You - (Short Story)

I didn’t talk to Elizabeth all summer. We had an argument at the beginning of June before she went away for the summer with her family. I tried to call her a million times, lefts hundreds of messages. And nothing. At first she would pick up, but no sound came from her end of the line, I apologized over and over but nothing but silence was heard until the line went dead. After some time it started going straight to voicemail.

                When it was time to for school to start again I expected to see her. I prepared myself the night before, practiced in the mirror over and over what I would say. She didn’t go. Three weeks into the school year passed before she was reported missing. She told everyone at school she was going to California with her parents, she told her parents she was staying with her brother n New York.  Never showed up at either place, and nobody saw her or heard of her all summer.

                A full investigation went into action; all her friends and family were interrogated. I was constantly in and out of the police station, being the last one to see her alive made me the prime suspect. Her house was searched over and over while her parents stayed at a hotel. Posters were spread all over town. Her locker at school had been decorated, full of “we miss you “notes from people she spoke to maybe once or twice. The news reached all over the country, but by January people started to forget about it. Her parents moved to California permanently and her brother stopped visiting for news. Her house was put up for sale but nobody dared to move in. Her locker was cleaned out and given to a new student. New gossip came around. But I stilled called her cell phone every night, even to just listen to her voice saying leave a message at the beep. I would talk to her voicemail and say everything that happened at school that day in hope that she would call me back. I felt like everything was my fault. We argued and she went away, but the worst part was that I couldn’t remember what it was about, probably something stupid.

                Every day I passed by her house on my way to school and would imagine all the times we walked together. On a specific Monday morning in March I passed by and the wind started to pick up, leaves started flying around me and something inside me told me to go up to her house. As if some unexplainable force was pulling me to it. It then started happening every day after that. 

                Summer came around and she was pronounced dead. Her parents arranged a simple funeral and buried an empty coffin. Her brother didn’t bother to show up. I was the only non-family member, Liz wasn’t very social in school, people knew her as the weird girl. And now I was known as the guy with the dead girlfriend.

                Aside from her voicemail, I only ever talked to my parents when absolutely necessary, things like “I am home” and “I am not hungry right now” and to teachers when I was forced to participate in class. I began to sit all the way in the back and nobody dared to get near me. Might have been the rumors going around town that I killed her, but no proof had been found of anything. Or it might have been my appearance. I admit I let myself go. My previously buzz cut hair now reached my chin, I never bothered to shave and 90% of the time had a light beard on my face. My closet consisted of only ripped jeans, black shirts, one long coat and a pair of worn down military boots. In a movie I could be considered the sexy mysterious bad boy, but here I was the weirdo that looked at his dead girlfriend’s picture during lunch and never left his house.

                After months of avoiding it I finally went to her house. My coat waved in the cold November wind and the fallen leaves flew all around me. The closer I got to the house the stronger the wind was, by the time I reached the front door it was like I was surrounded by own personal tornado. I picked the spare key under the Welcome mat and walked in. The stillness of the place was the complete opposite of the craziness outside. Nobody besides the police had been inside since a year, not even her parents dared to go in. Even though the AC was off in the house it was freezing inside and the stale smell filled my nostrils. A heavy layer of dust covered every piece of furniture, but besides that it was just as I remembered it. I walked over to the fireplace and examined the pictures on top, Liz and her parents on their trip to Rio 5 years ago, the two of us on our 1st grade fieldtrip to my dad’s police station. We were so small and happy, smiling without a care in the world. When I grabbed the picture the lights started to flicker, I turned around expecting to see someone yelling at me to get out. There was nobody. I heard a faint violin playing coming from upstairs, putting the picture back to its place I carefully made my way to the staircase.

                The stairs squeaked with every step and the lights kept flickering more violently the closer I got. Her bedroom was the first one to the right, the door was open and inside I found the source of the music. Her old cassette player sat in the middle of the room. I walked over to it and turned it off but the music kept playing. I walked over to the wall and unplugged it. The music kept going. I started to slowly walk backwards when the door shut closed behind me. The wind started to pick up inside the room, papers flying everywhere, a tornado formed in the middle of the room, and where the cassette player stood there she was. But she was covered in bruises, her lip was split and bleeding, blood ran down her nose and her left eyebrow was swollen. She was wearing the clothes she wore last time I saw her, but they were stained in blood. “WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU” I yelled over the loud wind. Her eyes glowed red and she said a single word, “you”.

                “WHAT?!” and then realization hit me. I sank to the ground and remembered our argument for the first time in a year. We were fighting out on the backyard. There was yelling and shoving. She tried to push me away and I punched her losing my temper, her nose started bleeding. She grabbed the first thing she could find and tried to throw it at my face, I grabbed it from her and hit her with it, knocking her down and her head hitting a very bad positioned rock. I couldn’t go to jail. I panicked and grabbed the shovel from her dad’s tool shed, dug a hole on the ground and dumped her body on it along with my blood stained shirt. I threw the shovel in the bushes and walked home in desperation. My own sub conscience convinced itself it was all a dream and the day after I only remembered we had a very heated argument but all the details of it were gone.

From my place on the floor I started sobbing and yanked the door open, running down the stairs and to the backyard, over to the shovel and the place I remembered she was in. I started dinging until I reached her. I couldn’t be true. I sank to the ground and cried, screamed and eventually fell sleep next to her decomposing body.

                Next thing I remember is being awoken by a police officer and handcuffed. I was taken under custody and here I am now in a mental institution. All the evidence pointed at me and I was facing a lifetime in prison, so I pleaded insanity and was taken to this room. It is small but comfy. They took my raggedy clothes and gave me a pair of white pants and a clean white shirt.  Food is brought to me three times a day and I am allowed near the other patients. From my window I can see out into the courtyard where all the other patients go out for 3 hours a day every day.

                Every time I close my eyes I can see her again, bloody and bruised saying her single word. You.