The Contradiction of Solitude(44)
She didn’t say anything else, and my curiosity was still there. I wanted to know. Where she went when she left and where she planned to go next time.
“You’ve met a boy,” I sing-songed, knowing she hated it when I said things like that.
“Shut up, runt,” she said but not in a mean way. I loved my sister.
Amelia…
I opened up the folder and saw the photo of a young girl right on top. She was pretty but not smiling. She had long, dark hair and dark eyes. It was impossible to see the color in the black and white newspaper clipping.
February 2, 1995 No answers in cold case
The Randolph County police department is still looking for information in regards to the kidnapping and murder of sixteen-year-old Hailey Gold. The body of the teenager was found over a year ago just outside the town limits of Dayton, her throat slit and her hands severed from her body.
I flipped to the next print out. Another picture of another girl. A teenager. And a newspaper article from almost twenty years ago detailing a similar murder. A slit throat. Severed hands.
And there was another girl. Another article. Six more in total.
My eyes went fuzzy and my gut clenched. Why did Layna have these?
I kept flipping through and stopped when I came to another picture from a newspaper. This one was of a police sketch. Hand drawn and rudimentary but I knew it all too well.
The nautical star.
Points and lines exact. A copy of the one on my back. Of the one on Layna’s hip.
Beside the drawing was the headline: On the hunt for The Nautical Killer.
The Nautical Killer.
“What are you doing?”
I didn’t startle. I didn’t jump. I continued to riffle through the papers in the file I had found stuck in a bottom drawer in my girlfriend’s kitchen.
Layna yanked the paper away from me and closed the folder. “Why are you snooping through my things?” She sounded flustered.
Layna Whitaker was never flustered. But she was now.
“What is all this? Why do you have all of these?” I yanked the folder out of her hands and dumped the dozens and dozens of printouts onto the counter, shuffling through them with my hands. I turned over pictures. Girls with sightless eyes staring up at me.
“I don’t get it. Are you writing a book? Are you some sort of serial killer junkie? What the f*ck is this?” I was yelling. I was getting worked up.
I was getting angry.
Layna licked her lips and stared at the girls. The pictures of dead women.
The Nautical Killer.
“Why do you have that star on your back?” she asked suddenly. I hadn’t been expecting that. She blindsided me.
“What?” I asked. My chest ached. My head hurt.
No…
She pulled up her shirt and yanked down the waistband of her skirt, tracing her own star with her finger.
“I know why I have mine. Why do you have yours? Tell me the truth, Elian Beyer.” Her soft voice was my unraveling.
Falling.
Falling.
A.
Part.
“Why?” It was a broken word. Strangled. Torn.
Why?
Layna Whitaker, my obsessive focus, calmly stood there, her fingers tracing the lines of that hateful, horrible star. Impassive. Unmoving.
Waiting for me to tell her my secrets.
Secrets I had always kept.
“My sister. Amelia,” I let out in slow, painful bits.
Layna dropped her hand, her shirt once again covering the tattoo. “Your sister,” she repeated.
Heartbeats in my ear. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t think.
“I saw the star. Out the window. On his arm. She went with him. Away. Never came home.” Short, choppy sentences. Not making sense.
What was I saying?
Hide!
Run away!
Can’t handle this! Not now. Not here.
Not with Layna.
“Your sister went with him.” Layna stepped toward me, hands out stretched. Reaching for me. I backed away.
“Who are you?” I asked. Knowing.
Knowing.
“I’m his daughter,” she whispered, half in pain, half in relief. Tinged in something else. Joy?
“Daughter,” I repeated, my tongue thick and too big for my mouth. Lies, all lies. Nothing but lies.
Layna continued to reach for me.
Touch me…
“I’m his daughter. Him.” She bent down and picked up a newspaper article that had fallen on the floor.
The Nautical Killer.
“You’re his daughter.” I shook my head. I was having a hard time understanding.
Falling.
Falling.
A.
Part.
“I’m his blood.” Her eyes were full of tears. Red and wet, hanging on her lashes, refusing to fall. She wiped them away and they were gone. Never were.
I mourned the loss of her tears. They were mine in a way that she never would be.
Not now.
Not now.
I pushed past her and ran to the door. The devil behind me. The monster shouting my name.
“Elian! Wait!” Panicked. Layna was panicked.
I needed to leave.
Too much.
I had to go.
“Elian!”
I was gone.
Ruined.
Destroyed.
I was the monster.