Page 9 of Tormenting Me

I leave the couch and switch off the TV, turning up the stereo instead. The bottle of vodka currently sitting in the cabinet is calling out to me, enticing me to indulge in its intoxicating embrace, as I desperately long to escape from the burdens of reality for just one more night.

Inside my head, is a terrible place. The memories are sneaking out of my eyes and are rolling down my cheeks. Reaching into the cabinet for the bottle and a glass, I pour myself a shot, and then another. With the music blaring, I spin around, allowing the flood of notes to seep into every part of me.

Depression. It’s like drowning, but not being able to die. The water fills your lungs but somehow you can still breathe. The funny thing is I already know what dying feels like.

Chapter seven

Wes

“Where is she?” My Ma asked as we frantically search for Siobhan.

With her being missing for 48 hours and the police now involved, fear is setting in. Shivvy would never not come home. I grab my jacket from the back of my Da’s car and start walking towards the wooded area of the park. Twigs snap under my boots and I make my way through the trees. I check all of our favorite spots to play hide and seek, hoping that she was just messing around.

“Shivvy,” I shout, praying she answers me.

All I hear is the wind rustling the surrounding leaves. As I draw nearer to the heart of the wooded area, my eyes scan my surroundings. Something feels off. Call it a sixth sense, but I can feel her. My feet carry me towards a pile of leaves and branches. I lean down to inspect them and determine someone purposefully made this pile. Panic spreads through me, my heartbeat so loud it’s thumping in my ears. I grasp the branches and start ripping the pile apart, tossing the leaves aside. A black tarp comes into view, my breathing ragged.

“No. No, no, NO.” I scream as I pull the tarp up and her red hair comes into view.

I know it’s Siobhan because of the clothes she is wearing. Not touching her, I pull out my phone and fall down to the ground. I hit my Da’s number and the phone dials. It feels like it rings forever, and his voice breaks through.

“Wes,” his voice full of concern, “you okay?”

“I-I found her, Da. Don’t-Don’t let Ma come, okay?” Tears well up in my eyes as I stare down at my baby sister’s body. Whoever did this to her treated her like she was nothing more than trash. Burying her in a shallow grave in her favorite park. What a sick fuck! I give my Da directions on how to get to the spot.

My Da and the police show up after what seems like eternity. I haven’t moved from in front of Shivvy. My Da drops to his knees next to me and lets out a howl of a cry, his eyes on my baby sister’s body. The police search the surrounding area. My Da throws his arms around me and his body shakes as he cries. As I hold on to him, rage fills me.

It takes the police another forty-eight hours to figure out who did it. Roger Anderssen, our neighbor.

The detective let it slip, and I overheard it, and I understand what needs to be done. What I need to do.

I approach my Da who is sitting in his armchair in the front room. His head is slung low, face buried in his hands. “He needs to die. He doesn’t get to rot in prison. Not when he killed Shivvy.” My father sits stunned, taking in the words that have left my mouth.

“Wes, we need to let the police do their job. We can’t take matters into our own hands.” He says. I know it conflicted my Da, saying those words. He feels the same way as I do.

My Ma emerges from the darkened hallway as I am about to argue with him. Her eyes swollen from crying, “Would you do it Wes? You’d kill him?”

I nod my head, “Yes, I would. I’d do anything for Shivvy.”

Two Months Later:

The past two months have been torture. Samuel Baker is still alive, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on him. I’ve been to Layne’s apartment every single night, watching her sleep and I’m desperate for release. In more ways that one. I’m wound so tight that I feel my nerves stretching to their breaking point.

Today starts the trial for Markus Bowen. I’m on leave while Davis is in court. I’m thoroughly regretting my decision to take this much time off. Unfortunately, I can’t constantly follow Layne around. Yeah, I guess I could, but I won’t. This morning I’ve decided that working out on the equipment near the edge of the warehouse property will be a good way to keep me occupied. With the salty sea breeze on my skin, I continue my pull ups. Counting rep after rep until I am exhausted, working out generates a flood of endorphins that temporarily eases the urges.

But that only works for so long.

After finishing up, I head back inside the loft to shower. Once clean, I sit in front of my computer, sifting through the information I have on Layne. From the age of seventeen, she’s been living alone. I can only imagine her fear of being alone in a big city at such a young age. I pull up photographs of eighteen year old Layne. Even broken and hurting, she was beautiful. I leave the files I have of her childhood untouched, I already know that CPS was involved. Mentally, I am teetering on the edge of a breakdown; I can feel myself teetering that edge. If I was to dive into her past now, I fear I’d lose myself.

Antsy, I snatch the keys to the car. I’m overwhelmed by my need to see her. I usually keep my stalking to the late night and early morning hours as I try to maintain some level of control over myself. During the daytime, I’ve always been working or it’s at places like concerts where it’s easier to blend into a crowd. Anxious that she might notice my presence before I’m ready to fully enter her life. Before she becomes the center of my world.

Let’s be real, she already is the center of my world.

San Francisco’s streets are always bustling with pedestrians and cars. I make the drive to Layne’s neighborhood. It’s a short ten-minute drive from where I live. I do a quick drive by the pizza joint, and I can hear the rhythmic beats of the music from the street. She’s home. It must be her day off. Reaching into my pocket for my cigarettes, I realize I’ve forgotten them. “Shit,” I mutter to myself as I continue driving down the road.

From the “research” I’ve done on Layne, I know she works at a little Indie music and bookstore. I thought she had a Monday shift, but it’s Monday today. Maybe she switched with a coworker? Why would she do that, though? I know she isn’t seeing anyone. Because of my consistent presence at her apartment every night, I have become acquainted with certain definite things. Besides being single, something ominous plagues her, which makes her withdraw from those around her.

After finding a spot a few blocks away, I park my GTO and lock it, then make my way back down toward her apartment. As I stroll along the street, I observe the various people around me, trying to mimic their movements and mannerisms, becoming just another face in the crowd. Upon spotting a cozy and inviting small cafe, I decide to step inside and get myself a cup of coffee to go, accompanied by a cinnamon raisin bagel. Grabbing a table outside the cafe as it has the perfect view of the pizza shop and the alley that leads to Layne’s apartment.

---