Surface

Chapter 15 - Tears Left to Cry

The beach was tainted. The white sand that had once felt warm and soft under my bare feet now felt like mud sloshing around my toes. The waves of the water that had once been welcoming and refreshing against my skin, the water that had once embraced me with it's lingering droplets now made my muscles tense and cringe at the thought of how it would feel to have it filling my lungs, to scream and have nothing but water burst out and rush in.

Victoria and I had both had the same theory: If all of our happiest memories occurred at the beach, that meant it would be the perfect place to have our last. Turns out we were both wrong.

Death was enough to wash away the numerous days we spent slashing around innocently. Enough to erase the fruity ice pops, the hipster sunglasses, the frilly bathing suits, and the tans. Eachy happy beach day memory was now tainted with a block of squids ink. The ink being Victoria's death.

Now that I knew that her death could have been avoided . . . that she chose death . . . Everything in me was begging and pleading to be angry. My heart awaited for my brain to give it permission to thump against the cage that was my ribs in a wild rhythm. I refused to give it permission.

I couldn't be angry at Victoria because I almost did the same thing as her. I almost took my life. I almost dived off the very same cliff, into the very same ocean, on the very same beach.

That was one reason I wouldn't allow myself to become angry with her. The other reason was I didn't believe she killed herself.

Sure, it seemed reasonable. She had gone through a lot. But if she had killed herself there wouldn't have been anyone trying to cover up her death, trying to get me to stop looking. I had spent the whole night thinking about it. Pacing the room and staring at my view of the ocean from the window and thinking. My final thought, the only logical answer I could find, was that the suicide note was forged.

The person who had been stalking me and threatening me had figured out another way to get away with murder. It must have been a rash decision because just before they planted the note, they had drugged me stating that it was either Pete or me who was going to take the blame. That led me to believe that the detectives were right. The murderer was young.

They knew my gran had alzheimer's and that her memory was mixed up. This made it easy for them to place the letter in the comport and have my gran think she forgot to give it to me. This form of manipulation made me sick. Surely, I didn't know this person. They were ruthless and wicked. But if I didn't know this person, how did they know so much about me?

This person had to be at the beach the day I tried to commit suicide. They must have saw what I was planning to do. That's why they made Victoria have the same fate in the letter. Her murderer was openly mocking me.

I spent the rest of the night listing faces I saw on the beach that day, becoming frustrated when all I could recall were blurry faces in crowds.

Then I found myself circling the typewriter wondering who was posing as Victoria. Who had left the note by the pool? Who had left me the typewriter? Was it someone who knew something, too scared to step up? Or was it the murderer playing games with me?

It was too much. Too much to carry all on my own. But I had already witnessed the hazards of working in a group and being completely honest with myself, I was scared to trust again. I was scared to be let down and I was scared of letting someone else down.

Shelby was absent from school. She had come down with a cold according to Hannah. I didn't completely trust her answer so I gave Shelby a call to be sure. She answered after a few rings saying Hannah told the truth more or less. She was sick- sick of Hannah. Apparently, she wouldn't drop the subject of Victoria. She kept listing reasons why it wasn't her fault over and dinner and while Shelby was trying to sleep. Honestly, the school probably would have been fine with us missing school today considering the news we received. But it had been two days. We had to move on and push through senior year.