Chapter 2: Bird Blood

My mother, Debra Cote, cracked the door to my room open. I didn’t have enough energy to acknowledge her. Asher had died, but I felt dead. My eyes were turned towards the ceiling. They were empty and cold as I stared at the faded red splash that stood out on the snow-white paint.

“Mads?” Asher tried to wake me up.

I yawned and checked my alarm clock. 00:02 was what was displayed in bright neon. 

“To early,” I grumbled.

“You’d want to see this,” Asher persisted.

I grouchily opened my left eye, Asher had his hands cupped out in front of him. Curiosity made me open my other eye. I quickly sat up and looked at the contents of Asher’s hands.

Blank, black eyes stared back at me. The pupils were rolled back in a way that reminded me of the time I had tried to turn my eyes inside out. I couldn’t remember if I could do it, but I remembered that the attempt was very painful. The creature’s body was encased in green and blue feathers, but that’s not what drew my attention. What kept me enthralled was the liquid that seeped from its head. A dark red liquid. I had cut myself enough times to know what it was.

I screamed, a shrill sound that shook the windows. It surprised me that my parents were so fast asleep that they didn’t come to see what the matter was. Which made me wonder what would happen if a robber climbed through my bedroom window. Not that it mattered, because thieves tended to stay away from all houses like this. This house was plain and unappealing. The paint on the outside was peeling, and the garden was overgrown and unkempt. Why bother robbing this house, when there’s a mansion across the road? I think that was one of the things that bothered Asher the most; we were poor, while people living on the same road as us were rich and seemed to be living a luxurious and comfortable life.

I refocused my thoughts to the feathery creature in Asher’s hand.

Asher?” I gulped.

“It’s part of being a Robin Hood,” Asher told me.

This comment totally confused me, so I waited until he explained further.

“I was helping the worms and other insects. The bird was eating them.” Asher grimly nodded his head. “In this case the worms and insects are the poor people.”

He brought the bird closer to my face. My reflexes were quicker than I thought. Before I even knew what I was doing, the bird was flying towards the ceiling. Its wound touched the ceiling, leaving a patch of blood behind.

When anyone asked about the red patch, I had just said ‘paint’. I didn’t want anyone to know my brother was a murderer, even if it was just a bird and it was for a good cause. What he said kind of made sense. By taking the bird out of the equation, the creepy-crawlies were saved. But in my opinion it didn’t make much of a difference, since the insects would just be eaten by another bird. If a killer was imprisoned for trying to kill someone, another assassin could just as well be hired to kill that person. In order for that person to be safe, all the killers in the town needed to be in jail. But that was unrealistic. There would always be one killer that no one suspects, the ideal criminal who executes everything perfectly.

Asher had wanted to protect the insects, probably because of his love for butterflies. There are countless birds in the world; more birds than humans, I think. Also, it was better to let nature run its course, instead of spilling blood. But I guess Asher thought differently.

“Madelyn.” My mother interrupted my thoughts of birds and murderers.

I knew she would try to console me, so I chose to ignore her. She sat down on the bed next to me. Her hands found mine and she stated running her thumb across the back of my hand, just below my knuckles.

“Asher’s in the living room,” mum said. A tear fell onto our joined hands. The way she said it made it seem like Asher was there in the flesh, alive and happy.

I nodded my head.

“You coming?” she asked.

Not like I had much of a choice. I didn’t want to see the dead Asher. That was not a memory I would like to have. But if I didn’t see him, I would always expect him to come back to me.

I followed my mother down the hallway, using the wall as a crutch. My legs felt numb. My whole body felt numb.

The middle of the lounge was occupied by a large wooden coffin, surrounded by a variety of flowers: roses, pansies, chrysanthemums.

I walked towards the coffin, but stopped because someone had just walked in. Someone who I had expected would come, but I hadn’t wanted to be here. She didn’t deserve to be a part of my brother’s funeral. It was her fault he was dead.

As Sheriff Matson walked in, he took off his hat, alerting us to the fact that something was wrong. He sat down on the worn leather armchair and graciously declined my mother’s offer of tea. Sheriff Matson’s sliver of grey hair had expanded and now half of his head was covered in grey. His face was rounded and covered in red blotches. His eyes were tired and drooped downwards. He looked like someone who had just ran a marathon and was too exhausted to even try to move his body. His body was slumped and it almost seemed like it took too much willpower to allow himself to stay upright.

He immediately jumped into the reason why he was at our house. “This is very hard for me, because bad news is always difficult.” He took a deep breath as if he was trying to prepare himself for something really unpleasant. “I am here to tell you that Asher committed suicide. I am so sorry.”

What? This must be some kind of mistake. Asher wouldn’t take his life. He had no reason to, unless…I remembered him saying Janet had dumped him. But still, committing suicide just because his girlfriend had dumped him seemed a bit too extreme.

Sheriff Matson paused and blew his nose on a soggy handkerchief.

He took a deep breath before continuing to speak in a very low voice, “Asher’s body was found in the Evergleen forest. He slit his wrist.” Sheriff Matson handed my shaking dad a piece of old brown paper that looked more like parchment.

I released a breath that I didn’t know I had been holding.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sheriff Matson finished.

Without thinking I pounced on Janet Swift. I clawed at her face, digging my fingers into her porcelain perfect skin. She looked like a China doll, with her perfectly shaped eyebrows and lips with the perfect cupid bow. Her black hair streamed down her back in a fountain of blackness. Janet tried to push me away, but there was no stopping a bull who had seen red.

“It’s all your fault,” I yelled, shaking her body violently.

She whimpered.

I felt my father’s strong hands prying me away from Janet.

Please vote and comment if you enjoyed this chapter. ❤️🦋