14
ALEXA KING
-Present-

Shaw's Diner
September 21, 2018
4:29 p.m.

"WHAT IS THIS SHIT?" Logan says, slapping the newspaper in his grip with the back of his free hand.

Shaw's Diner is crowded today, abuzz with conversations about Melody's murder and filled with eyes that can only seem to gaze in our direction. Our booth is the complete opposite - there's a deafening silence looming over us, a desperate quietness waiting for an explanation. It's a pause, three suspensive dots making us an ellipsis. Time stands still in this small booth, our presence a clear picture among the hazy colors composing the rest of our small town. We're the center of all the commotion and they're all sidelines, looking from the outside of pain.

Nari sits next to Logan, peering over his shoulder to read the article. I'm guessing that her frown deepens as soon as she reads her mother's name, the sole creator and composer of this gruesome piece. Micah is beside her, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose as he reads along. His fair face alters from pink and red hues to green-like ones, almost a visual representation of the disgust brewing inside of him. Sebastián reads along with me, his eyes trying to focus on the shaking newspaper in my grip. When he's had enough of the details, he falls back on the seat with a tired sigh.

All around us, the noise intensifies with different conversations taking place at once and the clashing of porcelain enamel. Among all these noises, there's the faint sound of a television blasting in the background, repeating Melody's nine-one-one transcript over and over again. It's a broken disc of sorrow and fear, the sound that reawakens my memories.

I guess I'm scared.

Scared of death. What happens after it?

Her voice is a tremble in the air, a weak breath fighting to be heard. My chest tightens at the sound of it; it swells with an unbearable pain, my heart beating slowly as if it's about to burst. It gives low pumps for each breath I take, every sharp inhale of air that pierces through my lungs. Then the memory comes, stopping the pumping of blood for the briefest of seconds - enough to knock the air out of me.

While she was calling for help, struggling to keep her composure with a killer lurking in her house, I was in Views, searching for the perfect snacks to bring to our sleepover. I remember struggling between picking the Jolly Ranger bites bag and the king-size bag of Reese's Pieces, before buying both of them. While I was wasting my time on such a trivial matter, Melody was fighting for her life. I wasn't there for her - I never was.

The pain settling in my heart goes numb, as well as the rest of my body. The tears burn in the back of my eyes, but the numbness doesn't allow for them to find a release. Guilt claws at my insides, shredding and shredding until all my secrets are in full display, resting on the tip of my tongue to set loose. What kind of friend am I?

As people begin to leave the diner in masses, probably running away from the heavy darkness that looms in the atmosphere, I see Mr. Ellis talking to Mrs. Shaw. They're speaking in hush voices, with Mrs. Shaw nodding her head while Mr. Ellis writes something down on his small notepad. From time to time, Mr. Ellis glances at our booth, making eye contact with me before returning to his conversation. Now that I see Mrs. Shaw more closely, I notice that Christopher looks nothing like her. The only thing they have in common is the dirty blonde of their hair, with hers being long enough to be tied back in a ponytail.

"She was pregnant?" Logan whispers, throwing the newspaper on the table and slipping down on his seat. His brown eyes have a glistening sheen to them, the tears that don't fall down.

"She was pregnant," Sebastián mumbles beside me, more to himself than anything else. It's as if he's testing how it sounds in his voice, an affirmation of something that's always been possible to him.

"She was pregnant with my baby," Logan says, his eyes darting between Sebastián and me. "I should've been there for her."

The guilt pounds in my chest, black and deathly and poisonous. I had to be there for her.

His eyes land on me with a frantic beat, their glistening sheen replaced with a murderous glare. "You were supposed to be there. It's your fault," he mutters, seething. "You should've been there. Where the fuck were you?"

"That's not fair," I whisper, blinking back tears. A lump is forming in my throat, dry and painful.

The thing is, he's right. It is my fault.

"Oh, we're gonna talk about unfairness, okay," he says, his voice acquiring a mocking tone. "What ain't fair is being beaten until you have an abortion. What ain't fair is being strangled, raped, and then killed. That ain't fair."

His voice breaks at the end, a depressive sound that breaks my own heart. Tears are streaming down his dark cheeks, marking a glinting path along the curve of his smooth face. There's rage burning in his eyes, darkness fueling the anger within him. I see my reflection carved on the sheen of his tears, my mirror image in the color of his skin.

I struggle to find my voice, fight the lump that continues to grow in my dry throat. "I didn't think -"

"No, you fucking didn't."

"Can you cut it out? That's not fair to Alexa," Sebastián says, placing his balled fists on the table. "She's been through this twice, twice, and you're here blaming her for something that wasn't her fault?" He sighs and his words are enough to strike me with my dark past, hard. "I mean, fuck, can you be a little more insensitive? At least she was there after it happened, where were you?"

Logan's expression softens, like he's been shaken from a dark state, but it does nothing to soothe me. Everyone in the booth is quiet, looking awkwardly at the table. The numb state in which I find myself prisoner is cracking a little, giving space for pain to mingle faintly with it. And, as if coming from a distant epiphany, I think about mom.

Mom, the word foreign on my tongue. Mom, with her bouncy afro and rich dark skin. Mom, all set of perfect white teeth and cucumber fragrance. Mom, the thought of fingers tickling my stomach and bubbly giggles erupting from my chest. Mom, who was supposed to keep me safe and failed.

Then, Melody's eyes staring at the ceiling, horror and death crystalized forever in their icy gray. Blood as red as cherries and strawberries, dark as the representation of passion and seduction, tainting her fair skin - red now meaning danger.

Red no longer holds a pleasant, symbolic significance and I will never be the same.

"That's what I thought," Sebastián mutters. "Don't come here acting like you're the only one in pain. She wasn't just your girlfriend, she was a daughter and a friend too." He pauses for a second, a smirk tugging on his lips as he thinks of something. "For all we know, that baby wasn't even yours, so cut the bullshit."

Logan is on his feet in a second, looking like he's ready to punch Sebastián senseless. "What's that supposed to mean, you fucker?"

Sebastián stands up too, bringing his face close to his. They're both puffing out their chests and balling their fists on either side of their bodies, the visual representation of toxic masculinity.

"Guys, please," Nari mumbles, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks.

Sebastián grumbles as he sits back down. "If Alexa had arrived in time to save her, whoever killed Melody would've killed her too. Watch your mouth 'cause all that seems to come out of it is shit."

Logan throws himself back down and looks at me. I'm uncomfortable under his blank stare, void of all emotion and just there, penetrating with an intensity that could kill. He's directing his hatred toward me.

"It should've been you."

There it is, spilling out of his mouth to cause chaos. I can't blink, I can't breathe, I can't think. The crack that formed in my numbness stitches close again, preventing the intrusion of any kind of damaging feeling. Did he just say he preferred to have me dead instead of Melody?

What he doesn't know is that I'm already dead - I died when Melody gave her last breath. Still, still, it stings... but I deserve it.

"Dude," Micah says, craning his neck to look at him.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice a broken breath connecting with the dark atmosphere.

Mr. Ellis approaches our booth just in time to witness the tension between us. "Afternoon, guys," he says, stopping in front of our table. "I came personally to inform you that, as of now, you'll all be interrogated and held under suspicion. I'll try to make this easy for you all because I understand. Please, just be honest with us and we'll try to help you through this difficult time."

Nobody responds. It all seems so surreal, a nightmare promising to wake us up. We're sleeping, a long and undisturbed sleep, and we're going to wake up screaming and crying, but with Melody alive. I just have to wait another second, another minute, another hour, maybe forever. The climax of this nightmare hasn't appeared yet, it just has to show up, dammit.

Nothing happens, of course, so I concentrate on the curving of Mr. Ellis' middle finger, on how its bone taps the table with an arrhythmical pattern. A Christian cross is tattooed to the side of his finger, a long and thin shape that's black on his pale skin.

"Thank you, Mr. Ellis," Nari mumbles, pressing a smile.

He presses a smile of his own and nods. "I want you home at six o' clock sharp, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Micah says, looking down at his lap.

As soon as Mr. Ellis exits the diner, Logan stands up. "I don't need this shit right now."

He walks away, his shoulders tensed beneath his thin shirt. Nausea bubbles in my stomach and threatens to come out. Something propels me to go after him, despite Sebastián disagreeing behind me.

"Logan, wait," I say, touching his shoulder.

He flinches under my touch, as if I'm made of fire, and turns around to glare at me. "Alexa, I ain't in the mood." He continues to walk away and I continue to follow after him. "Stop, okay? I wanna be alone, just back off."

The diner's bell rings once and then its door closes with a faint click. I stand in the middle of the empty diner, heart heavy in my chest, breath quickening to the beat of my pulse. In the background, Melody's voice echoes, warning us about an evil in Levittown. It's as if she's whispering in my ear, telling me the same secrets that are written in her letters.

My bottom lip trembles and my vision blurs, the booths transforming into red dots and the light from outside fading into yellows and oranges. I wait for the tears to spill down my cheeks, fresh and cold as they form a path on them, just like Logan's. But they never do; they're trapped in my eyes, struggling to get out and alleviate this guilt weighting on me.

I walk back to the table with rigid steps. Catalina stands in front of it now, wearing her pink uniform. She pours some coffee in Sebastián's white mug, the brown liquid falling in it like the riverbank's small cascade. Its aroma is that of fresh roasted beans, the white fog of steam releasing toward the air. It lures me in.

"Listen to this: 'You'll all die, just like me, if you don't do anything about it.'" Nari reads, scrunching up her nose. "She considered herself dead by this point. What does this mean?"

"What kind of sick person would do this?" Catalina says, putting the coffee pot down.

"I think I'm going to barf." Micah pushes Nari to the side until he's on his feet and runs away to the men's restroom without another word.

With a low sigh, I sit down next to Sebastián and hide my face behind my hands. He slings his arm on my shoulders and brings me closer to himself, so that I rest on his chest, right below his chin. Some of his dreadlocks fall on me like a curtain, smelling of incense and aloe shampoo. His washed-out shirt holds a tinge of generic citrus mixed with rich loam, the scent of weed.

"Don't listen to him, okay?" Sebastián murmurs, so only I can hear. "He's hurt. He'll come around after having some time alone to think."

I listen to the measured beats of his heart, my ear pressed against his chest, receiving the vibrations spreading from it. Here, snuggled close to him under his chin, his words almost seem honest, comforting even. I nod against his chest, trying to reassure him that everything's fine. But I know the truth, I saw it in Logan's eyes. What's hiding inside of him is not a passing anger, rather a brewing darkness.

And he has some portion of the truth. Not only was I not there for her, I'm also keeping valuable secrets from them.

The fact that Melody was pregnant is surprising in itself. Something tells me it was not Logan's and Sebastián seems sure of it somehow. Maybe the father of her baby is that mysterious guy, the one she mentioned in her last letter. What if that's the reason he killed her? If Mr. Duvall is the mysterious guy, wouldn't it make sense? He has a lovely family, why would he want to ruin it? But what if it's not Mr. Duvall, despite his cross-pendant necklace?

I look over at Catalina, the guilt intensifying in my chest. God, I hope it's not her father. At least I'm closer to a possible killer, it's already known it's a man who committed the crime. Melody was raped, raped, and I can't process that thought without my stomach turning. She wasn't just raped, she was raped while having an abortion. All that blood, all that pain...

The diner's bell tings and in comes Christopher, his look-alike right beside him. His older version mumbles something to him before carrying a box to the diner's kitchen, disappearing from sight. Christopher, who looks as breathtaking as always, looks around the empty place, his eyebrows furrowing. My heart begins with its wild beating when he approaches our booth, blue eyes trailing around us.

"What's wrong?" he says, arching an eyebrow when his eyes land on me - me, snuggled close to Sebastián.

Nari hands him the newspaper, tears falling loosely on her cheeks. His look-alike soon appears to stand beside him and both of them skim over the article, mirror images of one another. It's eerie if I'm being honest, to see the guy you like standing next to a man who looks just like him. They even do the same mannerisms while reading: a hand on their chins, a frown on their lips, same shade of blue eyes moving in synchronization.

"Fuck," Christopher mutters. "This just came out?"

For some reason, he looks at me for confirmation and I nod. His gaze moves to rest on Sebastián's arm on my shoulder, so I disentangle from his embrace.

"Can you turn that shit off?" he says to one of the employees, referring to the television that continues to blast Melody's nine-one-one transcript.

The employee, surprised by Christopher's outburst, scurries to turn the thing off.

"Fuck, this is - this is morbid." He throws the paper on the table as if it's scorching his skin, a thing contaminated with poison. "Who wrote this shit? This shouldn't be published."

Nari flinches, her silent cries becoming loud sobs. "That bitch is always poking her nose in everyone's business."

We all look at the mysterious guy next to Christopher, trying to decipher his name. Catalina steals a knowing glance at me, her bushy eyebrow quirking in a sharp arc. Christopher's look-alike clears his throat, probably uncomfortable under our gazes.

"Oh, this is my brother Wi -"

"Wyatt, nice to meet you all," Wyatt says, pressing a smile. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Christopher has a brother? I've known him since I was fourteen years old, but there was never any brother. Then again, this Wyatt guy looks way older than him. It makes sense when it comes to their almost identical appearance. Now that I see Wyatt in this new light, I notice that he resembles Mrs. Shaw a lot more than Christopher does. They both have a round jaw and fuller lips, completely different from Christopher's sharp jaw and small lips.

Christopher goes on introducing us by name, Wyatt grinning next to him.

"- and Alexa." He says my name softer, almost as if he doesn't want to be heard.

Wyatt's grin drops and, in its place, a frown forms. He looks at me strangely, almost like he's heard of me before but in a negative way. I look at Christopher, my heart sinking under Wyatt's scrutinizing stare, but he's looking down at his shoes. I've never seen this side of him, the one that has nothing to say, the one without his lopsided grin.

"Can we talk for a minute?" Wyatt says, smiling tightly at me before looking at Christopher.

He only nods and walks alongside his older brother, until they disappear to the restroom area.

"Either I'm too high or this shit was weird," Sebastián says, sipping some coffee.

It was weird, so I stand up and walk to the restroom area. I hide behind the wall that's next to the entrance of this whole zone, trying my best to listen to their hushed voices. My heart pumps and pumps against my ribcage, more for Christopher than for the danger of listening to their conversation.

"That's Alexa?" Wyatt whispers, the softest of yells.

Christopher doesn't say anything and I wish I could see his expression. What's wrong with me?

"But she's -"

"I know," Christopher says, loud enough for his voice to echo around the narrow place. He sounds tired and angry at the same time, a tone I haven't heard coming from him ever.

"I don't have a problem with it, it's just..." Wyatt pauses. In his silence, the sound of a toilet flushing is heard. "You know what the psychiatrist said."

"I know, okay?" he yells and, even from this distance, I'm able to hear his raging breaths. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

A restroom door opens and a girl passes beside me a moment later, completely oblivious to my presence.

"Does mom know?"

Christopher sighs. "I don't think so. She's too focused on the diner to even care, anyways." He laughs, but it's humorless and cold. "I'm just a reminder of all the shame. I'm an embarrassment."

"You know that's not true, M." His brother sighs. "I'm worried about you. We're worried about you."

What are they talking about and why does it involve me? Why are they even bringing a psychiatrist to the conversation? Can they possibly be talking about my father?

"Well, I'm fine. You didn't have to come all the way from California to check up on me."

Wyatt chuckles. "That obvious?"

There's a brief silence, and I'm guessing that Christopher's nodding.

"And, Jesus, Melody's murder." Wyatt hisses, his shoes scraping on the concrete floor. "It brings back some horrible memories. Please tell me you didn't have anything to do with it."

A loud gasp leaves my lips, interrupting their conversation. I run back to the booth as quickly as I can, sitting next to Sebastián with my pulse pounding in my chest, in my throat, everywhere. Christopher wouldn't have killed Melody, it's impossible. He's not a killer - he's sweet and funny and entirely beautiful. He's my safe haven in this moment. So, why would his brother assume such a horrible thing?

Is it possible that I'm falling for my friend's killer?

•Word count: 3,397•

This is part two of chapter fourteen. In order to understand the majority of this chapter, you had to read its first part!!!

I'm so excited to read/see your reactions to this chapter. My lips are always sealed (let the chapters speak for themselves), but I love reading theories.

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