Page 8 of Fractured

My father named me Remington after his favorite gun manufacturer, aside from himself that is. He likes to collect their earliest productions, and has them proudly displayed in a case in his home office. My mother called me her Raven. She would run a hand down my hair and tell me all kinds of stories about ravens. I’m not sure what sparked her love of them, though.

Most people believe ravens are a bad omen, that they symbolize death. As I stare at the Edgar Allan Poe poem on the program in my hand, I’m willing to agree. Especially considering I brought about the end of someone's life only hours ago. Me, the raven, seemingly innocent until I bring death upon you. My eyes light up at the word nevermore and it repeats itself in my mind as a mantra. I brought an end to the destruction Scott could bring to other women’s lives. Nevermore will he rape another woman. And that fact alone helps me rationalize what I did. Be able to explain it away if I’m ever questioned.

Ravens. My mother chose to believe the opposite of the black birds. She believed in the Pacific Northwest, Native American mythology, where ravens brought about the creation of the world. She said the moment I entered her life, her whole world bloomed before her eyes. She saw a new reason to live each day. Sometimes I think she was depressed before I came, and her only reason for living was me.

Now, she’s gone.

And I can’t find a single shred of sadness within me over her death.

It’s a good thing I’m so practiced in acting the part of what others expect of me. I’m able to conform my features into the mourning daughter, distraught over the loss of her beloved mother. I grasp my father’s hand and bury my head in his chest. My body shakes as if I’m crying, but in reality, I’m hiding my tearless face from being discovered.

My father wraps his arm around me, and I’m able to hide until the droning man brings his scripture sharing to an end. I wipe my face as if I’m quickly drying tears from my cheeks and stand up to place a rose on my mother’s coffin before it’s lowered into the ground.

Rest in peace, Mother.

I’m not looking forward to what comes next. Having to interact with all the well-wishers who want to act like they were closer to my mother than they really were. To cash in on sympathy from others when they seem to be so depressed over a friend dying. I’m not the only person who manipulates those around her. I didn’t invent the concept. But at least I’m aware I’m doing it. Most people don’t realize they’re manipulative little ingenuous twats.

The drive back to the estate is quiet. I’m able to drop my mask; a short reprieve before it’s game time again. Vander is back to our usual silence. I’m not sure why I’ve never felt the need to always hide myself from him the way I keep hidden from the rest of the world. Maybe it’s because I’ve always felt a sense of safety around him. It goes beyond his job as my guard; I just can’t pinpoint how exactly.

I sigh, laying my head back on the seat, closing my eyes so I can soak up as much of the quiet as I can before we reach the house. My phone chirps, pulling me from the grasp of sleep trying to pull me under. I’m still fighting off the effect of the drugs and a night of no rest. I can’t believe I was such an idiot to allow myself to be drugged like that.

The notification on my screen is similar to a new text message, but instead of telling me who the contact is, or a preview of the message, it just shows the app icon. Before I can even unlock my phone to read the message, it opens on its own. The home screen comes up for just a moment before a floating text box pops into view.

I’ve never seen something like this on my phone. A flashing cursor is in the box, and then words start appearing as if they are being typed on my phone. Not like a text message normally comes in.

The first rule of killing: Don’t let anyone see you…

A cursor blinks at the end of the message a few times before a picture flashes up on the screen of me straddling Scott. His hands are at his neck, trying to remove the cord. You can clearly see I’m pulling it to choke him out. For an instant, the picture sends a thrill through me. I perk up with interest and study it. I thought it was too risky to take a picture of Scott dead, but seeing this image on my phone, I’m now regretting the decision.

I’m lost in reliving the memory, biting my thumb with a smile on my face. Who knew it would take killing someone to finally bring a smile to my face. I’m starting to like the feel of it—Wait. Where did the picture go? My phone is back to showing its home screen, all of my apps lined up in perfect order.

I click on my photo app and it’s not there. Next, I quickly tap on my messaging app. There’s nothing there from the mystery sender. Where the fuck did they go? Systematically, I go through each of my apps, hoping to find the message and picture. Why it would be in the Weather app is beyond me, but I’m desperate to get it back.

As I finish searching the last app, we pull up to the estate and I’m forced to put my phone away. Fucking funeral. She’s dead. We can’t do anything about it. I don’t have a time machine to go back and stop her from being hit by a Mack truck. Lacking emotions right now is bittersweet, I suppose. I get to bypass the pain and misery of losing someone, but instead, I have to suffer through the motions as if I am. I have to be bored and chained down to the rituals people perform when someone dies.

Vander opens my door for me, and I climb out with a pout. I wish I could slam the door shut behind me to work through my frustration. Instead, I school my features back into the mourning daughter and take my place next to my father as we greet all those coming in. I zone out on what they say. It’s all the same. I’m so sorry for your loss. What a tragedy. She was too young to have lost her life already. She’s in a better place now.

Are these words really meant to make someone feel better when you lose a loved one? I don’t understand, and I suppose I never will.

I just keep sniffling and nod my head when it seems appropriate, thanking them for their kind words before they walk off and are replaced by the next person. Running through the motions, my mind is still on the text message and picture. Who could have sent it?

Honestly, I didn’t give a second thought to the consequences of killing Scott. There’s a video plain as day showing me defending myself. I remember at one point he admitted to drugging me. It’s an open and shut case of self-defense. And who would blame me for leaving the scene to attend my mother’s funeral? Being raped just before such an event. “I’m so sorry, Officer. I wasn’t thinking clearly. My mind was in a fog and”—cue water works— “I couldn’t miss saying goodbye to her.”

I have the whole conversation figured out in my head already.

What I haven’t figured out yet is whether I should call and report his body or not. Maybe I’m still too traumatized by the event. Perhaps there’s some selective amnesia going on. I should look it up to make sure the excuse could be true. Don’t want to fuck myself over by giving an excuse for my behavior that couldn’t possibly be true. I should look it up as soon as I’m done here. Who knows when the police will show up; it could be any minute.

Now that I don’t have the distracting reminder of my current obsessive thoughts on display before me, I can concentrate on other concerning questions. Did I actually get a mysterious message? Or could I be having a psychotic break? No. I’m not crazy. I know what I saw was real. But the angle of the picture… it wasn’t taken from a window, and it wasn’t from the doorway either.

The only option… was from the phone. Someone found Scott’s body already. Although, things aren’t adding up, because clearly their first thought when finding a dead body wasn’t to call the cops. No, instead, they searched through his phone and found the video. And again, instead of calling the cops once they knew who did it, they chose to send me a message. What kind of person am I dealing with here?

The first rule of killing is don’t get caught. First off, it was self-defense, asshole. Second, I was alone. Finding a video on a phone doesn’t count as having a witness. This smuck must think he’s so clever.

Should I expect to be blackmailed? It would be stupid seeing as how the proof is there, it was self defence. Even if they delete the video, there are ways to restore that stuff. I’ll find out who this person is and I’ll make them pay. Just like I made Scott pay. Second thing I need to google is how someone can hack a phone, and how to prevent it. It’s the only conclusion I can come to as to how the text and image came up on my phone and left no trace behind.

The jittery excitement I’ve been experiencing since life dimmed from Scott’s eyes is becoming stronger. I discovered something new about myself and now I have a mystery to unravel. I’ve gone through the routine of my life in a numb existence of feeling nothing, and now twice in one day I’ve found something to break up the monotony. My boring everyday life has found a crack, it’s fractured apart just like I am.

Speaking of boring, I’m so ready to be finished here. Turning to the side, I let out a shuddering sob. The sound catches my father’s attention right away from my side. His hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me in for a tight hug. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just holds me close and runs a hand over my hair in comfort. I move my body as if I’m trying to hold back the sobs that have come over me.

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