How to Kill a Man in Thirty Seconds

Chapter 60: The Message

Adrian said nothing more, his face solemn as he led me out through the front door, his father's beady eyes watching our every move. Overcome by shock and bewilderment, my feet dragged after him. The air had left my lungs.

"Adrian-" I spluttered but Adrian's head shook, and he tugged me on insistently.

He only stopped when we were well out the door and had made it past the barren path leading away from his house, past the thick forest that shielded the place on all sides. He released my arm then, but his hooded gaze remained on the floor.

"You should go, Charley. Stay home. Don't come back here."

I forced the tornado of emotions to the back of my mind.

"Okay," I nodded, "And you're coming with me."

Adrian suddenly took a step back as I reached out for him. His head shook. Guilt burned in his eyes when they met mine, "I should stay."

"Adrian, what in God's name are you on about?"

Adrian's face was grave but set, "You heard him. I need to stay. You need to leave."

"Don't be silly. I can't believe you're giving in this easily. I'm not letting you go back in there. Not over my dead body, Adrian. Stay at my place. I don't care-"

"Charley, leave."

Adrian's eyes were dead set, his face decided. Fear and worry filled me.

I grabbed his hand, "Please, let's just go to the cops then."

Adrian sighed, "Yes, and I'm sure they'll believe me this time, find evidence they didn't on me seven years ago. I can't go through that again, Charley. I can't have a bunch of strangers know every single humiliating detail to my life and at the end of it all, have them laugh in my face. As far as the cops are concerned, he's just a father back home for the holidays. Charley, go back home."

"Did you not hear him, Adrian?!" I cried, "You're not safe with him. We're going to the cops."

"We're not."

"Yes, we are!"

"No, we are not."

"Are too!"

"Charley-" he took a step backwards, retreating, head shaking.

"ADRIAN JAMES ARTHUR HUNT, you listen to me right now!" I suddenly bellowed in an enraged voice that was foreign to my own ears.

Adrian froze. Anger and frustration and worry had risen like a tsunami wave in me, and the vicious words had rolled off my tongue before I could stop them, "I am not letting you go back in there. I don't care how you feel; I don't care if you think it's right. We are getting help. Whether you come with me or not, I am going to the cops. Even if you refuse to tell them the truth, I will. I'll tell them everything."

Adrian flinched.

I froze, horror filling me as I realized my blunder. It had taken everything for Adrian to tell me what he had, to trust that I would have my lips sealed.

"Adrian-"

His head shook, face tainted with disappointment and eyes with hurt as he backed away.

"Go home, Charley," he said with resignation, "Just go."

A parcel was awaiting me by the front door of my house.

I was crestfallen, my thoughts scattered so it took a moment to register the familiar brown paper packaging, the initials C.G. engraved on its front.

It had been months since the last gift.

My heart skipped a beat and my gaze darted around, searching for someone, anyone that could be the culprit. I was alone. Trepidation struck me, and for a moment, I considered chucking it into the garbage bin. But curiosity took over. I rushed inside, bolting the door shut.

My heart was in my throat as I tore open the packaging and its contents tumbled out: a pair of white tennis shoes and an old cassette. The shoes were old and frayed, dirtied with grime and five sizes too small. My eyes narrowed in bewilderment as I stared at it.

I suddenly blinked with the realization. I turned them over hastily, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw what I had expected. Scrawled on the soles in childish writing was a name. Charley Gren. The same misspelling that I recalled making.

I also recalled throwing away these shoes when I was about seven or eight. I'd assumed they'd found their way to the trash... How had they ended up here?

My head throbbed. Fear had engulfed me. I staggered away, shocked. Horrified.

Just what was I up against? Had this person stalked me my entire life? Was that what they were trying to say? Why had they gathered these things? Why were they sending them to me?

My hands grabbled for the cassette and I'd stuck it in the player before I could think twice. A moment of dead silence filled the room. Then, music began to play, a woman's melodic and high-pitched voice, eerily soft and happy, against the grim silence.

It sounded old. Decades old. And for a second, I was struck by the feeling that I was being watched.

But I was alone. I had to be.

I stand here come morn and day,

Upon the ground that we used to lay,

Wild promises of that someday,

For Love, if I may proclaim,

That I loved you dear.

As the winds rise and fall tonight,

I'll take stand beneath this twilight,

Right by your grave site,

And pray you well, dear.

I'll gaze at your pretty stone,

Name engraved on that little throne,

And reminisce that night alone,

I miss you so, dear.

I wish they didn't say we had to part,

Stripped away before we could even start,

It must have broken your tender heart,

I wish you'd told me, dear.

Oh, how they found you by that archway,

Neck snapped like it was child's play,

Eyes wide open like you'd seen doomsday,

What a pretty sight, dear.

So, I'll stand here come morn and day,

Upon the ground that we used to lay,

Wild promises of that someday,

For Love, if I may proclaim,

That I loved you dear.

_______________________________________________

A/N- Would really appreciate feedback!