Morning Birds Sing Deep into the Night

Chapter 4

Christopher quickly moved to catch Harold, who had begun to sway heavily. All at once, clouded eyes snapped shut and his trembling knees buckled. Before the frightened man could fall to the ground, his collapse was intervened by Christopher holding him up. His limp form was then hoisted up, the worried eyes of the one carrying him trailing back to us. Christopher sent us a nod and swiftly walked towards the back of the meeting room. He rested Harold's unconscious body on the couch, before pulling a blanket over him from the wither basket tucked in the corner. He turned back to us as everyone remained quiet for another moment. William broke the silence first, his tone curt. "So now Lucinda's dead..." He trailed off to glance around the room, noting everyone's hollow stares. "Should we investigate the body?" I found myself nodding, while Jolene looked down and Christopher swallowed dryly. We held each other's gazes in a silent agreement as one by one we carried ourselves into the delivery room. "Since she was supposed to be putting cleaning supplies away, Harold should have found her body in the supply closet." Jolene spoke the words quietly, her voice as small and timid as Lucinda's always was.

William grunted in confirmation, with Christopher and I nodding in suit. Soon enough, we trailed to a stop in front of the open closet door revealing Lucinda's corpse. My teeth were gritted, jaw clamped shut as I quickly averted my eyes to the wooden floor. I tensed up when a hand rested atop my shoulder. "I'm sorry, I knew she was a good friend to you." Catching William's soft tone, I stiffly nodded. Everyone's gazes were trained on me, hearing him sigh and drop his hand when I refused to meet his line of vision. Christopher's voice sounded widowed as he whispered. "It looks like the cause of death... was choking. From the blue coloration of the skin and the bruises covering her neck. It looks like she was trying to pull herself away..." Tone wavering at the end, he finished speaking and grew silent once more. Nobody had anything else to add to his statement. "Does that mean there are no murder weapons this time? The person responsible used their bare hands?" Jolene's question had me lifting my head to catch her fragile gaze as I responded. "I believe so." We began making our way back to the meeting room. I kept my sight trained on the ground.

William spoke next in favor of our stunned silence, lifting a hand with his cell phone in grasp. "I'm going to call the police to inform them of the body. I'll tell them that we'll continue to figure out who the murderer is by ourselves." Christopher piped up next, drawing our sight to lock onto him. "Is Lucinda's murderer even the same as Tara's? Are there two separate killers or two people working together?" The room fell quiet as William shook his head and left the room, tapping digits on his phone screen. Shoulders slumping, Christopher heaved a sigh while glancing back at Harold's resting form on the cinder-gray couch. "Why don't we take things step-by-step and establish alibis?" Jolene prompted, her voice taking on a more direct tone. I cast her a single nod, steeling myself as I forced words to tumble from my tongue, despite the dryness in my throat. "That sounds like a good plan. Why don't we wait for William to get back?" Jolene hummed in acknowledgement, while Christopher checked Harold's temperature by placing his forehead on his own. I gazed solemnly at the worry in his eyes as he looked at his close friend, hands fumbling together with tight-knit nerves. I knew those two had often visited and helped each other out at work. I've seen them sitting near the other during break often, exchanging witty remarks filled with hearty laughter and genuine smiles. They both love making others happy, which was the first common ground they've established with each other.

A few moments passed, although it felt closer to mere seconds before William entered the room again, nose cherry red and cheekbones dusted pink from the cold. I half expected him to blow out a breath of white fog to match the snow on his jacket. Jolene mentioned her idea to him as he gave a curt nod in agreement of it. "Yeah, getting alibi's will definitely help the case." She took a breath, and Christopher looked back at us with his lips shut in a taut line. Is there even any point in exchanging the journal entries? I decided to speak first, since everyone else seemed to be busy with steadying themselves. "Everyone came in together this morning, right? Lucinda walked next to me on our way inside. Considering she didn't say anything, I doubt she held any suspicion of someone planning to murder her." Everyone's faces seemed to fall at my statement. Christopher averting his eyes, Jolene looking down, and William grimacing. I tried to regulate my breathing to control the steadiness of my voice.

Jolene continued the conversation, voice dripping like aged wax on a cracked tabletop. "I believe we can all agree on that..." She breathed a quiet sigh before moving on. "We all headed into our respective work rooms after clocking in together. I'm not sure about everyone else, but I never left my work room. The only times I usually leave the kitchen before break is to grab the newspaper on the porch on Tuesdays." Christopher spoke next, keeping his tone light, even with his shoulders tense like they bore stones upon them. "I can prove your alibi to be true, since in order to get into the hallways you'd have to walk past me. I usually always have my headphones on and music turned up, but I didn't this morning. I wanted to have a clear head for the meeting. Harold never left the programming room, either. So you're both clear." I hummed, mind instilled with treading thoughts. That leaves just me and William without hard alibis... As if he were a mind reader, William spoke with a lilt seeping through his words, tongue curious yet sharp. "If you can say that neither of them left the entire time, does that mean you never left your work room, either?" Christopher blinked at him, scratching the back of his neck as he nodded slowly.

Letting out a quiet huff, he opened his mouth to speak before a groan sounded out from behind him. We all immediately locked onto Harold's unconscious form laying still on the couch. The sleeping man wore a steeled expression, brows furrowed and lips pursed in a sour manner. His fingers were clenched together, nails curled and hiding in his hand against the rugged cotton. Jolene tilted her head at his disturbed face in sympathy, as William stared at him with soft, narrowed eyes. Christopher moved to kneel at his side, brushing strands of coarse hair across his forehead. "Harold told me about his frequent nightmares..." The gentle murmur slipped past Christopher's lips in a hushed tone. Everyone became quiet once more, not a single soul knowing how to respond. No one here expected the playful jokester of the group to have trouble sleeping. It wasn't until now that I even realized. We hardly know anything about one another. The assumptions that everyone's alright just bestowed us like fickle clouds hovering over our heads. Blocking any shadows that hid inside storms, masking the truth. All I heard was my own breathing and thumping heart as silence weighed the room like an anchor dropping. Nobody spoke, nor moved. We all just stared blankly, gazes as vacant and hollow as Harold was when he stumbled into the room earlier. As if we all became caught up in some out-of-mind state.

Christopher didn't step back until Harold's breathing was steady again. I didn't bother glancing at the clock when police officers were heard pulling up. Stepping onto the old porch with scuffed dark boots. Knocking briskly with their fingers numb from the harsh wind rattling our factory's window shutters. William cleared his throat and stepped out of the room to speak with them, since he was the one who called. The rest of us busied ourselves with unfurling stiffened limbs and breathing deliberately.