Glyph Bellchime
01-09-2008, 06:58 PM
This is a short story based on a real event (not in MY life, just so you know).
Constructive critique welcome.
WHERE HAS MOMMY GONE?
September 23rd, 1998
The video came today.
Me and my younger sisters went about our chores; doing the dishes, washing Mrs. Reed's car, vacuuming the floor. Suddenly, my youngest sister, Hannah, burst through the front door, just as I closed the dishwasher.
"Heather, Heather! The policeman, he's, he's here! He has it-- he has..." I saw her little chin quiver as she was about to break out in tears.
I gently put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll go talk to him."
Walking out into the bright sunlight, I saw the officer making small talk with my other sister. Amy turned, and smiled in relief when she saw me.
"Good morning, Miss." The officer nodded toward me. "I am John Applegate, chief detective at the Sheriff's Office."
"I’m pleased to meet you." I said, shaking his hand.
"As you know, we have apprehended the suspect a few months ago. His trial ended only yesterday."
"What was the verdict?" I asked, my heart beating like a tribal drum.
"Life in prison."
"YAY!" Hannah, who had wandered out into the front yard, jumped on me, laughing and crying at the same time. Amy smiled happily. I knew she was as relieved as Hannah and I were, even if she did not show it. She wrapped her arms around Hannah and me in a big group hug.
"He's gone, Heather.... is he really gone?" Hannah asked between torrents of tears.
"Yes. He is gone." I replied, holding my only family close to my heart.
***
Mr. Applegate had left, but not without giving me something I wanted and dreaded at the same time.
"This was the key evidence of his conviction," The detective had told me. "It is the surveillance video of the night your mother was killed."
I reached out for it with a shaking hand. "Is it... ours now?"
"The Sheriff's Office has no further use for it. It belongs to the family of the victim."
"Don't talk about her like that." I said, suddenly angry. "She wasn't a 'victim'."
Mr. Applegate nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that."
"It's... alright." I sighed, looking at the black videocassette in my hand. It didn't weigh much, but it put a heavy burden on my soul.
"You may choose to watch it by yourself, or you can destroy it, if you wish."
"No..." I said, almost in a daze. "No, this is something I need to see. Something WE need to see."
"I understand."
After a short pause, he said the usual goodbyes. The patrol car roared down the street, and turned the corner. I opened the door to see Hannah and Amy dancing with Mrs. Reed, the woman who had been so kind to raise us after Mom was murdered.
Mom was murdered. It's so hard for me to think that. Even after all the police showed up and they told me that she was shot during a robbery at the gas station where she worked.
I remember how she looked when I last saw her alive. Her black hair glistened like ebony; it was pulled back in a lovely barrette made of tortoiseshell. Her black eyes were happy and merry, even though she was late for work. She kissed us all goodbye before she hurried out the door and left.
I remember a time before that, when Mom first got the job at the gas station. It was dangerous: The station was located in a rough neighborhood, and there was no bulletproof glass to protect her. I remember I was always worried about her, wondering if she would ever come home safely.
Then, my worst fears came true.
I was in the middle of making dinner (Beef stroganoff. I have no idea why that sticks out in my mind.), when I heard a car pull up outside. Pulling aside the curtains, I saw the blue and red of the Sheriff's patrol car. An officer in full uniform stepped out. I opened the door and stared at him.
"She's...she's GONE... isn't she?" I said to him, even though I already knew the answer. I remember breaking into tears right there on the porch, in front of the officer. Mrs. Reed, our next-door neighbor at the time, came over to me, said thanks to the policeman, and pulled me back into the house.
"Oh, you poor thing..." Mrs. Reed said, and pulled me into her wrinkled arms, where I cried the first tears that would soon wrack our household.
***
Hannah stops dancing, and stares at the tape in my hands. "Heather... what's that?"
"It's the...the... surveillance video from the gas station. Mr. Applegate said we could have it now."
Amy immediately knows what's on the tape. She bows her head so I won't see her cry. Hannah looks confused. "What's a 'surveillance video'?" She asks Mrs. Reed.
"It’s nothing, dear." Mrs. Reed pats her head. "Why don't you and your sister bring some flowers in from the garden? Our rose bush is starting to bloom, you know."
"YAY!" Hannah grabs Amy's hand, and heads out the back door. I'm left standing there, wondering what I should do with the video.
"Are you going to show it to them?" Mrs. Reed says, reading my mind.
"I-I don't know. It shows our mother being MURDERED, for God's sake... Hannah is only five, Amy is just nine... they don't need to see it..." I reply, my voice quivering
"Hmm." Mrs. Reed nods.
"But...but I feel... like if I DON'T show them... then we'll never have closure. Even though he's in jail, I won't feel safe... I guess... if we don't see this."
"How about this, dear: You watch it tonight, after Amy and Hannah have gone to bed. Then, you might be able to decide if it's something they need to see."
"Alright." I said, sighing. "I'll go make dinner now. What are we having tonight?"
"Well, I was thinking beef stroganoff..."
***
The house is quiet now. It's 1:37 in the morning. I waited long after bedtime; you never know when one of them might get up to use the bathroom or whatnot.
With trembling hands, I insert the video in the VCR and press 'Play'. Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself, I sit back on my knees, and watch.
The video is in grainy black and white. I immediately recognize my mother, standing at the counter. It's long after the time for customers to come in, probably very late at night. She counts the money from the cash register, and prepares to put it in the safe.
Suddenly a man bursts through the double doors. He whips out a gun, and points it at my mother. An accomplice follows, holding a paper bag. He screams at her to put the money in. She does, moving quickly. She looks calm, but I know that she was probably scared to death. I know I am. My stomach begins to hurt. I know what will happen next.
The robbers then lead her into the back room, out of the camera's vision. There are muffled shouts, sounds of a struggle, someone screams--
BANG.
"NO!!" I yell, pounding on the glass of the T.V. "NO!!!!"
I can hear feet running down the stairs. No doubt Hannah and Amy are up, and maybe Mrs. Reed as well.
Tears pour down my cheeks, but I continue to stare blankly at the T.V. The robbers run like scared rabbits, exploding through the glass doors and into the night.
I look at the timer at the bottom of the video. 03:45:32.
The robbers had entered at 03:45:00.
Thirty-two seconds. That's all it took to kill my mother. I collapse on the floor, sobbing.
"What's wrong?" I hear Hannah ask urgently, "What's wrong with Heather? Why is she crying?" She did not see it, thank God.
"She was watching a scary movie, dear. Back to bed with you." Mrs. Reed herds Hannah back up the stairs. I hear nothing after that but the sound of my own crying.
Then, someone places a hand on my shoulder. "M-M-Mrs. Reed?" I ask, sobbing.
"No." I turn, and see Amy. Tears slide down her cheeks as well. I pull her into a hug, and we both cry, cry for Mom, cry for each other, crying of the helplessness of seeing our mother murdered.
***
May 7th, 2005
I step out of my car, walk past the granite tombstones. Two shrouded figures bow over one grave among all the others.
"Hi." I said, giving them a sad smile. Even though my mother died seven years ago, the pain is still fresh.
"Hey, Heather." Hannah stands up, and hugs me. At twelve years old, she is about to start her first year in middle school, and is already growing into a lovely girl.
"Hey," Amy hugs me next. She is entering her junior year in high school. Like her sister, she is growing up into a mini-version of our mother, with the same black hair and eyes.
I hug Mrs. Reed. She is confined to a wheelchair now, but still manages to keep the same love that she showed us seven years ago.
I place a bouquet of yellow roses on Mom’s tombstone, her favorite. We pass a moment of silence in her honor. Mrs. Reed remembers how Mom would always come over with chicken soup and a good book whenever she got sick. I remember how she came to every one of my dance recitals when I was little, even missing work to do so. Today, I'm a dancer in a small company, and I hope for a big break. Hannah remembers how she would sing her a lullaby before she goes to sleep.
Amy pulls out something small and dark from her pocket. We all gasp.
"I remember that she wore this almost every day. It was her favorite." Mom's tortoiseshell barrette is placed among the flowers and wind-chimes on her grave.
We all pass another moment of silence.
"Rest in peace, Mom." Hannah says softly.
Constructive critique welcome.
WHERE HAS MOMMY GONE?
September 23rd, 1998
The video came today.
Me and my younger sisters went about our chores; doing the dishes, washing Mrs. Reed's car, vacuuming the floor. Suddenly, my youngest sister, Hannah, burst through the front door, just as I closed the dishwasher.
"Heather, Heather! The policeman, he's, he's here! He has it-- he has..." I saw her little chin quiver as she was about to break out in tears.
I gently put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll go talk to him."
Walking out into the bright sunlight, I saw the officer making small talk with my other sister. Amy turned, and smiled in relief when she saw me.
"Good morning, Miss." The officer nodded toward me. "I am John Applegate, chief detective at the Sheriff's Office."
"I’m pleased to meet you." I said, shaking his hand.
"As you know, we have apprehended the suspect a few months ago. His trial ended only yesterday."
"What was the verdict?" I asked, my heart beating like a tribal drum.
"Life in prison."
"YAY!" Hannah, who had wandered out into the front yard, jumped on me, laughing and crying at the same time. Amy smiled happily. I knew she was as relieved as Hannah and I were, even if she did not show it. She wrapped her arms around Hannah and me in a big group hug.
"He's gone, Heather.... is he really gone?" Hannah asked between torrents of tears.
"Yes. He is gone." I replied, holding my only family close to my heart.
***
Mr. Applegate had left, but not without giving me something I wanted and dreaded at the same time.
"This was the key evidence of his conviction," The detective had told me. "It is the surveillance video of the night your mother was killed."
I reached out for it with a shaking hand. "Is it... ours now?"
"The Sheriff's Office has no further use for it. It belongs to the family of the victim."
"Don't talk about her like that." I said, suddenly angry. "She wasn't a 'victim'."
Mr. Applegate nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that."
"It's... alright." I sighed, looking at the black videocassette in my hand. It didn't weigh much, but it put a heavy burden on my soul.
"You may choose to watch it by yourself, or you can destroy it, if you wish."
"No..." I said, almost in a daze. "No, this is something I need to see. Something WE need to see."
"I understand."
After a short pause, he said the usual goodbyes. The patrol car roared down the street, and turned the corner. I opened the door to see Hannah and Amy dancing with Mrs. Reed, the woman who had been so kind to raise us after Mom was murdered.
Mom was murdered. It's so hard for me to think that. Even after all the police showed up and they told me that she was shot during a robbery at the gas station where she worked.
I remember how she looked when I last saw her alive. Her black hair glistened like ebony; it was pulled back in a lovely barrette made of tortoiseshell. Her black eyes were happy and merry, even though she was late for work. She kissed us all goodbye before she hurried out the door and left.
I remember a time before that, when Mom first got the job at the gas station. It was dangerous: The station was located in a rough neighborhood, and there was no bulletproof glass to protect her. I remember I was always worried about her, wondering if she would ever come home safely.
Then, my worst fears came true.
I was in the middle of making dinner (Beef stroganoff. I have no idea why that sticks out in my mind.), when I heard a car pull up outside. Pulling aside the curtains, I saw the blue and red of the Sheriff's patrol car. An officer in full uniform stepped out. I opened the door and stared at him.
"She's...she's GONE... isn't she?" I said to him, even though I already knew the answer. I remember breaking into tears right there on the porch, in front of the officer. Mrs. Reed, our next-door neighbor at the time, came over to me, said thanks to the policeman, and pulled me back into the house.
"Oh, you poor thing..." Mrs. Reed said, and pulled me into her wrinkled arms, where I cried the first tears that would soon wrack our household.
***
Hannah stops dancing, and stares at the tape in my hands. "Heather... what's that?"
"It's the...the... surveillance video from the gas station. Mr. Applegate said we could have it now."
Amy immediately knows what's on the tape. She bows her head so I won't see her cry. Hannah looks confused. "What's a 'surveillance video'?" She asks Mrs. Reed.
"It’s nothing, dear." Mrs. Reed pats her head. "Why don't you and your sister bring some flowers in from the garden? Our rose bush is starting to bloom, you know."
"YAY!" Hannah grabs Amy's hand, and heads out the back door. I'm left standing there, wondering what I should do with the video.
"Are you going to show it to them?" Mrs. Reed says, reading my mind.
"I-I don't know. It shows our mother being MURDERED, for God's sake... Hannah is only five, Amy is just nine... they don't need to see it..." I reply, my voice quivering
"Hmm." Mrs. Reed nods.
"But...but I feel... like if I DON'T show them... then we'll never have closure. Even though he's in jail, I won't feel safe... I guess... if we don't see this."
"How about this, dear: You watch it tonight, after Amy and Hannah have gone to bed. Then, you might be able to decide if it's something they need to see."
"Alright." I said, sighing. "I'll go make dinner now. What are we having tonight?"
"Well, I was thinking beef stroganoff..."
***
The house is quiet now. It's 1:37 in the morning. I waited long after bedtime; you never know when one of them might get up to use the bathroom or whatnot.
With trembling hands, I insert the video in the VCR and press 'Play'. Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself, I sit back on my knees, and watch.
The video is in grainy black and white. I immediately recognize my mother, standing at the counter. It's long after the time for customers to come in, probably very late at night. She counts the money from the cash register, and prepares to put it in the safe.
Suddenly a man bursts through the double doors. He whips out a gun, and points it at my mother. An accomplice follows, holding a paper bag. He screams at her to put the money in. She does, moving quickly. She looks calm, but I know that she was probably scared to death. I know I am. My stomach begins to hurt. I know what will happen next.
The robbers then lead her into the back room, out of the camera's vision. There are muffled shouts, sounds of a struggle, someone screams--
BANG.
"NO!!" I yell, pounding on the glass of the T.V. "NO!!!!"
I can hear feet running down the stairs. No doubt Hannah and Amy are up, and maybe Mrs. Reed as well.
Tears pour down my cheeks, but I continue to stare blankly at the T.V. The robbers run like scared rabbits, exploding through the glass doors and into the night.
I look at the timer at the bottom of the video. 03:45:32.
The robbers had entered at 03:45:00.
Thirty-two seconds. That's all it took to kill my mother. I collapse on the floor, sobbing.
"What's wrong?" I hear Hannah ask urgently, "What's wrong with Heather? Why is she crying?" She did not see it, thank God.
"She was watching a scary movie, dear. Back to bed with you." Mrs. Reed herds Hannah back up the stairs. I hear nothing after that but the sound of my own crying.
Then, someone places a hand on my shoulder. "M-M-Mrs. Reed?" I ask, sobbing.
"No." I turn, and see Amy. Tears slide down her cheeks as well. I pull her into a hug, and we both cry, cry for Mom, cry for each other, crying of the helplessness of seeing our mother murdered.
***
May 7th, 2005
I step out of my car, walk past the granite tombstones. Two shrouded figures bow over one grave among all the others.
"Hi." I said, giving them a sad smile. Even though my mother died seven years ago, the pain is still fresh.
"Hey, Heather." Hannah stands up, and hugs me. At twelve years old, she is about to start her first year in middle school, and is already growing into a lovely girl.
"Hey," Amy hugs me next. She is entering her junior year in high school. Like her sister, she is growing up into a mini-version of our mother, with the same black hair and eyes.
I hug Mrs. Reed. She is confined to a wheelchair now, but still manages to keep the same love that she showed us seven years ago.
I place a bouquet of yellow roses on Mom’s tombstone, her favorite. We pass a moment of silence in her honor. Mrs. Reed remembers how Mom would always come over with chicken soup and a good book whenever she got sick. I remember how she came to every one of my dance recitals when I was little, even missing work to do so. Today, I'm a dancer in a small company, and I hope for a big break. Hannah remembers how she would sing her a lullaby before she goes to sleep.
Amy pulls out something small and dark from her pocket. We all gasp.
"I remember that she wore this almost every day. It was her favorite." Mom's tortoiseshell barrette is placed among the flowers and wind-chimes on her grave.
We all pass another moment of silence.
"Rest in peace, Mom." Hannah says softly.