry for him- does anyone deserve this fate? To die by decay? To die because of love? I caress his boyish face, he twitches. His eyes open, but he can see me this time.
His eyes grow huge. I smile gently, my hand trailing to his chest.
“I will take you away,”
He closes his eyes, the monitor straight lines and I leave the room before a flock of nurses and doctors are signalled in.
Suddenly, over the shouts of the personnel, I do not feel peaceful. I carry Evans over, to the other side. I have not been, but I want to wish him the comfort he did not have in his final moments. It is why Evans is strange to me.