The Blood On My Hands

Chapter 3

"Well even if you haven't completely lost it, Rosie doesn't have a ouija board,"  Mark points out.

"That's not true..," I say.

"Since when are you into that type of stuff?" Marks asks.

"I'm not. Never have been. But I remember seeing one a while back in a closet or something."

"Can you go get it?" Josh questions.

"Yeah, I think, but I need one of you to come with me."

"Why?"

"Because I need someone to lift me up. It's on a high shelf."

"I'll go," Mark says, clearly uncomfortable with Josh doing the task.

I slide the door open again and head over to the closet in the hallway of my bedroom, which is across the house.

Mark's hand eases under mine and grasps my fingers tight. I'm thankful for his closeness. For his warmth. My body's wracked with fear and the cold and I can feel myself calming under his touch.

Not much happens during our treacherous walk through the house, which is relieving up until we get to the closet.

The door creaks as I pull it open, willing it to be quiet.

Inside the small, dark closet, there's jackets and scarves hanging here and there, all cluttered together with other knick knacks and junky items.

My eyes scan through the room. Shoes, mittens, hats, hoodies... no board.

"It's not in here, Mark."

"You said it was on a high shelf, right? Maybe you just can't see it," Mark points out.

"Yeah, but I could see it from where I was on the ground. Otherwise I wouldn't have even known it was there."

"Well then, where is it?"

"I'm not quite sure," I say, letting my words fade.

The few lights and lamps still left on in the house suddenly flash off with a electrical snap. A scream sounds through the house and a door slams shut.

"That was NOT Josh," Mark states the obvious.

"Who was that?!" I panic.

"I think it was the spirit," Josh whispers, popping up behind us.

I scream and grab Mark's arm as his grip on my hand tightens until it hurts.

"What the heck, Josh?!" Mark scolds.

"You guys were taking too long, so I decided to come along and assist," he replies.

"Well good. Now you can help us find the dang board. Wherever its gone," I say.

"Well I'd start by following those arrows," Josh acknowledged, pointing behind Mark and I.

We both swiveled our heads 180 degrees to find crimson red blood, weeping down the wall on the staircase, smearing words in ruddy fingerprints. It spelled out, "This way" with an arrow pointing to the upstairs bathroom.

"Yeah, sure. Let's just follow the bloody arrow that definitely doesn't lead us to our deaths. Real smart, Josh!" Mark criticizes.

"Hey, lay off of him. What else are we going to do? I say we follow it," I defend.

Josh walks through Mark and I, breaking apart our hands, and begins heading up the stairs.

He pauses and turns around. "You guys coming?"

"Yeah. Hold on," Mark answers.

Josh continues heading up the stairs as Mark turns to face me, leaning in close.

At first, I thought he was about to kiss me, until he squints his eyes and swears under his breath, hitting me with hot air.

"Listen, I know who died here and I know why they're haunting us," Mark spits out through clenched teeth.

"How? Who died here? Why are they doing this?" I blubbered in hitched breaths.

"I swore I would never tell anyone this..."

"Tell me. What's going on?" My words come out angry, threatening.

"Well, when Violet died that night... it wasn't exactly a suicide..."

"WHAT?!" I scream at him.

"Hear me out," he begs. "I knew that she didn't like taking her medicine for her diabetes, so I popped open the pills and poured the powder in the water, and never told her. Apparently, I put in the wrong prescription. She ended up taking three of your prescribed pills for your insomnia. Not only that, but since she didn't know that I'd put medication in the water, she popped three more pills, thinking that she was only following her doctor's instructions.

"She kept telling me that she felt funny and that she didn't think the medications were working, so she took two more. At this point, she'd taken eight pills, only five of them being hers.

"She went to the bathroom, complaining about how awful she felt... and she never came out." Mark has tears running down his face. Tears of guilt. "I'm so sorry, Rosie," he says, weeping through his words.

I couldn't believe my ears. All this time I thought it was my fault for leaving her alone...but it was really Mark's fault?

"You accidentally killed my sister and you didn't tell me?!" I'm shouting now.

"I didn't mean to. I didn't want to. I loved your sister as my own. I'm so sorry!" His words are genuine. But I just couldn't forgive him.

I rip my hands away and widen the  distance between us.

"I believe you when you say you didn't mean to. And I believe you when you say you're sorry. But I can't forgive you. Not yet... You killed my sister Mark."

He sniffles and wipes his tears with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry, Mark, but we can't be together anymore. Not with the blood on your hands. Not when that blood is my sister's."

With that, I left him a sobbing mess. I turned around and put my foot on the first step, my hand on the post and my head held high. A single tear slid down my cheek, hot and salty.

Mark reached out and grabbed my hand, stopping my ascent.

"Rosie, please. This is what I was afraid would happen. You can't just dump me. Not in the middle of all of this," he begs.

"You were right to be afraid. It should've been you who overdosed, not her."

Mark yanks my arm, pulling me into him, and smashes his lips on mine, keeping my head in place with his hand and holding me against him with the other.

I slap him across the face with all the anger and power I could possibly muster as soon as he lets me go.

"Never touch me again!" I hiss.

I leave him there with puffy eyes and lips, and head up to the bathroom.