Into the Unknown

Shannon

From the television that's suspended on the hospital wall, I hear the sound of the news channel introductory music being to play. James is still asleep, slowly healing, so I let him be, turning down the volume on the television as the excitement elevates on the screen. Various things are mentioned on the news, none of which are crimes, robberies, or anything remotely related to that. As everyone loves to say about good ol' Princelan: It's the town where nothing extreme or unique happens.

Well, except when Shelby was murdered. That was the one circumstance that everybody here would beg to never have happened.

Since the accident, I've yet to get ahold of William. He's probably worried about us, but I don't want him knowing what's happened here. That would only make matters worse for us as a family. On the other hand, James is not one to keep secrets; I'll be getting chewed at if he knows I never informed William. Oh well, it can wait another day. No harm, right?

Everything that the newscaster, a woman with graying hair and wrinkles developing around her mouth and under her eyes named Debby, informs me, along with whoever else may be watching the evening news from the comfort of their homes, isn't relevant to anything that I need or want to know. Unhesitant, I grab the television remote, point it towards the screen, and press the power button, shutting it off without wanting to flip through any of the other complimentary channels that the hospital provides their patients.

Now in the silence of James' neatly cleaned room, along with the rhythmic beeping of the monitors, my stomach begins growling.

"Must be time for some dinner," I whisper even though I don't have the feeling of hunger at all. The cafeteria had never seemed so unavoidable until I kept myself in the hospital. Food is something I haven't craved since my husband's accident but I know it's important. Sometimes Liz has stopped by to drop off some take-out. The majority of the time I've rejected it; mostly out of embarrassment and there's no need for anyone to assist me through this family matter. It should only include family. My husband, William, and I. But as it usually goes in a small town, gossip travels too quickly before it's stopped, spreading like a virus from person to person within seconds. Then, after it's too late, the virus has spread throughout the whole town; whenever someone leaves the town to travel to another city, such as London, for example, then the virus-like gossip continues to spread faster, evolving and mutating quicker than it ever did before. Words spoken from the mouths of listeners twist the original virus, the beginning story, and turn it into something new, unique, intriguing, and completely different than how it had begun. Once the virus has been discovered by the media and authorities, collectively the search begins for patient zero, the individual who started the whole dilemma, the pandemic. Sometimes there is luck at eliminating the viral gossip while other times there's nothing people can do but sit and wait for the situation to die out.

Maybe that's what they'll do to Shelby. Those included in her case will wait so long, thinking that if they strategize this right, they might be able to just fake solving her murder for so long that eventually everyone would forget about it. The perfect cover-up, some would call it. I on the other hand have strong reason to believe that whoever killed Shelby would have run away as soon as they could. In a world where chaos and uncontrolled passions roam, such as those that are sexual or murderous, it's impossible to believe that nothing of the sort could happen in such a calm, quiet, tranquil town like Princelan. Immoralities still meander through the hearts, thoughts, wants, and needs of those who don't know their own strengths and weaknesses, devolving into something dangerous, seceded from the rest of the world, along with everything and everyone on it. No longer do they believe in hope, reassurance and the faith that the progression of humanity could ever succeed. Instead they douse themselves into the developmental mind of thinking that everyone is for themselves, that this is a world of survival and they are the warriors who have to make it through one day into the next, disillusioned by the evidence that nothing is real, that everything is manipulating, that every situation, circumstance, and day could be a trap. This is what makes those who crave those passions turn into vile, dangerous horrors that walk among us, the majority of the time without anyone knowing. Shielding themselves so well, they do it with a gracefulness that could be perceived as artistic to some, to those who study their personalities.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, as far as danger is concerned, there are the innocents, most often the victims of tragedy. Whether they are stressed by the daily routines in life, or the worries from work that drown themselves in their own loathing, they too can be caught in the trap of a criminal, somewhere I would never long to be. As a married woman, vulnerable and weak, watching my back is a constant, never-ending war between myself and those around me. No longer does curiosity control me, but instead it's the fear, that horrible heavy gut feeling, that weighs me down, holding me back from my true potential. But that fear has kept me safe so far, and I would rather like it to stay that way. At least until my husband has fully healed and been rejuvenated from the imprisonment of a hospital bed, there is no conceivable way that I would allow myself to revolt against everything I've known. Turning away from my family – my husband, my son – I could never forgive myself for that. A mother never abandons her child unless she absolutely has to, unless it's a life or death situation. But even then, the mother doesn't sacrifice the child; she gives herself up to provide her offspring with the best possible life that she can offer. That is the love that the world needs to see – the true example of love that is shown by a mother to her children. Obtaining and giving that love to my own child is something that I used to be wonderful at. Then, once William graduated, I felt like everything changed. No longer was he the loving little ball of joy that always kept me going. Rather, after all these years, he's experienced love and loss, both with the one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. For him to live with that is something that I wish could never be burdened upon my children or anyone else's. Nobody, absolutely no one, deserves to go through the death of a family member, friend, or foe. Death is not fair, yet it is unstoppable, never giving its victims a chance. Or was Shelby given a chance? Did she have the choice of death or life, an exception? Unless I can dig through the limited minute clues and hints that William gives me through silent glances and little actions, there may never be a way for me to know who did it. And the worst thought that has eaten away at me for months could never be true. There is no possible way but I have to consider it.

I look from the window that has a view of the town and turn back to see my husband sleeping peacefully as a wave of tranquility passes over me before the thought returns.

Did my own son murder his girlfriend . . .?