Guardians

[dawn]

BANG!

I sprinted—the warmness of my breath mixed with the crisp morning air and flew across my forehead in clouds of adrenaline. I heard a gunshot. I was on the edge of the woods, collecting firewood, when I heard the noise. It was far off into the distance but it was most irrevocably a gunshot. Why I was running towards the sound I couldn’t tell you. My common sense was screaming, go back! What are you doing? But I just couldn’t listen.

A big part of me prayed it was just a hunter and the worst that would happen is I would have to give him a warning about shooting in a private area. A big part of me also knew that that wasn’t the case. As I ran I had this strange, foreboding feeling that ran through my arms and to the back of my head.

I had never run so fast in my entire life. People say adrenaline can make you do super human things and I felt as though I was a galloping horse. Though I was running extremely fast and my heart was pounding, I felt like I was going in slow motion and would never reach whatever it was I was running to.

I finally made it to the center of the woods in the direction I heard the gunshot coming from. I suddenly stopped; my chest was rapidly moving, trying to breathe. Frantically, I searched the area, hoping to find a deer or some kind of animal. My hopes were immediately crushed when I saw it…saw her.

I could only see the outline of her body. The sun was rising and darkness still surrounded the area, tree branches casting ominous shadows over her body. I slowly walked towards her thinking that if I just gave it a minute she would suddenly wake up unharmed. That was until I was standing over her lifeless body.

My eyes confirmed what my ears had heard. She had been shot, what seemed to be, directly in the heart. There was blood everywhere. The deep red was soaked into her dress and blood was smeared on her hands as though she tried to cling to her last minutes on earth before the inevitability of death arrived.

My first reaction was tears—they escaped my eyes as though an outside force was controlling them. My next reaction was to yell as though my pain would heal her wounds. I was sobbing, my hand pressed tightly against my mouth; my other hand clawing at the side of my dress. I fell to my knees, my hands tracing the outline of her body. I had no idea what to do, I was in utter shock.

I wonder what my reaction would have been if she were someone I knew.

[dawn]

By the time the police arrived I had gotten myself mostly under control. My body was shaking, though, as if I had come out of the water on a cool day. Florence, the woman who found my sister and I on the doorstep—the one who was like a mother to us for almost all of our lives, brought me a hot cup of tea to help sooth my nerves and also brought a cup for the police man who was asking me questions about what I had seen.

Abigail was sitting next to me. I could tell she was trying not to stare at me.

“Abby, dear, why don’t you go make the beds where the Ashby’s were staying? They left early this morning and I don’t want to be unprepared for any other guests who arrive.” Florence asked my sister.

"But, Flo, I already made the Ashby's—" Florence gave her a look and my sister immediately took the hint and went upstairs, "Yes, ma'am."

Some of the police were upstairs checking the room the woman had been staying in. Her name was Mary; she couldn’t have been more than 25 years old.

“Now, miss,” the police man continued, “Are you sure you’ve told us everything?”

I shook my head yes. I told him about going out to pick up fire wood, the gun shot, and finding her in the woods—dead.

“Okay,” I could tell he wanted more information to help him figure out who could have done this but was trying to be considerate, “Uh…Was there anyone else staying in the room with her?” He looked towards Florence.

“No…I don’t think there w—“

“Clyde.” I interrupted.

“Pardon me?”

“His name is Clyde. I overheard them talking once and she called him Clyde.”

“Alright, do you know who this Clyde is?”

By the expression on my face the officer could tell I was confused by the question.

“I mean, was he her father? A brother?”

“I think he was her boyfriend. I saw them holding hands.”

Just then another police man had come downstairs, “Sir, we’ve found something. It’s a note…” He came closer and was speaking softer, “It’s a suicide note.” He handed the note to his superior. After a moment he handed the note back to the other officer.

“Well let’s call it in. This case is closed.” The superior officer stood up out of his chair and walked towards the front door.

I suddenly remembered something. I reached into the pocket on my apron. It was a small letter. I had completely forgotten about it, she gave it to me the night before when I served her at dinner to give to Clyde, “May I see that letter, sir?” He seemed very hesitant at first but gave in and handed it to me. I don't know what gave me the idea to do this, but I knew I needed to. I put them side by side and looked at each carefully. I had this feeling. I seemed to be having a lot of those then. I can’t quite describe it, but I didn’t think she killed herself. This was murder.

The handwriting was similar in appearance and it was hard to tell if they were done by the same hand. But the signature—that was off. They didn’t look the exact same. The suicide note looked more careful, more crafted. It was like whoever wrote it was trying to match it to something.

“I don’t think she did it.” I handed the two notes to the police officer. “She gave this to me last night at dinner. And I think—“

He cut me off, “Look miss, I know after what you’ve seen you probably want to play detective but this isn’t the time for it.” He gave a look at the two notes before handing me back mine, “They look the same. It’s just your imagination.”

“Don’t you want to at least take this,” I held it out for him, “in case you need it for evidence or something?”

“This case is closed; we’re not charging anyone so we don’t need any evidence.” I could tell he just wanted to end the conversation. His superior officer had already left the room. I slipped the note back in my apron. I didn’t care what he said, I was keeping it.

As I looked back up, he walked in through the side door—Clyde. I walked towards him and called out to the police man who was getting ready to leave, “This is him. This is Clyde.” I pointed at him and the police man turned around.

Clyde had dirt on his hands and there was a small rip on the forearm of his jacket. He looked taken aback when I said his name; his face turned a lighter shade and for a split second his eyes bulged out in panic.

“Excuse me sir…” The police man had his attention back on the situation, “But we have some bad news for you.” As the police man continued Clyde’s expression changed. It was very slight and hardly noticeable. Perhaps I was making this up, looking back I’m not completely positive if I invented his change from fear to peaceful or if it actually had occurred. “Mary has committed suicide.” He handed Clyde the note.

Clyde took it in his hands, read over it and handed it back to the policeman. He sighed, looking sorrowful. Maybe I had jumped too quickly to think he had something to do with Mary’s death. Maybe the policeman was right; I was in such distress my mind was coming up with all sorts of scenarios.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you…” There was a slight pause before Clyde spoke again, “Is there anything I need to do or sign?”

“No, sir I don’t think so. We may contact you later if anything comes up.”

“I see…Well if you don’t mind I’d like to be alone.” Clyde strode passed the policeman and up the stairs, I assumed to his room.

[dawn]

Knock, knock, knock…

“Hannah…? Are you in here?” My sister asked as she opened my bedroom door, peaking in.

My sister and I lived in the attic. The Inn had a cellar, a ground level, and two levels for guest bedrooms. At the end of the hallway on the second floor of rooms was a staircase that pulled out of the ceiling. Up that staircase was a small landing that had two doors across from each other. We were very fortunate to have a roof over our heads, let alone our very own rooms.

“Yes Abby, I’m in here.” I had been sitting on the windowsill. It was night and the moon reflected off the lake, towards the woods. Turning my attention towards Abigail, I wondered what it was she wanted.

“Is it okay if I come in?” She asked, standing in the doorway.

I kind of wanted to say no. I felt like being alone but I also knew I couldn’t hide from everyone, “Sure, come on in.”

She walked into my room and closed the door behind her quietly. When she sat down on my bed, across from me, I noticed something in her hand, “Why do you have the newspaper?”

“Well…That’s actually why I came in here—part of the reason. You know how you don’t think she wrote the…” My sister brought her voice to a whisper, “suicide note? Well…I think you are right.” She unfolded the paper and opened it before handing it to me.

I read the entire page. It was about a serial killer; he had recently escaped from prison and it was a prison only a few towns over. I understood what my sister was trying to tell me. I almost gasped when I read in the article that this man often killed young women directly on or near the heart. I hadn’t told anyone that the gun shot was directly where her heart was. So I knew my sister didn't know just how important this article was.

“Do you…do you think it was him? Do you think this killer came here and did it?” There was a hint of terror in my sister’s voice.

I thought about it for a minute. It seemed completely plausible but I wasn’t about to worry my little sister over something like that. “No, Abigail. I don’t think he did it.”

“But you said you didn’t think the letters looked the same.”

“How did you know I said that anyway, huh? Were you eavesdropping?"

"Well the stairs needed dusting and I just happened to overhear..."

"Don't worry, I might be wrong. I am wrong...I think I'm wrong. The policemen know what’s going on, if they thought there was doubt they would investigate it.” I smiled, halfheartedly, hoping to put my sister at ease even if I couldn’t do that for myself. “Now go to sleep, Abby. It’s late and we have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“Okay…” At first she didn’t seem completely persuaded but as I perked up my smile and patted her on the head she seemed more convinced. “Good night Hannah.”

“Good night.” I gave my sister a hug and walked her towards my door. As she opened her door she looked back at me for reassurance and I smiled and nodded as if to say, everything’s fine.

I shut my door and stared at the newspaper article. Fear shot up my spine; it gave me an uncomfortable sensation. At first I was scared to pick up the article again; in the back of my mind I thought picking it up would make everything true and then I really would have something to fear. I brushed off the feeling and picked it up glancing down at the black and white print. There was a small picture on the side of the killer. He looked slightly familiar, though, I had no idea why.

Putting the article in an empty drawer I laid down on my bed, a myriad of unsettling thoughts running through my once placid mind.