Traces of Delilah

Twenty

I couldn't remember when Delilah had finally released me from her memory. But I now laid on my bed, staring at a blank wall, urging another one to come.

My fingers scratched at the material of my pajama shorts. My tongue clicked against the root of my mouth. I could hardly focus while I gathered several possible explanations for all of this. I'd lost track of how long the same information had been crossing my mind, like I was stuck in a never-ending loop. It'd been forcing me to properly digest everything all over again.

Someone was out to hurt me. I knew that. Someone killed Damon (though, it wasn't clear who did it and his case had never been solved). I knew that too. Delilah's death may not have been as straight-forward as everyone had a habit of making it seem. I knew that as well. And sure, those were all red-flags.

However, this was nothing new. Seriously. It was absolutely nothing I hadn't already known. The last part was only speculation that I'd been holding onto for a while now. I had no hardcore proof. But I sure was getting tired of having to speculate with nothing to keep me grounded.

It was all shitty. Just plain old aggravating.

I didn't understand the way it all added up either. Whoever was ready to go out of their way to hit me with a pair of brass knuckles could only have been trying to keep me quiet. This hadn't been the first time I'd come to terms with that. It was scary to think about.

My blood splattered across the hard-wooden floor, my body unconscious from the impact, the figure hovering over me to finish the job. They'd have probably dumped my body in the ocean until it drifted into someone else's presence. Or they could have left me to die there until someone stumbled upon me, limp. 

And after all I'd done to think hard about it, I was still baffled.

"Why the heck would someone would be so threatened by me, they'd want to kill me? I just don't get it." I scoffed. 

This had been the third time I asked myself that question. It was the same thing I asked right after the incident at the lighthouse happened. I just couldn't figure it out.

I was new to town. I didn't know Delilah. Not even personally. All I did was ask questions, not counting the part about being able to see her memories, because no one knew that. I guess I should have been more careful with asking around. I must have been asking the right questions then.

Maybe they were questions that no one dared to ask. Maybe they were questions that set me on the right trail. Maybe, just maybe, they were questions that further confirmed what I'd been thinking since I read up on what happened to the Kim family—something fishy was going on and I wasn't too sure Delilah was behind it.

I'd already concluded someone was trying to keep secrets having to do with her buried, so it wasn't exactly horrible to assume anymore. I could list a number of people off the top of my head who I thought had something to hide. I wouldn't have been surprised if someone out there knew what really happened to Damon and Delilah. No one was willing to talk though.

They all covered their asses like they were innocent. Well, that was how it seemed to me.

Could it have been the ones who hated her most and didn't care that their hate was showing? Or could it have been the ones who smiled in my face and spoke kind words about her? I didn't know.

The mental gymnastics were officially going to kill me before I got anywhere.

My nose scrunched up as I tucked my hands in between my thighs for warmth. "Ugh. People suck." I groaned and flopped onto my side.