Emma's Revenge: A Short Story

Some people play violent video games or watch violent movies.  Others had a bad past of abuse or abandonment.  Some just become violent for no reason….

I walked into the little room with the two way mirror on one wall and a window with bars on it on the opposite wall.  The detective followed me as I sat on a cold metal chair in front of the cold steel table.  He sat across from me in another cold metal chair.  He pulled a tape recorder from his jeans pocket.  He looked cold and hard like a stone, like he was heartless.  I stared at the blank dull grey wall next to me, trying to hold back the hot tears welling up in my eyes.  After what felt like years, I spoke, letting the tears roll down my cheeks. 

“Why did she have to be so selfish?  Why did she take her away from me and dad?  It’s all because of her stupid selfishness.  I hate her!  I will never be able to look her in the eye again.  She took away my best friend.  The woman that gave us life, that loved us unconditionally, would do anything for us.  How could she?” 

The detective started, “Why don’t you…”  I cut me off with more questions.  “Does she even feel remorse?  Does she miss her like I do?  Did she think before she acted?  What about me and dad?  Did she think about us?  Did she think she would get away with it?”  I stared back at the wall, trying to wipe the stream of tears away with the sleeve of my abused hoodie. 

The detective looked at me then and asked, “How about you start at the beginning.”  I asked, “What do you mean by the beginning, the day Emma and I were born?”  “No,” the detective stated, “How about when your mother and sister really started bickering?”

“Well umm… about six months ago, when Emma started hanging out with Duke.” 

“Well who is Duke?”

“This horrible senior who should have graduated three years ago, he’s like 20 now.  I think the school just gave up on him when he failed 8th grade for the 3rd time.”

“Why did Mrs. Hathly have a problem with Emma befriending Duke?  Also, do you know his last name?”

“His last name is Jackson, and didn’t you listen to anything I just said?”  A few more hot tears rolled down my now glistening cheeks.  I sniffled again, and then continued.  “He is a terrible influence.  It’s likely his fault my mother is dead.  He probably told Emma to kill her.  I abhor him!  I don’t even know what Emma sees in him.”

I tried to wipe away the newly fallen tears, but the sleeve of my sweatshirt was so damp it didn’t help much.  “His criminal record is a mile long, or so I’ve heard….”  I took a slow deep breath and closed my eyes for a minute.  I opened them and continued, “Emma never would talk about him, but my friend, Tristan told me she heard that he robbed and killed a man.”  Then in my best old lady high pitched English accented voice added, “but the evidence was dropped because the evidence was adulterated.” 

I rolled my swollen, red, veiny, yet Caribbean ocean blue eyes.  I looked over at the dull gray wall again.  It was my favorite site in the room.  I didn’t want to seem rude by not looking at the detective, but I was so sick of his cold, hard, expressionless face.  It made me sick, as if he didn’t care about what had just happened to my mother at the hands of my own sister.  I glared at the wall.  The thought of my sister made me sick, we were twins, well fraternal twins and we technically shared the womb for nine months. 

At that thought, memories of my mother came flooding to the front of my mind.  The tears let loose.  I remembered her high pitched old British lady voice that she would use to read the garden party invitations she would get from her friends.  The wives of my dad’s friends and co-workers who all had designer clothes, closets filled just with shoes, and enough Botox for a full blown army.  My mom wasn’t one them, she was naturally gorgeous.    She was in her late forties but didn’t look a day over thirty.  She never had Botox or plastic surgery.  My family wears designer clothes, but we don’t have five closets full each.  We have a big house and each of us three kids has our own bedroom.  Emma and I each have our own cars, now that we are seventeen and have our driver’s license.  Zach, my twelve year old brother, has all the lab equipment a boy could want.  Yes, we’re spoiled, but I always appreciated everything I got.  Zach seems to appreciate everything he got.  Didn’t Emma?  More tears streamed down my cheeks.  I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered.