Blood Red

Phase 3: The Prevention

They found Mark.

Oh, they found Mark, alright. The only problem lay in the manner they found him.

They found Mark's body. His soul? It had been licked to dust by the flames that had mysteriously started in his house at one in the morning.

We were too late. All we learned from the visit was that he'd worn a green plaid shirt to sleep and had forgotten to completely turn the knob of the stove.

The house went down in a rage of flames. Nothing survived, save for the green piece of fabric. It was ironic how the last color he'd seen had been the very reason he had committed murder. The very reason he'd killed and run away from his family.

A different person may have made a connection between the two. A different person would mend the broken static in the line and try to listen to what fate had to say. A different person would want to remember the tragedy as the death of an innocent victim and not as the demise of a ruthless murderer.

But not Ava.

Ava did nothing of the sort. She didn't even bat an eyelash when they showed the walls that had been charred and smeared in ash to us. She looked at the walls, looked at the bed and then turned her head to rest her eyes on the body placed in the center of the room — a blot of white in the black room.

Then she bowed her head, murmured a few words in prayer and turned around to leave. Her lavender scent lingered long after her departure.

"Looks like fate played its part. It wasn't the revenge I'd anticipated, but it should do," were the first words out of her mouth. I put an arm around her to offer comfort and felt her shiver underneath my cold fingers. Her father followed after us in a bottle-green trench coat, head bent forward and silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

He had lost a son today.

We followed the worn down road until the end. It was only once Ava had put her foot into the cab, did the man break the ringing silence that hung heavy over us.

"I-I don't think it was him, Ava. He was your brother. He wouldn't - he couldn't."

"Brother?" incredulity laced her voice and I detected an undertone of hysteria. "He was no brother of mine. All Mark was, was a murderer."

"And that's all he'll ever be." 

Her words cut through the man's thick armor—the very same armor he had worn ever since the death of his wife, and hit him straight in the heart. 

A second later the resounding sound of a slap filled the air leaving everyone in shock. The man stared at his hand in shock while Ava's fingers curled around the bright pink imprint on her cheek. A gasp left her lips and soft sobs followed soon after. 

The last sound I heard was the crunch of gravel as heavy footsteps made their way away from us.