It Starts With Him

24

I can't hear or see anything anymore. There's a great resonance of water rushing in my ears, a whole ocean with immense bouts of wind residing in them. My eyesight is wholly obstructed with a mass of white dots as if I stared into direct sunlight for too long.

I flex my hands blindly, trying to grasp onto the window sill for support, but my lack of vision keeps me from acquiring it. Ace's room, now spinning in circles around me, causes me to sway. I can't stay balanced in such a winding carousel such as this. I feel myself wobbling so heavily until I feel the back of my head nail on the ground. I didn't even know I was falling.

I lay for a while. I don't know how long. It could be 10 seconds, but it feels like hours. I'm only aware of the cool ground on my neck, and my head being elevated from being rested on something hard. My mind thinks of nothing. It's incapable of focusing on anything other than my labored breathing and the ocean in my ears.

Soon, my vision comes back in little bits. I can see a little out of the corner of my eye, and then a little bit more. I eventually realize my head is resting on the drawer of Ace's desk. In the part of my eyesight that has returned, I see half of a yellow file poking out of the drawer, right next to my face. I can see part of the bold black text, reading: "DEFENSE FILE". The text previous to it is hidden. I groan. Do I really want to see what's in it? I decide I do.

I take my time in righting myself upwards, sitting in a cross-legged position, my arm still resting against the desk to keep me steady. With a trembling hand, I reach out and pull the file towards me. It slides effortlessly out of the drawer, and I look down at it, my vision still having a hard time focusing. The sound of a car starting and driving away is heard, but it's pushed so far back in my mind that I barely even notice it.

"AARON CRAWFORD DUI/DWI MURDER DEFENSE FILE" is the full text on the top of the paper. A shaky sigh rips from my lips. I skim over the contents. I read about lab results, the breathalyzer instrument number, the blood alcohol levels, and how many offenses he's had. It reads three. But below all of that is where I'm afraid to look. "INCIDENT SUMMARY" it reads. But I bite my lip and force myself to read it. I stare in horror as I pore over the gruesome details of my mother's death. It says his speed - 108 - and the time of day - 11:29 P.M. - and exactly where her body left a dent on the hood.

I throw the file behind me, bile rising up into my mouth. I force myself to swallow it and tear open the drawer. I pull with such force that the drawer itself detaches from the desk and flies across the room, landing luckily on the bed. It's contents - tons and tons of papers and orange files - fly around the room like snowfall. I fling myself around so I'm on all fours, and start ripping through all of them, my breaths coming in short, quick waves.

Document after document of defense papers and criminal records are scattered on the floor, but what haunts me the most are the various cut out newspaper articles of my mom's death from the week of.

MOM OF TWO KILLED IN DEADLY HIT AND RUN, the title reads, and at the right side of the faded page is her face. Mom's sweet, soft, beautiful face staring at me. Her eyes, though in black and white coloration, still have more life than any other human I've ever seen.

I throw up all over it. Mom's dazzling smile is completely invisible, now covered by my lunch.

My hands fly up and cover my head, and I feel myself rocking back and forth. Someone's whimpering quietly, sounding almost like an injured dog. It takes me a moment to realize the dog is me, and the pitiful sounds are coming from my own mouth.

"Get the rest of the cash, Ace. I don't have time to deal with your slacking anymore," I vaguely hear Aaron slur from downstairs. He then lists a string of curses, and I assume he's talking to Ace. My breathing stops short. I hadn't heard them come inside.