Dead at 15

October was strange. She never really made friends – well okay she did, but she had no idea how to treat them. She was rather antisocial with sudden mood swings and all that jazz. But Olivia Marris was one of the very few friends she’d managed to keep. I remembered Olivia from the funeral, with blond hair, hazel eyes and, well, great legs. (She made me hate my short ones even more than I already did.)

She even gave a eulogy at October’s funeral. To me, her speech seemed a little less sophisticated for October’s taste, because Olivia was a real airhead, but maybe that’s why they were friends. I mean October, being the way she was, couldn’t be friends with someone smarter than her. That was a habit of July’s which she had adopted, although July was a firm believer in the saying ‘keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer’ as well. October, not so much. They really were the two outcasts of the family when I thought about it.

Anyway, Olivia was a junior at my school so I’d have no problem finding her and it was a weekend too. Why waste time? What I needed were October’s belongings. So that brought me to the local police station. I got off the bus and took my headphones out of my ears, stowing my iPod in my messenger bag. I took a deep breath and entered the building.
“Hey boys, it’s Mark’s daughter!”
“Hello Jerry,” I said cheerfully and plastered a smile on my face and sat on Jerry’s desk, dangling my legs. Dad knew practically everyone on the force here. He’d grown up with the majority of the force, so I’d met quite a few of them on several occasions. Jerry was Dad’s best friend and the sheriff.

“Which one are you?” He asked, grinning up at me from his swivel chair. I giggled falsely.
“December.” Jerry chuckled.
“I know kiddo, believe it or not I still have a little bit of brain left. But what brings you in here darlin’?”
“Mom’s vacuuming, wanted me out of the house.” Which was true. My motives were different though.
“So you come here of all places? Teenagers these days…”
“Well I figured I haven’t been down in a while so I was hoping that if you weren’t doing anything you could give me a tour of the station.”
“Really now? Well I guess I could.”
“Awesome! Thanks Jerry.”

After ten minutes of the 'tour', we came to the evidence room. I took a mental note of the number Jerry punched, not so discretely, into the lock. It was a simple four digit code: 9735. The door beeped and Jerry opened the door. It swung open to reveal was a massive space. File cabinet upon file cabinet, shelf upon shelf. Bingo.

***

“You wanna grab somethin’ to eat kiddo? I’m on my break now,” Jerry said and I teared my gaze away from my Converse.
“Oh yeah! Sure. I know a place that’s about a fifteen minute walk from here.”
“Walk?” He groaned. There was no time issue with everything so lax around the station and with him being the sheriff and all...
“There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts next door, don’t worry Jerry.”
“Ha, ha little missy. Police, donuts, very funny. But I have to admit, a nice raspberry and cream sounds good right now.”
“See? You can’t resist the mighty call of the donuts. You mind if I just duck to the restroom first though?”
“Go for it. You remember where it is?”
“Yep. Down the hall, first on the right.”
“Good memory girl. Meet you out front.”

***

Jerry was right when he said they weren’t busy. Most of the officers on duty were fooling around on their desk chairs, playing card games, surfing the net, which meant that I could stroll right on into the evidence room. I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and punched in the combination, continuously checking to make sure no one was going to witness me doing this.

I walked over to the closest filing cabinet. ‘September 2009’ was printed clearly on the label. I quickly worked my way around the aisles. There. October 31st 2007. I pulled out the drawer. In our town, murders, rapes and theft were exceedingly rare (according to ‘official’ records) but on Halloween all the kids in our town went nuts with pranks and underage drinking, so it was a given that October 31st had a whole drawer to itself, full of crime reports. 2007 was different though. The whole drawer was dedicated to the ‘Damian Baxter’ case. Petty crimes had been ignored for the most part.

I flipped through the sections and then I found it. ‘Lambert, October.’ I pulled out the file and scanned the information. It was nothing I didn’t know. There was a reference number for evidence though, so I looked among the shelves. It wasn’t long before I found the plastic bags fortunately. I was really pressed for time. But there was her journal, pen and cell phone. After I placed her things carefully into my bag, I left the room, pulled off my gloves and slipped them into my bag as well.

Yes, don’t cop stations usually have cameras? They do, I’d asked Dad that before but considering the low crime rate and how the cop station had never ‘lost any evidence,’ the videos remained unchecked. How else would the cops get away with half the crap they pull in the office? Not to mention, the case was two years old and solved. They wouldn’t go looking in that cabinet any time soon. I’d considered this all beforehand, of course. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the cops while having a serial killer(s) at my back.
“Ya ready to go darlin’?” Jerry asked as I walked over to the slightly overweight, beaming sheriff.
“Yes,” I answered with a smile “…Now I am,” I couldn’t help but add under my breath.

***

“Night.” I quickly flicked back to my Facebook page as my mother peered into the room.
“Night Mom.”
“Not too late,” she commanded.
“Yes. Good night Mom.” Get out of my room…I thought to myself bitterly. The door shut and I sighed, exiting Facebook.

I’d found an Internet page from the news report in 2007 regarding the Reaper’s Birthday Massacre. Of course, I’d read countless stories about that night – November had too, but it was the audio file attached to the page that set this information above the rest. It was October’s 911 call. I plugged my headphones into my laptop and hit ‘play.’

“911 please state your emergency,” a perky voice said, then a harsh but quiet whisper was heard. “You’ll have to speak up.”
“I need the police!” October’s voice shrieked in desperation. She whimpered as gunshots went off in the background. It went quiet for a moment. Then a thudding noise was heard – the unmistakable sound of the phone hitting the wooden floor, a scream, a gunshot, and the collapsing of a body.
“Ma’am? Ma’am?” I wiped away the tears with my hands as the audio clip ended.

Damian had entered the house alone. That much I believed. There were no sounds of anyone giving him instructions of who to kill, which was what I was looking for and no other footsteps after the initial scrambling to get out of the house. But how could I think that the true murderer(s) would be that careless, really? They weren’t going to want to make it easy for me. They didn’t want to be caught. They wanted to kill the last Lambert daughter and be done with it all. If I wanted answers about who hired Damian, I’d need to get them from Damian.

***

I’d taken the bus up to the state prison, which was, luckily enough, just on the outskirts of the city, but on the opposite side to our town. The trip took just under an hour. I’d told my parents I was going shopping in town. How easily they fell for that one.
“My name is December Lambert and I’d like to visit Damian Baxter please,” I said to the prison guard seated on the opposite side of the counter, behind the bulletproof glass.
“December? Damian Baxter? What the hell are you playing at kid?” He spat.
“What? Do you think I like being named after a month of the year? Who the hell names their kid ‘December’ right? Well Mark Lambert, formerly of the FBI, does. I have ID.”
“Hand it over kid.”
I passed him a photocopy of my passport along with my school ID card and my Dad’s old ‘business’ card through the gap in the glass. He took a quick look at them before handing them back.

“Are you a relative of Baxter?” He asked.
“He knew my sister.” He rolled his eyes.
“Knew your sister? Kid that ain’t good enough. Where the hell are your parents?”
“At home. They’d ground me for a year if they knew I was visiting a convicted killer. I’ve actually got a school project to do on a deceased family member and Damian and my sister used to date – up until her death.”
“Deceased? How old would your sister be now? Damian’s thirty-four and you’re…fourteen.” He seemed unbelievably happy that he’d made that calculation from my birth date.

“Large family. She’d be twenty-seven. Died in a car accident when she was twenty-one. I hardly knew her so I thought I should learn as much about her as possible, considering she was my sister and all.” The lies ran off my tongue as smooth as the alphabet. I found that it made everything so much easier if the lie was loosely based on something true, in that case, a mix of January and October. The prison guard searched my face and I stared into his eyes coolly.
“I’ll check if he wants to see you,” he eventually said.
“Thank you.” I took a seat on one of the plastic, waiting chairs as the guard made a phone call. After a couple of minutes he sighed and waved me over.
“Follow Carlos, kid,” he said, gesturing to the guard standing by a door.

***

I sat down and eyed the phone on my side of the glass, then two burly guards appeared, carrying the sack of bones that was Damian Baxter between them. They threw him into the chair on the other side of the glass and I met his pale, sickly blue eyes as his shaky hand reached for the phone.
I clicked my pen and opened my notebook, discretely surveying both sides of the glass for the proximity of the guards. There was one on my side, by the door, and just the two that carried Damian in on his side, still at least five feet back. It was a medium sized room, but set up for only one visitor and prisoner at a time. I picked up the phone.

“Damian, my name is December Lambert. You killed my sister,” I said in a low and hushed voice. I heard him whimper and saw him visibly shudder. “I would like to know a few things about the massacre so please speak in a quiet voice and try not react to anything I say. Do you understand?” My voice shook slightly on the last word, realizing only a wall of glass separated me from October’s technical killer.

“Y-yes.”
“Good. Now tell me who hired you.” I clicked my pen, holding it above the paper.
“W-why w-would I-I t-tell you? H-how d-do you know that?” I smiled.
“Do you like eating the crap on a piece of bread that they serve you?”
“You g-get used t-to it.”
“If you tell me what I want to know I can send in something special for you once a week. Donuts, cake, sandwiches, apple pie…”
“W-well I can’t tell you who p-put me up t-to it.”
“Why not?” I snapped, taking notes of our conversation.

Damian went silent for a bit and I looked up. He gave me the strangest look, staring deep into my eyes. I shuddered then looked away.
“I-I promised I wouldn’t. I have t-to wait,” he stuttered.
“Wait? What do you mean?”
“I j-just have to wait a c-couple of months n-now.”
“Damian, what for?”
“They’ll tell the cops. I’ll g-get out.”
“Are you still getting cocaine Damian? Harder drugs? Meth maybe?” He shook his head and laughed – a real chilling chuckle.
“No. No drugs. Only did speed once before, fucked with me real g-good though.”
“Why are you stuttering?” He swallowed hard, his eyes glazing over slightly.

“E-everything changed after that n-night, a-all those kids.”
“But obviously you know who put you up to it.”
“Yes.”
“What did they pay you?”
“They didn’t. They p-promised me money. I-I was broke and living off the streets before, but I g-got caught by the p-pigs before they p-paid. They were angry.”
“Why? And what did they do?”
“Because I g-got caught. They thought that m-maybe the c-cops would g-get it outta me. But they v-visited me t-to check.”
“In here?” He shook his head.
“The second n-night I was in the local c-cop station. I d-don’t know how they g-got in. It was dark. E-early morning.”
“Right. So what did they do to you?”
“You d-don’t want nightmares girl.”
“Voice down please, Damian,” I reminded him sternly. It was very difficult trying to keep my cool while feeling the eyes of a murderer on me.
“S-sorry.”

“So they physically hurt you?”
“And more.”
“You have no idea how they got in?”
“N-no. I s-screamed and screamed but no one came.”
“Were they male or female?”
“Can’t s-say.”
“How many people?” He shook his head. “So what can you tell me from the night of the killings?”
“A-ah, all I can say is that they were p-paying me. They dropped me off in a c-car-”
“Can you describe the car for me?”
“I d-don’t know if it w-was a c-car, truck, van, b-bus. I wasn’t-”
“Right. I get it. What else?”
“N-not much, they m-made me wear this mask. I-I couldn’t see very well I think. I remember sh-shooting them all. I’ve always b-been good at that.”
“Anything else?”
“N-no.”
“Okay. I think I’ve got all I can. Thanks Damian. I’ll send you something later this week. If you remember anything else…write for me to visit. I’ll give the nice guard out there my address for you. Good bye Damian.” He nodded and I put the heavy phone back. I grabbed my pen and notebook and shot the guard a smile as he led me back to collect my belongings.

***

“December, lights out in ten okay? School tomorrow remember?” Dad said. Oh Joy! School! Don’t you just love hellholes?
“Sure Dad. Night.”
“Night honey.” I could swear that some days I had next to no privacy when my parents were around. They’d insist on checking on me every ten minutes or making sure I went to bed on time. I wouldn’t call it ‘checking up on me’ though. I’d call it a giant pain in the ass.

I turned back to October’s journal, laid open in front of me. My gloved fingers turned the pages carefully. I’d been reading it over since I’d gotten it home. I was, yet again, up to the last bit. October really seemed to enjoy writing short stories, generally murders…well in that journal anyway. She got a new one every six months from memory. The majority of the stories in there were set in older times, only the last story was ‘modern’.

That story’s protagonist, however, was quite similar to October – vegetarian, antisocial, conceited, and well, it portrayed the scene for the massacre right down to Damian bursting in wearing a ‘Scream’ mask. Nothing of real value though. I sighed, closed the journal and shoved it in my desk drawer along with the latex gloves.

***

I hated Mondays and I hated school. I had tonnes of friends in middle school, but ever since November died my more outgoing and accepting personality kind of disappeared. The majority of the students there were naïve, immature idiots with no idea about what a pile of shit life was. Oh and the teachers would just smile sympathetically whenever I’d enter the classroom.

Having grown up with a lot of the kids, everybody knew about the ‘Lambert Curse.’ On my first day, I was asked if I was scared that I was going to die – in front of the whole cafeteria. I was, unfortunately, wearing a Rob Zombie t-shirt and they all started calling me ‘Living Dead Girl,’ after the song, courtesy of some of the “emo” kids. The name itself wasn’t that relevant to the lyrics of the song of course, it was just the name. It pissed me off though so needless to say, I did the mature thing and began bringing my own lunch and eating outside to avoid being within earshot of people gossiping about me, in case I snapped.

The room became silent as I entered the cafeteria. I rolled my eyes and strode over to a table of junior girls.
“Olivia?” I asked, smiling at the blond.
“Oh em gee, December! Um, hi!” Olivia squeaked.
“Can I have a few words? Outside?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Olivia smoothed her skirt as we sat in a nearby, vacant classroom.
“What do you want?” She asked me, slightly nervous.
“You were outside when Damian Baxter showed up right?” Her eyes widened, then she nodded. I brushed my fringe out of my eyes. “What did he arrive in?”
“Um, a black car.”
“Model? Manufacturer?” She shook her head. “License plate? Who was driving?”
“I didn’t see the license plate. It was really dark – all I saw was the black car. It could’ve been blue or something even.”
“Did you see anyone else in it? Did he get out the driver’s side or what?”
“I couldn't see much but I think it was the driver’s side he got out of.”
"Anything else you can remember?"
"I don't think so..."
“Alright, well thanks. That’s it.” She nodded and got up to leave.
“Okay. Um December, why did you want to know?” I smiled at her again.
“I’m not quite ready to die yet.”