To Make A Murderer

iii . an alley-way stranger

一

T H R E E

一

I'm sorry, but your story isn't adding up.

Sweat licked Ivory's skin in the maddening heat.

She had never been a fan of summer, let's just put it at that. She would much have preferred the winter cold to the blistering July heat wave that shocked the city.

It's a wonder how she hasn't melted to the cement yet.

At least, one good thing about summer was that school was temporarily on hold. She was free to whatever the heck she wanted for a few sacred weeks. Her foolish dad probably wouldn't have cared if she ran away to the next town over for sometime.

Hence, she decided to do just that.

Think your religion is a lie to keep my mouth shut.

Now she was regretting it. This town was even warmer than her own. But train tickets cost quite a bit more than one would expect, and she refused to leave until she's had her share of fun.

That is what she had initially thought, but what on earth can one possibly do in such a small town? All she had been doing was mindlessly skipping through the streets in a thin blouse and a skirt, inspecting the rows of brown brick buildings and cobble stone paths. Hardly something one would call fun.

It was at times like these she wondered what Lilia might have done. Lilia, as horrid a girl as she was, did have her merits. She was especially talented of being able to make any dull day fun. At times like these, Ivory did miss her. But no use crying over dead people, right?

So I'm on testify to crime you're keeping score of.

Just when she thought the day couldn't get any more boring, she heard a muffled voice cough out through the crack in a dark alleyway.

Hmm. Dark alleyways. Always a fun place to be in.

Curiously, Ivory peeked over the side of the wall, peering into the depths. A young boy, who couldn't have been much older than her, was pressed against the wall as an older man dressed in a black suit covered the boy's mouth with a gloved hand.

The boy's skin was bloodied, and scratches dotted him like stars. His black hair was matted back with sweat, and his shirt, which Ivory assumed used to be white, was dirtied and turning gray on the fringes.

Why don't you throw me to the wolves, I thought you were one?

The man was furiously muttering something in another language as the boy stared up at him impassively, almost as if he was bored. That makes two of us, Ivory supposed.

To her surprise, the boy's amber eyes met hers in the dark. Something changed in his expression, and although his face was mostly covered, Ivory had the strangest feeling that he was smiling at her.

The man, frustrated, reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife. He pointed it towards the boy, who didn't even flinch as the sharp glint of steel kissed his throat.

You're standing here like an angry guy.

Ivory should have walked away. She had no obligation to help a mere stranger. But in that moment, with the boy's beautiful amber eyes gazing at her own, she felt a sudden rush of familiarity.

Counting all my sins just to cross them off.

Perhaps he reminded himself of someone? Of herself?