WAHSHEN'S POV
I tousled my hair, leaning back on the sofa; lofi melodies of a soul artist playing on the turntable. I had a martini in hand, staring at the blank television, completely stolen by my reverie.
Midnight autumn winds beat against the glass and whooshed into the room from the open windows. I sighed heavily, shutting my eyes. The room seemed to emit a rosy scent all of a sudden. I knew my mind was playing with me because only one person had that fragrance in her hair each time I met her. Only my Sierra smelt like roses.
I drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. I miss her. I really miss her. It'd only been 48 hours since we last spoke, but it felt like eternity. The gnawing feeling in my chest begged me to go back to the house, to try to get through to her again, but Sierra and I had dated for five years now. I knew better than anyone that she didn't listen to reason when she was like that; broken, touchy, tense, aggravated and paranoid.
I raised the cocktail glass close to my lips and let the alcohol slowly burn my throat before I placed it back on the small table. I tore myself away from the sofa, strolling to the translucent glass that overlooked the orchid garden below. The hue of the flowers, blurred before my eyes, did not leave that nirvanic delight it always did. I felt empty.
'I am lost without you, Sierra. If only you knew'.
The sound of the ringing telephone blared into the quiet atmosphere of the villa almost immediately. Reluctantly, I went into the inner room to pick up the call.
"Mr. Gravestone."
"George. It's late."
"My apologies Sir but… you need to hear this."
"Is it about work?" exhaustion laced my voice.
"No. It's about…" he hesitated.
"About what?"
"The girl in the bungalow on Haven Street."
"What about her?" I straightened up, gripping the table unconsciously.
"She is on the news, right now."
The telephone dropped, the thud in symphony with my pacing footsteps. I swiped the remote off the couch and turned on the Tele.
*Early this morning, twenty-three-year-old Sierra Shades jumped to her death from one of the Kimberly Memorial High school buildings. Eyewitnesses say she was intentional about it. Reports coming in further clarify this and also reveal that she has been scarce and somewhat depressed for the past few days, leading to her death. Police are still looking into it and are yet to confirm it is a suicide until…"
The TV went off. The remote shaking in my trembling hands.
I stared back at the darkness, horrified. A tear slipped down my cheek. I shut my eyes for a second, trying to process what I just heard.
'It can't be right. She can't be… Sierra can't be dead.'
I turned, attempting to find my way to the telephone. My legs wobbled and gave way. I slumped, but the sofa caught me. I held back my tears, hand on my lips. Rage built up inside me, the pain exacerbating. The cocktail glass was the first to suffer my anger. I smashed it into pieces on the wall; I rammed a leg at the Orion coffee table too. It tumbled over and crashed on the floor.
I didn't want to believe it. I ruffled my hair and forced back my tears but nothing helped. I had the gruesome picture of her body in my head. Her bruised eyes were open; it felt like they were staring at me, like she did that night at the hotel. Her lips were gaped. She must have called out for me, but I wasn't there.
'Oh God—'
Sweat drenched the white tan top I wore. The air-conditioning was on full blast, yet I was burning inside. It was ripping me apart. The tears forced their way again, but this time, I let them. I slumped on the sofa, crying, grabbing at my chest.
It ached. My heart ached so bad, it could shatter. I killed her. I kept the truth from her now it killed her. I should have said something, anything at all.
The loyal Veneto Italian leather sofa held me again while I sat there, disquiet; a hand over my lips, the tears racing down and along my fingers. Every breath I took came out as a shaking exhale. Memories of us, everything we shared, played like cinema pictures before my eyes.
It was roughly an hour past two, but it felt like morning would never come. Like I had been cursed to live in this night forever.
Somehow sleep managed to steal me into a disturbed slumber. I woke up on the floor. Nelly, the cook had prepared a breakfast of toasted bread, white tea and a richly-made salad. I forgot breakfast and canceled everything on my schedule. The driver was given a day off. Now alone in the Blue Porch, I drove to the morgue.
Her body had stayed overnight. By the time I arrived, she had gotten real cold. Her mother had been hospitalized. She collapsed after she heard the news. I was the first to visit her since her death, the doctor told me. Then he left me in the pristine white-tiled room that reeked of detergent and an eerie feeling of death.
I stood beside her body, staring at her closed eyes. She looked like she was sleeping. I wished so bad that I could wake her.
A tear drizzled onto my suit.
"I'm sorry I—"
My voice broke. I took short breaths.
"I should have been there. I should have told you what happened that night. This is all my fault. This is all my fault."
My lips parted again but no more words came. Pain overwhelmed me. My eyes, half closed and my face pale. I just stayed quiet, staring at her, Perhaps waiting for something to happen; anything at all.
I got my wish.
The metal door clanged as they pushed open. Someone peeped into the room.
"Mr. Gravestone."
That someone was George.
"Go away, George."
"Sir, it's really urgent. You have to see…"
I threw a bloodshot eye at him. He jolted back, struggling to regain his composure.
"Can you not see that I need some privacy!!!"
"Sir, it's about the girl. Someone saw her. He said she didn't jump."
I raised my brow, turning fully. I took a really long look at him before I muttered.
"What did you just say?"
********
"His name is Arthur King. He was filming birds in the adjacent building when the lady fell off." He briefed me as we walked down the hotel's passageway leading up to his dorm room.
"He is asking for a lot of money in exchange for it. I told him you would pay anything if the video was worth it."
He stopped. I did too. We were in front of a shabby door with the inscription 333 on the far top. He wiggled the knob at the door three times. The boy inside unlocked it.
I stepped into a total contrast of what I had in mind. Princess wallpapers, cartoon action figures, superhero magazines and comics littered on the bed. But what really caught my attention was the uncanny similarity in his taste for entertainment with that of Sierra. Better put, he wasn't watching birds in that classroom. He was stalking Sierra.
'Idiot'.
"Here it is." The kid said, turning his screen so I could see. George zoomed in.
Unconsciously, I held my breath and clenched my fist, my head raised slightly. Before my eyes, Sierra was about to die, again.
I could see figures moving on the roof, then Sierra wobbled forward and off the building. My fists tightened. George froze at that timeframe.
"Step aside," I said.
My breath, aquiver. I peered at the enlarged footage. There was a pixelated figure just one foot away from her. Someone was there alright. Sierra didn't commit suicide. She was murdered.
"Should we tell the police?"
"No. I am far better…"
The tailored Brioni black suit's breast pocket vibrated, interrupting me, abruptly. My phone was ringing. I looked at the caller's ID. A frown settled on my lips.
"I will be right back. Write him a check of 10,000 dollars."
The boy's eyes grew wide. His low-pitched gloating was the last I heard as I slipped into the passageway, heading up a little. I picked the call when I had found a decent corner.
"This better be good, Glasglow."
"Your bad habit of talking with me like I'm some employee of yours, is not something I like, you know that, right?"
I made a scowl of disgust. "Goodbye, Glasgow." I put the phone down.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Your fancy smancy reputation could get real hurt like your girl."
The device returned to my ears.
"If I find out you had a hand in her death, I swear to God, I will…"
"Jezz man. Relax. I think you should be worrying about yourself." He chuckled. His laugh bathed with the distasteful feeling of clandestine.
"You can't touch me."
"Indeed I can't, and I won't, but the world most certainly will when they learn that the Immaculate CEO of Gravestone Empire fucked a minor.