All characters are 18 years old or older. This is one of those one shot stories I mentioned. I am always trying to write stories in a different way or flavor. In this case I alternate between a male and female character to get their point of view. I prefer writing in first person. It is more natural form for me. I like looking through the eyes of my characters. Tell me what you think. This one is also a subject and style I've never written before, as far as I can remember. Enjoy and please vote, comment, and tell me what you think.
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Anniversary:
I laid the rose beside his tombstone. It had been a year since his sudden death. I missed my dad and his bride was off swimming with the dolphins in Miami. The snow had begun last night and clung to the frozen ground. I had one more day until they returned. My stepmom and her daughter were due back tomorrow night. They both insisted I call them mom and sis, but it never felt right. Dad had been having an affair with her when my mom had passed from a heart attack. Her heart had been weak since she was a child but never so bad that she warranted surgery. I drove back to the empty house. I let myself in and heard the phone ringing. I raced over and picked it up before the answering machine took over.
"Hello?"
"Is this the Anderson residence?"
"No." I replied to the strong male voice on the other end of the conversation.
"Oh, I was looking for Louise Anderson. She left this as her contact number."
"Can I ask who is calling?" I asked feeling sick to my stomach for some reason.
"This is special agent Robert Collins from the FBI."
"I don't suppose you could tell me why you are looking for this Louise person."
"She is wanted for questioning about the disappearance of Michael Moore. I just need to ask her a few questions."
"My stepmom's middle name is Louise," I said aloud, and I heard a thoughtful hum from the agent. "Do you have a number I can contact you at?"
I wrote down his number and promised to call when she got home. I hung up and that sick feeling grew. I sat on the couch and stared at the piece of paper with the agent's number on it. My dad was barely gone a year and they were down vacationing. The doubt that had been nagging at me flared back to life. I raced upstairs and stared at her bedroom door. Her words echoed in my head.
'I don't go into your room and you will reciprocate that respect, do you hear me?'
I grabbed the doorknob and felt my heart hammering in my chest. I turned the knob and shoved the door open. I stood on the threshold and looked inside. I had seen its interior before, but I had never set foot inside without her there. She was so secretive. It was all the little things, but they added up and now that the FBI had called it was the last straw. I went to her dresser with the mirror. It was here that she kept her jewelry and personal papers. I caught my reflection in the mirror and damn I looked guilty. The top drawer was locked but I knew where she kept her spare key. I went into my stepsister's room and snagged her spare keys from the bag at the floor of her closet. I knew the second key to the dresser was on the ring. I unlocked the drawer and slowly opened the drawer. I was careful as I opened it. I didn't want her to know anything had been disturbed.
"Okay, slowly now," I said as I lifted her jewelry box up. "What the hell?"
I caught the box's reflection in the mirror. A piece of paper was sticking out of the back of the box. I opened the box but there weren't any papers inside. I moved aside her jewelry and spotted the false bottom. I wouldn't have seen it if I hadn't seen the papers poking out the back. I fished the folded pages out and sat on the bed reading them. As I shuffled through them a small notebook slid out and fell to the floor. It looked like a little black book at first, but the contents were far more interesting. It was an address book of sorts listing a number of men's names, but it was the last few pages that proved puzzling.
"It makes so sense." I muttered as a stared at the random letters and numbers, and penciled in numbers next to them. "No fucking way!"
I cursed when I realized what the numbers were. Once I figured that out the letters made sense. The numbers listed in pencil were dollar amounts and the inked in apparent random numbers and letters were passwords for bank accounts. The length of the numbers indicated hundreds of thousands of dollars and in one case over a million. I returned my attention to the papers and realized many of them were deeds to property while the others were life insurance policies. What was the missing man's name again? It was Moore, Michael Moore. I felt a chill when I found the life insurance policy in the name of Michael Moore Senior. The sole beneficiary was Louise Anderson. I recognized my stepmom's handwriting. There were ten other life insurance policies and each of them came from places she had vacationed or visited for business purposes.
I kept the papers and returned the jewelry box carefully. I closed her door and went to my bedroom. I took out the little black book and began searching for the names online. I quickly learned that the names marked with a black F were dead or missing. I thought the F stood for finished or maybe even fucked. The names in pencil were alive and well and possible targets. The names in ink without an F were also on the life insurance policies. They were men she had lured in were sure to die or disappear. I leaned back and pushed everything away.
"My stepmom is a serial killer."
The fear hit me hard when I realized how many men she had killed already. The fear turned to rage when I thought about my parents. Had she killed them too? She must have for them to die so suddenly and neatly. I was going to get my revenge. I knew there was only one person I could get help with this. I fired up Skype and contacted DJ. He was an aspiring hacker and digital guru. He picked up and looked like he hadn't slept in days. His face showed days of facial growth and his eyes looked like he was borderline manic. I had caught him on a good day.
"Hey DJ."
"Jones... you look like hell man. What's up?"
"It's a long story but I need your advice."
"It'll cost you ten percent," he joked and when I said okay he put on his serious face. "What are we talking about?"
I gave him the short version and at first, he didn't believe me until I mentioned the bank accounts. He focused, and I described the entries and he whooped and hollered. It took him a little over an hour to crack the bitch's code. DJ had figured out the banks and once he had that he helped me set up an offshore bank account. I had no idea how skilled he had become since he dropped out of school. I set up a fifteen-digit password to access the account and logged into my stepmom's banks and drained every last penny. I offered DJ his ten percent but when he realized it was blood money he didn't want anything to do with it. I never knew he had a code of honor or was it fear. Was he afraid of her? I was too angry to be afraid now. DJ wished me luck and told me to be careful and not to leave any trace that I had messed with her things, for now. I stared at my bare hands and the first thought was fingerprints. I took photos of everything and returned them to the jewelry box. I locked the dresser and replaced the keys. I created an email and attached the photos to it and saved it as a draft. I placed twelve of my closest friend's names on it, so I could send it at a moment's notice.
The murderous bitch and her daughter would be back tomorrow, and I had no idea how long it took before she learned about her bank accounts. How often did she check them? I hadn't thought this out. My anger had boiled over and I had crossed a line before I let it process. I needed a plan and being here when she got home wasn't a good idea. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a soda from the fridge, and sat and formed an attack plan. I brainstormed with pen and paper until I had a series of supportable ideas. I tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin and went to work. Time was passing, and I had to get moving.
