The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Nine

Cecilia James lives in a small, suburban neighborhood with quaint cottages of various colors-- some bright, some dull. Children play outside, splashing in kiddie pools and running around with footballs.
    Her house is white with a picket fence surrounding it-- no children in sight.
    Yet, the landscaping is wonderous. Flowers of many kinds fill the area in front of the porch and in front of windows, sitting in pots. The grass is freshly mown and everything is set to perfection.
    Almost like she knew someone’s coming.
    I follow Wesley up the porch, waiting for him to knock on the door. Why isn’t he knocking? He wanted to come, so why isn’t he following through?
           But when he turns around and looks at me, I realize nothing has changed since the incident. He's not fixed; he was just distracted. Wesley is not happy; he is inevitably sorrowful and wasting away. His eyes have red lines shooting from every which way and his body has shrunk a drastic, size within a week. 
            He's still broken; him laughing and sharing a good time… it doesn't mean he's all better. 
            And now, it's all coming to surface.
            "What if-" he starts, unable to finish his sentence. He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration and sighs. "What if she really did it?"
           And that’s when it really, truly hits me.
    What if she did?
    We’re too out of our minds for this-- we’re just two teenagers! We shouldn’t be solving a murder, we should be planning what party we’re going to next. 
    There’s just so much uncertainty here. 
    We may knock on this door and the person who opens it will be a cold blooded murderer. Maybe who opens it will murder us the second we mention Maeve.
    I jump at the sound of the front door creaking open. 
    “Can I help you?” a woman says, peering her eyes through the crack the chained door allows open. 
    Wesley simply stares at me, frightened. 
    “Scott isn’t home right now, if you’re wanting to rent, come back la-”
    “We’re looking for Cecilia James,” I say, stepping in front of Wesley. 
    The cautious women freezes, looking me up and down. Eventually, she takes a deep breath and begins to speak.
    “What do you… I don’t get it, you’re kids. What could you possibly want from me?”
    “We’re friends of Maeve Kingston,” Wesley says, making my heart skip a beat. He’s smarter than this-- why-why did he do that? He knows this is dangerous. Revealing our identity can ruin us. He’s putting us in danger!
    Suddenly, the door slams shut and that’s when I know we’ve made a mistake. We need to run-- we need to get out of here. 
    And then it fully opens, exposing the woman. 
    She’s beautiful-- her chocolate skin is silky smooth and her black curls that sit in a loose bun remind me of Maeve, despite that half of the bun has fallen out and lays on her shoulders. 
    She’s wearing ruggedy clothes of a worn t-shirt and sweatpants that scrunch up on her bare ankles. 
    “What about her?” she says, suddenly full of energy.
    Is she worried because it’s her daughter or because she killed her?
    “We weren’t sure if you knew,” Wesley says. 
    “Knew-knew what?” she stutters, crossing her arms. She doesn’t know? She doesn’t know her daughter died? Or maybe she’s simply putting up an act.
    “She-she… uh-” he tries, but hides his reddening eyes to the ground when he stops. He can’t do it-- he can’t say it.
    “She died,” I finish. “Saturday night.”

    “Look, I didn’t… ask for this,” she says, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. 
    Her house is messy-- full of dirty dishes and piles of clothes, blankets, and trash lying around. The outside really painted a different picture. 
    “When I was thirteen, I wasn’t planning on being a mother-- that… man should still be in jail for it! So of course, I put her up for adoption and-and don’t get me wrong,” she says, stopping. Her eyes find us. “I’m beyond happy that she found a loving family. But now? Now she’s dead? Why didn’t anyone tell me until now? I have-” she stops herself as the sound of crying echoes from a room down the hall. She races, with tears down her eyes, down the hall. 
    I’m stuck, standing beside Wesley as my thoughts drift away, leaving me utterly frozen. 
    She was thirteen… it couldn’t of been consensual. It happens-- it happens to some people and they have to live with the consequences. Cecilia’s consequence was Maeve. But what if it happened to me?
    What if Brandon… what if he hurt me? What are my consequences?
    She comes back out with a newborn baby boy cradled in her arms, smiling happily… this baby is Maeve’s brother. If Maeve could’ve seen this precious newborn, I’m sure she’d be in awe. She has a brother-- a baby brother.
    “How did… how did she-” she begins, but can’t finish. 
    I look at Wesley, torn between what we tell her. Each is the truth… but what does she need to hear?
    And with his head, brought to the floor, he answers.
    “Murder.” 
    Cecilia gasps, stumbling backwards. Quickly, I grab the baby from her arms and cradle him in mine. 
    Her face flushes pale and she has to grip on to the island table, just so she can stand up. 
    “God,” she finally says. “Who… why… how-”
    “They’re working on it,” I say. “And they’re gonna’ catch whoever did this,” I say, edging closer to her. 
    She reaches out for her baby with her red, teary eyes begging to hold him.
            And looking at her with raggidy clothes in a house that's gone to shambles from being preoccupied with a baby, I don't see a murderer. I see someone who is barely keeping her life together. This woman is not capable of murder. 
           This woman did not have any part in the death of Maeve Kingston.
***
           After getting home, I greet my parents and run to my closet, ready to solve this tormenting murder.
           Carter Garcia: Obsession.
           Skye Richards: Threatened Maeve.
           Chief Larsen: Refuses to take Maeve's case.
           Jessie McFall: Over protective of Mia-- maybe went too far when Mia didn't get homecoming queen. Shows acts of violence.
          Heath Prescott: Currently out of jail, probably on probation, perhaps a hit man. Motive? Unknown.
          Brandon Hamilton: Motive under investigation-- not a major threat.
          Riley Anderson: Maeve's best friend, but maybe there's something buried beneath that friendship.
         "Quinn?" Mia's all-too-familiar voice chimes in from behind me. 
         Instinctively, I race out of my closet and slam the door shut. Why is she here? I never told her she could come. I have things to be doing-- a murder to be solving.
        "What's that?" she asks. 
        She's holding a folded pile of my clothes from the party, but she sits them on my bed and edges closer to me. 
        No, get away. You don't need to see this. 
        "Nothing," I say, gripping on to the door handle. "How um- how do you know where I live?"
       She freezes and simply stares at me in utter confusion.
       "I asked Brandon."
       Brandon. 
       Instantly, my entire body clenches and the feeling of guilt… or maybe regret fills my stomach, making my hands uncontrollably shake. 
        "Are you okay? I-I just wanted to bring you your clothes." 
        Wait. This is an opportunity. With Mia here, I can get information. I can find why Jessie attacked me, what I did, and why he might've had the motive to kill.
       Suddenly, I blurt it out.
       "Why did Jessie yell at me?" I spurt, loosening my grip on the handle. Maybe a distraction will ease her curiosity. 
       "He uh… he thinks you're the reason I broke up with him," she says. "You're being very erratic, are you sure you're okay?" 
       I'm the reason they broke up? Why in hell would I be the reason? 
      She sighs and continues, "He knows I was with  you yesterday and that morning, I ended things. Look, he's not stable. He hurt me, Quinn and I couldn't handle it anymore… him beating your friend up wasn't-it wasn't-"
      "What do you mean 'not stable'?" I say, and suddenly, my fingers wrap tighter around the handle.
       I'm so close-- if only she answers.
       "Quinn," she says. "Open the closet." 
       She steps towards me, placing her hand on top of mine and that's when I lose it. 
       "Get away!" I exclaim, making her jump back in utter fear. My chest tightens as the rage builds up.
       If she doesn't get out of my house, I'll go ballistic. This is my house, not her's! She can't waltz right in and demand to see what's not her's!
       "I know what you're doing," she mumbles. "And I want to help… but you're gonna' have to let someone other than Wesley Kingston in." 
       She doesn't know what she's talking about-- I let people in. Keller Avery is my best friend… I've let him in, I've let him see things no one else has. He knows my secrets, my problems. He knows things… but he's gone.