How to Kill a Man in Thirty Seconds

Chapter 43: Surreal

Mary Clark.

The redhead at Sam's party. The girl with the muffin. And the small voice. Isaac's friend.

It was her.

The air rushed out of me.

"We were pretty lucky to catch her," the detective was saying, but my brain was swimming and I could barely hear her. Shock was taking control, "We searched her house this afternoon. Found all kinds of belongings linking her to the murder."

Disbelief hit me like a tidal wave. Fear. Anger. It was all rushing into me at once, too quickly. And yet my mind was numb. Slowing.

"Why?"

The detective shrugged sadly, "I don't want to confirm anything yet, Charley. We're still interrogating her. She has a... mental disability, which complicates things." Kim added after much thought, "But, we do know that her sister was an employee at your father's company."

The rest of her words flew by me. If my brain were a program, it had hit an error. The words refused to sink in.

Mental disability? What did that mean? Was the redhead a lunatic?

Don't we all have things to make amends for, Charley Green? Mary Clark's final words to me rang in my mind. Taunting me. Had she been referring to murdering my father?

Fury surged up in me. I felt my fists clench tightly.

It all felt surreal.

"Sweetheart?" I glanced up when my mother's voice sounded.

It was then that I noticed that the room was empty and the cops had left. My mother was watching me and I could tell she was struggling with all the strength she had, to hold herself together.

"Mum..." my voice broke mid-sentence and I felt whatever little that was left of my strength, shatter. My chin wobbled and tears suddenly erupted from my eyes. I felt my mother's arms wrap around me and pressed myself against her, helpless. Soon, her sobs joined mine.

We wept for hours that night.

We held onto each other, using the other as the last thing holding ourselves from slipping into oblivion. We cried, until there were no more tears to shed and our hearts felt numb. And until our weary eyes fluttered shut, welcoming us into a sleep that was haunted by nightmares.

I woke up with a throbbing head, to an empty house.

It was ten, far too late for school, not that I had any intentions of attending today. I knew that my two friends had probably found out and I most likely had more than a dozen missed calls, but I couldn't deal with them right now. I managed to make it to the counter and reached for a glass of water to nurse my parched throat. There was a note beside it. Mum had gone out to clear her head.

My stomach rumbled but I wasn't in the mood to cook. I felt exhausted. I switched on the TV, flipping through the channels in a desperate attempt to distract myself, but found nothing that interested me.

A sudden tap on the front door awoke me from my stupor.

A familiar voice called through, "Charley, open the door. It's me, Adrian."

I glanced at the time. It was nine thirty. He should be in school. What was he doing here?

I stayed silent.

"Charley, I know you're in there," Adrian called again, sounding impatient, "I'm staying until you open the door." He paused, "Don't make me wait."