Pam (Short story)

Part 1

Nicholas

Cause of death: unknown. Well, at least that's what the police told me. Their most recent theory was that of a suicide- but I don't believe these cover-up lies used by the police force to keep Pamela's family from knowing the truth about what really happened to her.

Oh Pam. Poor Pam. My Pam. 

Pamela Adams was the love of my life, my whole world. The pair of us grew up as best friends, doing absolutely everything and anything together, no matter what. Even when she had to leave to go on vacation I wrote to her every single day. Not a day went by that I didn't think of her, and there is no exception now. 

Knowing that she's dead won't change anything. It won't change the fact that the only way in which I will be able to see her face full of perfection will be through a photograph. A photograph that won't hold the ability to say the things that make me smile any more, the things that make me happy.

Without Pam in my life, I am nothing; nothing, compared to having her by my side. 

I know exactly what happened on Thursday 13th June, 2019- the final moments of her life- and I am certain that I know who the killer is. All I have to do now is prove to the police that all their theories are incorrect and obvious lies...

                                           ***

"Nick, I know it's been hard on you- there's no denying it- but you need to move on. It's been a month now, just listen to the police for once- it was suicide."

I stare at my seven minute older twin sister in shock. How dare, she of all people, tell me to move on from the love of my life after she was brutally killed? Yeah, we teenagers may live in America with access to guns, but by no means did Pam shoot herself repeatedly in the head around four or five times. Only a murderer would do that.

If I knew Pam (which I did, thank you very much) then I'm certain that nothing happening personally to her would have possessed her to take her own life. The sad thing is that we had just gotten together, after I gained the confidence to confess my feelings to her, despite my cowardness. So the police's suicide theory makes me think that I never really mattered to her.

"Look Nick," Evelyn continues, trying to convince me that I am wrong. "I know how it feels to lose someone you love, especially the one person who you thought would be there forever, so don't try saying that I don't. I can help you to get through this, but only if you allow me."

Although my sister can offer me valid comfort that I feel as though I need, I know that she doesn't believe me when I say Pam's death was murder, so I don't want help from her.

"I don't need you," I say as I push past her to head straight for my room.

"Nick," Evelyn reaches out for me softly, "please talk to me. It can help, it did for me with Luke."

I turn away from my sibling as I walk in the opposite direction towards my bedroom. "I don't need you," I repeat, before ascending the stairs, leaving her stood alone with her arm outstretched in mid air.

                                            ***

I slam the door shut of my bedroom before kicking it with my foot as hard as I can. I usually take out all the negative emotions in violent ways such as kicking things or punching them, yet it stills angers me when my fist or foot (which in this scenario is foot) hurts momentarily afterwards.

Stomping over to my bed despite the pain in my foot, I dramatically sit down. I soon remember about my pillow, so I shuffle towards the end of my bed to retrieve the photos. After lifting my pillow and collecting my photo album, I begin to flick through the pages, reminding me of all the happy times that I had with Pam. Too bad someone prevented me from being able to have any more as of last month.

As I take time to look at each individual photograph of me and Pam, memories come flooding back inside of me. There was the time when she and I were building a snowman, and at the exact time that the photo was taken, the head slid off. Then as I take a look at the next photo, it shows an image of a seven year old version of me and Pam. I remember that day so clearly: it was the day that I first complimented her. 

Thinking back to that day, I can visualise it perfectly: Pam sat on the grass making daisy chains in a field full of flowers whilst I'd walked around, looking for the perfect one. I'd then returned to face her when she'd finished creating her flower crown, with a bouquet of purple tulips that I had collected for her. 

"They're beautiful," Pam had said, taking the freshly picked flowers from me and holding them in her hands.

"Just like you," my seven year old self had replied, causing my best friend to smile at me in reply. 

And that had been the day that I realised how much I loved Pamela Adams, despite the fact that I was only seven years of age. Nine years on, and the love of my life is dead, leaving our duo down to one.

A light knock sounding from the other side of my door shakes me out of my mind, and the memories swirling within. The knock is heard again, and this time I mutter a "come in." Evelyn is revealed as the door swings open, then steps into my room and makes her way over towards me. 

She takes a seat on the other end of my bed, facing me and eyeing the album in my hands. Evelyn is probably also staring at my tear stained face, which I didn't notice until I had seen the droplets fall onto the photo of Pam and I's younger selves.

"Nick," Evelyn begins, to which I acknowledge that she's speaking to me. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

"Earlier," she replies, "I'm sorry for telling you to move on and just accept what the police had told you. So that's why I'm here to help. Let's go find the murderer who killed Pamela."

But what she doesn't know, is that I don't need her help; I've always known who did it, and now is finally the right time to act upon my knowledge.

                                            ***

"So," Evelyn says.

"So..." I echo.

"Where do we begin?" 

"Do I look like a detecive to you, Eve?" I ask sarcastically, wondering why she's asking me where to start when it was her who was the one who said that she was going to help me. 

My sister looks down at the ground, realising that she's really offered zero amount of help since she came in my bedroom previously. Good job Mum and Dad are away on a business trip and trust us to stay home alone (I can't understand why, us being the irresponsible and reckless sixteen year olds that we are); we could only guess what their reaction would be to their two only children deciding to track down a killer.

"Well, are there any likely suspects?" Evelyn asks.

"There's one. But, you aren't gonna like it..." I answer, ending in a whisper.

Evelyn growls slightly, setting me on edge- I've always been slightly afraid of my sister when she's angry. 

"Luke is innocent, Nick! Yeah, he may have been a jerk to us both because of Pamela, but he would never go as far as to murder someone. Especially not her, he loved her! And that's why I lost him," she exclaims, anger bubbling up inside of her as her face increasingly reddens. 

"Oh Gosh, Eve. You were jealous of her, weren't you? And... no. You aren't, are you? You aren't still in love with him?" I ask, bewildered at what I'm uncovering.

"You can't help who you fall for, Nick. I just... it can't be prevented." 

"I'm sorry, but I've got to see what Luke has to say for himself surrounding Pam's death," I reply solemnly. 

Evelyn just nods her head sadly, wiping away a tear from underneath her eye before it falls onto her lap. I wish I didn't have to do this, but... it's all for Pam.