I Can Act No More

chapter one

I come from a family of actors — not in a traditional sense mind you, but a family of actors nonetheless. We were all quite aware of the role that we were to play: my father, Samuel William Thornton, played a rugged Italian-American man with a golden heart — a librarian for the local university; my mother, Margret Emily Caroll-Thornton, a calculated accomplished scientist while also being a caring mother to her children; my eldest brother, S. George Thornton, following our mother's scientific footsteps with an affinity for historical literature, was a good mix of both parents; the younger of my older brothers, Eliot Oscar Thornton — the middle child — was a detective with an affinity for classics; and then there's me, A. Marie Charlotte Thornton. I have always been aware of my role: the eccentric foolish little sister with no affinity for one thing, constantly moving from one interest to another; I was the contrast to the more traditional roles that the rest of my family held. We are all similar but quite different in execution, but my family is nothing if not loyal. That loyalty was tested on multiple occasions, but none more than the murder of Audrey Simmon.

Audrey Simmon was my childhood best friend and, for the majority of our lives, was my closest confidant. Recently, our friendship had come to an unsurprising and unfortunately very public end. We both knew it was inevitable, but we refused to acknowledge it because neither of us could imagine a life where the other wasn't in it. We were too comfortable. Being childhood friends, I don't have very many memories without her in them; the memories that she was not present in were told to her directly after they happened. We would spend hours outside exploring and talking, but our favorite spot was always Wilson Park — a small park sandwiched awkwardly between the borders of both of our families' properties and the town. Although there were faster ways to get from our respective houses to town, Audrey loved taking the longer, more scenic way and I loved taking it with her. Even after our estrangement, I found myself walking through Wilson Park, I guess out of habit. I walked into town quite often, every morning in fact, to bring my brother, Eliot, the newspaper. He always leaves for his office at the crack of dawn so he's never there when the paper gets delivered; he can buy his own or wait until lunch I guess, but this gives me an excuse to see him and get my daily walk in.

The day of Audrey's murder when I awoke, I could tell something wasn't right in the world. I know that sounds crazy, but I swear I have a six sense for misfortunes. When I fished the paper out of the mail, my eyes went to straight to her name: "Audrey Simmon, daughter of Henry Simmon, owner of popular bookstore — Simmon's Books and Prints, and the late Sarah Wilson, found dead this morning after staying late stacking books at her fathers business. Funeral and vigil have yet to be arranged..."

My heart dropped. Audrey and I weren't on the best of terms but I still cared about her. We had been friends for two decades and although I knew we couldn't be friends anymore, I had found comfort in seeing her from afar and knowing that she was succeeding and happy, but now that was gone. My friend was dead. Audrey was gone. I could feel my chest tightening as I struggled to keep my composure. I leaned against the wall taking as deep a breath as I could. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7." I counted in my head. This is something that I had done since I was little whenever everything became too much. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7." I counted again. Seven had been my favorite number ever since I knew what numbers were. I kept counting over and over until my lungs felt normal again. I stood up straight composing myself and readied myself for the walk through Wilson Park to my brother's office.

There was something comforting about the quietness and simplicity of Wilson Park right before you get to town where everything is loud and bulky and intense. Even the wildlife seem to understand this speaking in quiet tones and a calming timbre. One of the benefits of walking through the same park every morning is you get to see the same people every day. We are all creatures of habit, we humans; some of us are just better at avoiding it.