Traces of Delilah

One

My mother was able to see through people's lies using her first-hand experience in deceit. But there was a part of me that both envied and hated her for it.

She used to tell me; every neighborhood has its fair share of big little lies. Big cities, small towns. It didn't matter. There would always be people thriving off them. She was right, of course. That was something I learned the hard way growing up.

"Continue straight down Harrold Lane." My GPS blended into the background of my thoughts. I sighed and pressed down harder on the gas. I could feel my tires picking up speed along the dry, gravelly road.

There were rules to growing up in the projects, and one of the first rules was teaching young people like myself to mind their business. I couldn't begin to count how many times I witnessed actions coming back to bite people in the ass.

Fights broke out over petty drama, and secrets were kept among the neighbors in the building, passing it around like drugs. When someone got caught, people told their sides of the story very differently, to make themselves out to be the hero, the victim, or the saint. It was equally thrilling as it was scary.

My foot pressed even harder onto the gas until I noticed I was driving past Connecticut's flashy entry sign. "Welcome to Baskerville, C.T. home of the friendly, where everyone is welcome," I read the sign and shook my head, chuckling out my sarcasm, "lovely as always."

I'd imagine that's how it was supposed to be. But there was no guarantee all of the townspeople would feel the same. All those signs do is give hopeful lies that more than likely wouldn't be fulfilled.

Just like that sign, I'd come across plenty of people who claimed they never lie. I figured they were lying then and there. It was inevitable. Whether it was a damaging lie, just a harmless little white lie, or a lie of self-righteousness. A liar is a liar. And a lie is a lie.

All the same bullshit if anyone asked me.

"Easy Chastity." I loosened some of the pressure I had on the steering wheel. My eyes were steady on the narrow, straight road.

Minutes had passed, driving down the same strip of gravel. Cars were distanced away from my vehicle ahead. I wasn't sure how long I'd been driving now. The trip wasn't too long though. I knew that because my feet hadn't been cramping yet. The road went on until I was no longer passing through communities of stores, but average family-friendly houses painted in white and black all the way down.

"In one and a half mile, turn left onto Utopia Drive," the GPS announced. I followed its directions until I heard in three feet you will have arrived at your destination. Surely enough, I did.

The engine cut off and I peeked out the window, observing the house. "Damn, Skylar. You weren't kidding about this place." My mouth gaped open at the picture-perfect home in front of me.

No shitting, the house was as beautiful as she advocated in the pictures she sent. Honestly, I wasn't sure what I was expecting in the first place. It wasn't like she'd lie to me about the house I'd be staying in with her.

"That'd be weird, Chas." I laughed under my breath.

Skylar had never been like that. She was blunt and straight-forward. Too straight-forward to tell a bold-faced lie like that, especially. It was just my paranoia again. I knew it had to be.

I shook my head and gave my cheeks two soft slaps, prepping myself. After removing all my belongings from my car, I fished for my phone in my back pocket. Several rings later and her voicemail met my ears.

Was she even home? She should have been. I hadn't made this drive over here for my health. She'd promised me that she'd be free to help me get settled in today. I was counting on her to uphold that promise. So, if she left me stranded, I was going to murder her.