Under One Sky

Without a Motive

"The trial's over," says my lawyer.

I answer him with a dull nod. I've won the case. There was too much evidence against him; he didn't stand a chance. The man who killed my uncle is arrested, sentenced, and imprisoned. This is what I wanted, right? I tell myself that, but a cold feeling seems to pervade my body. It's incomprehensible, but it's real. It's true.

"Mrs. Queen?" says my lawyer. "Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Seems I lost myself in thought. "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all."

He gives me an understanding smile that looks a little sad and says no more, perhaps in sympathy and respect for my situation.

He walks with me to the entrance of the courthouse, drops of snow raining before our eyes. We exchange a few parting words and I head to a local cafe that I frequent - a small place that mainly sells toasted sandwiches. I order the usual and I sit there, thinking about the case I've started and finished. Some part of me feels that this is necessary.

It all started one month ago. My uncle Gerald came to visit for the Winter holidays, and I gave him a place to stay. He and I don't cook; we get food from outside. So, I used to leave him at home to buy our meals.

Then there came that day. I returned home with our dinner and I unlocked the door. From there I could see the living room, and my uncle was usually there. This time, though, he wasn't.

I called his name. Nothing reached my ears. I figured he might be having a shower or something and I went inside, locking the door as I did.

I left the bags of food on the dining table and sat on a sofa. Some minutes passed. He should be done any minute now, I thought.

No one came. Not even the sound of a single footstep could be heard. I called my uncle again, with a louder voice than the first. Silence was still my only companion.

Could something have happened to his health? I turned the idea over - Uncle Gerald was sort of old, yes, but his condition's been fine up to now. Could I be sure that he's really fine, though? He looked healthy, but it's not like I knew his medical records, right?

I got up and climbed the stairs with a hurried step. I reached his door and knocked lightly. I waited some seconds and knocked again, only louder. I was getting anxious. Fuck it, I thought. I turned the doorknob and strode inside.

A frozen chill ensnared me, making my blood run cold as I saw him - Him, an undescribable presence that invaded my life in a way I've never felt before. He stood there, eyes frenzied, hands busy strangling my uncle's throat. He met no resistance, though. I looked at my uncle and he looked lost, soulless and gone. The man continued to choke him when there was nothing left to murder, nothing to destroy.

I could feel hot tears running down my cheeks, and with them emerged a flame - a fire that burst inside me. I charged at the man. I was unarmed and I didn't have a plan, but I didn't care. I wanted to make him suffer.

I yelled and attacked him wildly, senselessly. My hands and arms were hitting him, and I even kicked him. He dropped my uncle to the floor and took my beating without resistance, staring at me and laughing, laughing like it was some sort of joke: something absurd and hilarious. I made him bleed, I scratched him and vented all my anger on him, but his voice still rang with glee.

Then a change came. His laughter ceased and he looked at me. His eyes looked confused, then scared and panicked. He screamed. I didn't expect that, and I stopped hitting him. He took that chance and pushed me brusquely, so I fell. Then he jumped out the window. I rushed to it to look, and I saw him lying on snow, quivering and holding his leg.

I ran to the nearest phone and nearly dropped it with how fast I picked it up. I dialled the police and told them what happened in brief words. I hung up and went down the stairs, hurriedly unlocking the main door before I charged into the cold, frosty weather. I went over to where the man fell, not wanting him to escape. He was still there.

It didn't take long for the police to arrive. A few officers arrested the man while others crowded my house. An investigation started - a prelude to the trial.

* * * * *

The waitress brings what I asked, an egg sandwich with cheese. I munch on it and that makes me feel warmer, both mentally and physically.

No matter how I think of it, it's weird. Why did that guy kill my uncle? The court got all the evidence of his guilt, but never did I hear why he did it. A prosecutor asked him for his motive, and he said he didn't have one. The prosecutor didn't seem to believe this, and pressed him further. This didn't yield any sort of result at first, but it did seem to place some stress on the culprit. He began muttering to himself every now and then, and he answered questions unsteadily.

He started muttering again, but a little louder. Everyone had ignored it earlier, but now the judge asked him to repeat that.

"Did it ..." he said, barely audible.

"What?" said the judge.

"They ... they did it ..."

"Who? Who did it?"

"They did it!" he shouted frantically. "THEY DID IT!'

"Who are they?" asked the judge, raising his voice.

"THE DEMONS!" He seemed to be breaking down. "THE DEMONS DID IT!"

Then he started to laugh. It was the same laugh I heard after he murdered my uncle. An uproar flared up in the courtroom and the judge's hammer echoed multiple times, calling for order.

Soon after that, a verdict was reached.

The defendant was sentenced to death.

* * * * *

It's been some months since the incident. My family buried my uncle in his hometown somewhere North. I attended the funeral back then, and when it was over I shoved the whole thing from my mind. I didn't want to think of my uncle's death and the one who caused it.

Today, though, I'm standing in front of his grave, some flowers in hand. I place them on his resting place and offer a small prayer.

I still don't know why he was killed, but I don't think of it so much anymore. His spirit's gone, and it's the memory of him that lives. I have to focus on it - I have to never let go of it, or else he'll truly be dead to me and the world, lost to the infinite void.

That man crosses my mind a little bit - the one who forced my uncle to breathe his last. He was executed some weeks ago. After his death came rumours that he dabbled in odd cults and tried to harm some other people. I didn't care, though. To me he was just some psycho who did something stupid and died for it, whatever his reasoning was.

After gazing at my uncle's tombstone a while, I turn to face the sky. It's still a little cold, but it's not snowing anymore.

Spring is coming.