Redrum redrum redrum! (Murder)

Redrum redrum redrum! (Murder)

A Story by Toribird
"

Redrum just popped into my head haha. The names have nothing to do with the Zoe and Laila in the other story. So basically its about a pair of twins and one is murdered.

"

 As I spoke to the men in blue my words seemed to mush together in a strange account of something out of a book. We sat in stiff office chairs and they had given me a cup of tea in an attempt to make things seem normal, but things were no where near normal…

I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and got in trouble for it. Well… I suppose that isn’t true. I was looking for trouble, and I found it. I stuck my nose in places I shouldn’t have, I followed men wearing dark sunglasses, and asked too many questions. It was just like in the movies: Find the bad guy, defeat the bad guy, and get the boy. Except my guy still doesn’t know I exist and unfortunately the bad guys aren’t caught. I am.  My name is Zoe Westfield and I am sixteen years old. Today is my birthday actually. Six months ago my twin sister Laila was brutally murdered. I found her behind the 7-11; a stab wound through her heart and the knife in her own hand.  Later the police found traces of Methamphetamines in her blood system along with the puncture wound of a needle in her arm. Convinced that she had stabbed herself while she was high, the police let the case close. I tried to tell them she would never do drugs, but no one believes a grief stricken, crying, fifteen-year-old girl. With murder on my mind I decided it was my job to discover who killed the other half of my soul. I started in her room and searched and searched. My father would tell me to stop with sharp yells, but when he tried to take me out of her room by getting me himself I would begin to cry, no man can deal with a stream of tears and heartbreaking sobs.  Under her bed in the far right corner pressed against the wall I found her diary, the cheesy pink kind with hearts, with Laila printed across it in her swirling handwriting. I wiggled out from under her bed and began to read. The first few pages were normal things talking about school and about boys I knew from school, but then suddenly the stories became different. She had focused in on one boy at school. Davis was known at school for being somewhat of a rebel, but still managing to get good grades. Hearts dotted her diary as she talked about her dates with Davis and how she felt like she was in love. Suddenly her writing became more rushed and almost hard to make out, circles where tears had fallen dotted the page smearing a few of the words.  I could hear her soft voice in my head as she described how the date had begun normal with a movie and some kissing, when she started noticing the small circle scabs on Davis’s arms. When she asked him about it he just shrugged her off and went back to the kissing. When he had fallen asleep during their movie, she explored his room finding bags of white powder along with many other chemicals and glass tubes. She spoke about a pile of large guns in the corner and a computer against the wall. When she turned around Davis’s stood in front of her his eyes wild and scared. He began to ramble about his dad, weapons, drugs, and how she couldn’t tell anyone. He pushed her out the door and forced her to go home. The next day he refused to look her in the eyes and avoided her. The diary ended there. I returned to my room the diary clutched in my arms. This is the point where a sensible person would call the cops and give them the diary but instead I held it in my hands and called Davis. My first mistake was accusing Davis of murdering my sister and telling him I had the evidence to prove it, my second mistake was not asking if it was Davis on the phone before my accusation, and my third mistake was agreeing to meet him at the 7-11 that night at seven. At this point in time, I didn’t know the difference between Davis’s voice and his fathers. When I got to the 7-11, I was just wearing jeans and a simple t-shirt when my hoodie over it. Davis came out from around the corner with his head shaking and little streaks from tears down his face. In the orange-yellow lights you could just barely see his puffy red eyes. He looked frightened. The reality of what I had done hit me full force in the chest that moment and I turned to bolt; before I had ever taken two steps I had a black bag over my head and I was being picked up by someone much larger then me. I squirmed and tried to scream before the ape of a man clamped his hand down on my mouth. In a small spread out town, there was no one around to hear my desperate cry for help. There was a dull hum of an engine and I was pressed up against the back of something hard and cold. I could feel sticky duct-tape being wrapped around my wrists, their hands shook as they maneuvered the tape; my guess was that it was Davis wrapping my hands while his father held me against the van. I could feel his fathers hand pull away and I quickly sucked in air for a scream, only to be disappointed by the sticky feeling of duct tape holding my lips together and wrapping around my cheeks. I was yanked off the surface, that I could only guess was a car, then shoved forward again and onto a rough plastic mat and onto my side. There was a slam behind me then with a solid, locking, clunk I was trapped. I heard muffled voices then more doors opened and slammed shut. For the first time in my life, everything was dark and I was totally alone. When I opened my eyes everything was that haunting black that you can imagine sucking out your soul. The truck bounced tossing me about and leaving me with bruises up and down my back and hips and causing me to hit my head on the cold metal of the car. At this point I felt numb and I had started to shiver. It felt like hours before I was finally pulled out of the car and had the black bag pull from my face. I blinked a few times and clutched my eyes shut for a moment. The yellow streetlight was too bright for my eyes that had finally gotten used to the darkness in the van. I blinked rapidly and glanced around as quickly as I could. We were about fifteen minutes out of town were teens would go to “park” their cars after dates. There was a water tower covered in graffiti with a white ladder and a rusted railing that was broken in a few spots. Davis’s father pushed me forward in the direction of the water tower and I began to shake. My knees buckled and I fell onto them with a sharp cry. His steal toed boot connected with my ribs emitting a sharp crack. The tape muffled my scream as the large dark figure that would give me nightmares looked down at me. His face was pale and sweaty, but he had a small smile. His blue eyes matched Davis’s, except for the fact that his eyes held a slight crazed pleasure rather than fear. His teeth were yellow and his scruffy face and greasy hair appeared a dark brown in the dimly lit area. He yanked me back to my feet sharply, forcing me to scream again from the pain in my ribs. He shoved me forward and out of the corner of my eye I could see Davis standing beside his father ringing his hands, he looked nervous and I sent him a pleading look with my eyes; He quickly looked away. I could see him squeeze his eyes shut as a tear fled his eye against his will.  His father pushed me against the water tower ladder. He cut the tape around my wrists and pressed the sharp cold knife in between my shoulder blades. When we reached the top I looked down at the car, then over at Davis and his father who stood beside me. I could feel the cell phone in my back pocket buzz with a text message, most likely from my worried mother. I had told her I was just going for a walk and would be back with in the hour. Davis’s father held my forearms and guided me to a spot where the railing was broken and he began to speak, “Poor Zoe. She was so grief stricken by her sister’s death she had to end her life. She wanted to go join her sister in heaven.” Davis’s fathers voice sounded slightly slurred and smelled of alcohol and his laugh was slightly crazed. He pulled the tape off my mouth as I looked down at the ground. I felt his hands on my back and I began to cry. Streams of salt water poured down my cheeks as I realized my end was near. I turned around to try and plead my case. He pushed. I screamed at the top of my lungs and reached out desperately. I grabbed onto a piece of the rusted railing beside me and it creaked as I bit into my lip. The pain in my rib was sharp and I bit my lip to hold back a scream.   Davis’s father rushed by me with a blood-curdling scream and hit the ground with a solid thud. I closed my eyes tightly to avoid looking down as my hand began to slip. A hand wrapped around my wrist and began to pull. Davis pulled me up onto the water tower and quickly called the police. We sat in silence on the tower and waited.

“And now we are sitting here. He must have just slipped.” I said to the police taking a sip of my tea.

© 2011 Toribird


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Added on April 12, 2011
Last Updated on April 12, 2011

Author

Toribird
Toribird

Conifer, CO



About
Well. Hi. =) You can all me Kira or bird. Kirabird is the name one of my very close friends give me. Its a mix between a nickname and my real name. You will never guess which is which. =) I am a dance.. more..

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