The list of sinners

...Celia...

When I look at people, I always see them as unfinished puzzles. We can give most of the pieces to the presentation, but there are always missing halves. I like to fill these gaps and come to a complete image.

However, people's puzzles, unlike the ones we fill in with enthusiasm, are flawed. Dark secrets are hidden everywhere in every piece. But if you want to reach the final image, you need patience and courage. Even if you feel disgust and fear... even if it makes your blood boil.

Donovan's story could really shake anyone, but I didn't blame him at all. We all keep secrets, including the people we are very close to. I still remembered the conversation on the phone with my father that I didn't have the courage to ask about. Or now, with my mom, her hidden diary... everything was a secret. I felt like a small insect caught in a giant spider's web.

It had been several days since Donovan was injured. Despite the little pain he had, he could get up quickly. Every day I checked his wound. I looked to see if it was stable and not infected. I applied antibiotics and put on a new bandage.

I was in the kitchen preparing a soup for him. This was the only thing I could eat these days. I couldn't eat much more because it could cause the wound to open from stomach upset. The soup gave the kitchen the comforting aroma and warmth of winter days. I smelled it and tasted it very pleased with its flavor. I placed it on a tray and carried it towards the bedroom. Surely, the aroma had reached his room before me.

His door was not completely closed, so I could see very clearly from the little space. I found him with one hand on his head, then passing it through his thick, dark brown hair. It seemed like he wanted to remember what had really happened with Natalie. I felt sorry for him. This isolation was truly torturing him.

"I brought you dinner," I said.

He gave me a faint smile that disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

"It smells good," he said.

I pursed my lips slightly, feeling awkward. I approached the bed with the tray. I sat next to him and took the plate in hand. With my other hand, I took the spoon and stirred it a little, blowing it gently to cool it down for him to eat.

"It's okay, I can eat it by myself ," he said.

His hand touched mine. I couldn't do anything but stare into his gray eyes. He was so close like never before. I felt my cheeks blush slightly. My whole mouth dried up, even my words. That touch gave me the feeling that he and I were some kind of new energy, sparks between each other.

"If you give me the plate," he added, putting his lips in readiness.

"Uh, yes, of course, of course," I said, feeling embarrassed.

The plate was positioned in front of him. He dipped the spoon, blew it gently, and tasted it.

"It's very good," he said after trying a spoonful.

"Enjoy your meal," I said.

He started eating slowly, leaving only the clinking of the spoon against the plate behind. I managed to count six spoonfuls eaten by Donovan. He didn't have much of an appetite, but I knew that even the little he ate didn't make me feel bad.

"Are you upset inside, aren't you ?"

He sighed deeply, directing his breath like a spring breeze towards my fingertips.

"I'm getting used to it," he said, putting the plate aside. "If I don't work, I feel like I'll die, but now I'm trying to remember... everything."

"Don't push yourself, I'm sure you'll recover over time."

"That's what I think..."

"What about the case?" I asked. "How's the situation? Have you found any leads or something like that?"

"The end of this issue is really unknown to me, but all our hopes are hanging on a file that has been transferred to us," he said, looking me straight in the eyes. "Rebecca Simons' murder was not the beginning of these murder nightmares."

"Are you saying there was another victim at the beginning?"

He nodded.

"In my absence, I believe Cameron is dealing with it," he said. "Now, more likely, it will be in Western Virginia."

"Western Virginia?" I exclaimed. "That's where I live."

"Oh, I didn't know... anyway, the first murder happened there."

"Was it a girl again?"

"In fact, a woman."

"Oh... is it recent?"

"No, it's been a few years," he said, arching his eyebrows once. "Nineteen to be precise."

Nineteen years. It was truly quite a long time. Before these years, I was only eight years old, and at this age, I wasn't familiar with the word murder, let alone hearing it. I had never heard or seen such news like me and my father. But one thing I knew for sure was that at this age, I lost my mother. Exactly nineteen years ago.

"Are you okay?"

"I just got lost... can I ask you what... what was her name? That woman?"

"Celia, are you sure you're okay?" he asked. "You look very pale."

"I don't have anything really, but I just want to know what her name was?"

"All I know is her name was Diana..."

"Cardiff?" I asked, standing up.

He hesitated for a moment as if regretting the words that had come out of his mouth a few seconds ago. The baby blues dimmed, leaving only a faint gray.

"Tell me, Donovan... Diana Cardiff or not?"

"Yes, that's her name..."

"But... my mother... she died of natural causes..."

"She might not be your mother," he said to reassure me. "Many people have the same first or last name..."

"I don't know what to believe if I don't make sure."

"Calm down and listen to me once," he said.

He pointed to the shelf where he kept the blue file. I walked towards the shelf Donovan had pointed with my heart pounding. I pulled out the blue file and approached the bed. I opened it with trembling hands, dry as autumn leaves, almost ready to fall. I opened it hoping it was really a mistake. That my mother had died of natural causes and not at the hands of a maniac. I hoped greatly that this fear that was breaking my heart was wrong. I didn't want to experience the same situation again.

I took the thin file of the case in brown color, and my eyes did not leave her photo attached to her left side. I saw her round face, defined cheekbones, her blue eyes, and long red hair, cascading curls covering her shoulders. I felt the blood rush to my feet. Tears filled my eyes, threatening to fall. The drops of tears fell into big drops, directly on her photo. My legs gave way, and I collapsed on the floor, holding the file in my hands.

"Celia!"

"D-D-Diana... Cardiff... the well-known NBC television editor is... is murdered... murdered... brutally. Mom... it's my mom... it's her.... they killed her," I said amidst tears, looking at Donovan.

"C-celia, I'm... I'm so sorry," he comforted me. "Please, can you get up and come here, please."

I got up holding myself. I let go of the file, bursting, and left the room, going down the stairs at once. The pain I was experiencing made me lose my logic and fall into a trap. I grabbed my soup bag and, ignoring the calls to return to Donovan, ran home.

I ran and cried without thinking that passersby might see me. Sometimes I felt my body collide with others. I wiped away the tears that blurred my vision frequently. I had thought everything differently. Was this the price of my expectations? I didn't want anything else but a calm and happy life... I just wanted to be happy. But I wasn't anyone else but a girl born surrounded by death.