This is the second chapter of the romance and intrigue that is "Don't Miss," he said. Check back for more chapters, and please vote and comment. Any and all constructive criticisms are welcome. So, once again, I'll turn it over to your humble narrator, Alphonse. Take it away...Al.
*************
I wish that I could tell you that we regained normalcy at Creekmount after that day, after the senseless killing. I wish I could tell you that our classmates were alive, and that I woke up in a cold sweat, finding the whole matter to have been a nightmare.
A deeper pang still, is that, if it were a dream, I would have to cope with the catharsis of having the dead back...but losing Elena.
Elena and I stood together on yet another chilly winter morning, the second of February. It was a day I still remember; because it was the day they buried Catherine. The remaining classmates were in attendance, as well as Catherine's family, Elena and I, and my brother. As the priest said the final rites, I watched my brother walk away solemnly. He crested a hill about fifty yards out, and, as we all bowed our heads in reverence, I heard the dismal dirge of amazing grace, drifting down from my brother's trumpet.
He muted the trumpet's bell, stifling the tune from full resonance. It was the first time I let myself cry in front of Elena. The acolytes closed the casket, and Elena began to tear up as well. No longer able to see our dear friend, Elena felt her last connection to Catherine break apart.
As I stood beside Elena, she reached out for me. I held her tightly, surprised at how much she was shaking as she sobbed into my coat. I wanted to say something, to tell her that everything would be alright. But, in that moment, I heard my brother let the last note linger. He held it as long as he could, but I could tell by the wavering in his note, that he too was crying.
While to this day he never admits it, and I only heard it, I'm sure that my brother wept that day. Catherine had only met him once, when he was visiting me, but the way her face lit up whenever he smiled at her was about as happy as she ever let us see her. I wish that on that baleful day at Creekmount, my brother would have been in time to save everyone, especially Catherine, because I knew that she loved him.
Elena tightened her grip on me, and I realized that she had stopped crying. She pressed her body closer, and I was reminded of how lucky I was that I didn't have to attend the funerals of two of my friends; how lucky I was that this beautiful girl could still love me after the shock and awe of that day.
"I keep thinking it's a bad dream," Elena said as we walked away from the concluded service. "I keep thinking that I'll just wake up, and the teacher would scold me for sleeping in class."
"And Catherine would laugh at you, and the teacher would glare at her," I added, replaying a regular occurrence which used to be in German class.
Elena continued, "Then I'd look over at you, and...and you'd smile, and I'd feel fine, because I would know that I was with my friends."
"Elena..."
"I'm just so scared. I feel as though, if I were to let my guard down, they could come back. And, even though I know your brother took care of them, it's as if they're still after me," Elena said, shivering as though from an unfelt breeze.
"My brother..." I looked at the knoll where Albrecht had played the somber tune, but he was nowhere to be seen. "If I were strong...like Albrecht, maybe we wouldn't be here now."
"Alphonse, you are str--"
"No, Elena, I'm not. I'm so weak that I...I couldn't even save one life, when those men held us captive. I just sat against the wall, waiting for my big brother, like the scared little kid that I am."
I had stopped where I stood, not wanting to face Elena while I spoke to her. I stared at the grass, and it was pale; dying in winter's cold grasp.
"That's not true," Elena said. "You're not a kid. None of us are, after...after what we saw. And, you did save a life. You...you saved me."
I opened my eyes, to see Elena crouching, looking up at me, tears accenting her eyes.
"Und für das stehe ich immer in Ihrer Schuld," she said in her impeccable German, telling me that she was forever in my debt.
After a long sigh, I kneeled to join her, and responded, "Es ist so schön wann du sprechst Deutsch, Elena," complimenting her on how beautiful she sounded. We both rose, and I held her again. "However, you owe me no debt."
"Then...it's over? We just go on living?"
I motioned for us to continue walking back to my car. "I know how you feel. I feel bad about closing the book on this. But, we have to move on. The men are gone, and we have to forget about them."
"I don't think I could ever forget about those men."
"It will be difficult, but...there's no other way to live. Keep thinking about this, and it's going to eat away at you from the inside. It will haunt you. Forget about them; move on, and you can keep the hope alight in your heart."
"When did you get poetic about death?"
I didn't respond. To talk about their death...My parent's death...would be to reopen a book which I had long ago locked up.
We neared my car, and I opened Elena's door for her before getting in myself. After we started up and pulled out of the cemetery, I asked Elena where she needed to go.
"I guess I should head back home. My folks should be getting home about now," she said.
We drove in relative silence, as Elena read the funeral program over and over, as though trying to relive the last precious moments she spent near Catherine. I glanced at the program, and remembered the eulogy the priest had given.
*************
I had always thought it odd that one who had probably met the deceased should give the eulogy. If I had given it, though, I would have been too cynical. I was eight when it happened.
I opened the thick oak front door, heavy for me at that age, and stepped inside, then dropped my schoolbag and headed for the kitchen. Usually, my father was sitting at the table reading the paper, and my mother would be washing dishes or some other mundane chore. Now that I reminisce about them, there was something pleasantly 1950's about this routine. I sat down at the table, and sensed something was off. Usually my mother would have a drink for me on the table (some cold juice in the summer, or some hot cocoa in the winter), but that day, my glass was empty. There was still some at the bottom of the glass.
Where were my parents? I looked back into the bedroom hall, and saw their door slightly open. I thought it would be clever to try to sneak up on them, so I removed my shoes, and padded down the hallway. I looked up at the walls, and it looked like someone had drawn on the one wall.
I thought back to when I had done that once. This drawing looked similar. I had taken my mother's nail polish bottle and splashed it on the wall. Boy did I get it for that one. I hoped that whoever had done it this time was being punished for it too.
Why didn't I realize what it was on the walls?
I continued down to my parent's room, and found that all the shelves and cabinets and drawers were a total mess. I thought that they must have been in a hurry to find something. Maybe my father had misplaced one of his ties again. He really liked wearing ties, and I had even offered him my school uniform tie, when he once lost his favorite tie. He laughed at my cute gesture.
I still won't forgive myself for not realizing what had happened when I saw the state of their room.
Their bathroom light was on, so I went up close to it. I knocked, as they had reminded me constant times to do. No answer. I opened the door, and found my parents...asleep?...on the floor.
Why didn't I call the police?
I looked up at the mirrored door to the bathtub, and saw that the 'nail polish' had gone there too. Except this time, it was words.
NEXT TIME. YOU TOO.
Then I tried to rouse my parents from their slumber. No luck. I panicked. Why wouldn't they wake up? I shook my mother, and tried to roll her over. Eventually I got her over, and saw that she had, what at that age I could only describe as, a big boo-boo on her neck.
Someone slit her throat. Stupid kid, why didn't you call for help?
*************
Eventually, I got my neighbors to help me. The truth still didn't sink in till the police tape went down. My parents were murdered by a serial killer. The police said that this case fit the killer's profile; a killer who called himself Judas.
To this day, I follow news on the killer, hoping that someday they'll catch him.
*************
"Alphonse, you missed it!" Elena exclaimed, tugging my arm and my thoughts back to the road. I had missed the exit to her house. Damn you, highway hypnosis.
