Dead at 15

I had to have been losing it. It was such an irrational impulse. It didn’t make sense at all. Honestly, what the fuck was that all about? I couldn’t explain it. This was just a little too bizarre to be able to process.

“December! Dinner!” Mom called and I sighed. Chasing my own tail would have to wait.
Dinner was a rather quiet affair. Dad’s mind seemed to be elsewhere and Mom was peering over at her book the whole time. I was grateful for the silence though, it reminded me of my purpose – my little ‘mission’ or whatever. That ‘silence’ shouldn’t have existed. In its place should’ve been three or more voices complaining about the latest trip to the relatives.

But the painting episode was a one off right? It wouldn’t happen again and at this stage, it wasn’t like I could do anything about it. All I could do was focus on the task at hand. I had almost exactly two weeks to figure this out. But still…it bothered me that I had a little ‘moment’ like that. Whatever! On with the case.

May’s death was among the worst. Electrocution. I didn’t remember seeing anything, but I certainly recalled the screams. It was the most terrifying, nightmare-inducing, chilling and utterly surreal sound I’d heard in my life. If November’s death was the worst sight I’d ever laid my eyes upon, May’s screams should have been the soundtrack.

November and I had woken up to the noise. We’d both bolted out of bed and ran for the door only to be stopped by Dad, tears flooding his cheeks as he ushered us back inside. June, August, September and October, along with Mom, had witnessed the death.

By the time everyone had rushed into the kitchen, she was almost dead. Apparently she’d stuck a knife into the faulty toaster and her silver bracelet had gotten caught on one of the bits inside. I couldn’t fully picture the scene – then again, it wasn’t something anyone ever spoke about so it was all left up to my imagination.

I remembered the smell that hung about for a long time afterward. To be honest, I was surprised we hadn’t moved, but who would want to buy a house where so many deaths had occurred? It was very peculiar, the smell of burnt flesh. It almost goes against nature it is so sickening. I would never forget that, despite how young I was. Death remains with a person as clear as the day it happens, for the rest of their life for some unfortunate reason.

Sticking a knife into a toaster was something that parents were quick to teach their children not to do. A fifteen year old sticking metal into a plugged in electrical appliance? That was stupid, far too stupid. Having enough time for a bracelet to get caught before getting electrocuted? Now that was even more ridiculous. Someone else was most certainly there to switch the power on.

Now that I’d sorted May out, as there wasn’t anywhere left to dig, well within my capabilities, it was time to take a look into April – not before I finished my sweet and sour pork though. I shoveled the remainder of the food into my mouth and then chucked my trash in the bin. I made a whole lot of noise as I ran up the stairs and slammed my door. That was just to make it obvious to the rents I was ‘in my room’. I then pulled a pair of gloves on and slipped into Dad’s study.

It was a cozy room, Dad’s study: large, well-stocked bookcases, tidy looking filing cabinets, a large wooden desk, computer and etcetera. I opened the top drawer on the left hand side of the desk, lifted up all the letters before flicking through a collection of pages – coroner’s reports.

After November died, a rather stiff looking envelope came in the mail, addressed to my dad with a coroner’s office insignia on it. I was still very upset about the ordeal and I became obsessed with finding the report as soon as I knew it’d left my father’s hands. That was when I stumbled across the rest of the reports, burst into tears and didn’t look at them for months.

Anyway, I found April’s file and hurried back into my room. I always put the reports back when I was done as my gut told me that Dad checked the contents of his study regularly. I sat down on my desk chair and began reading, placing some bullshit girly magazine in front of the document just in case anyone ‘happened’ to barge in unexpectedly.

Now I just want to be clear when I say that my sisters and I were told April overdosed on her prescribed medication. We had been lied to. This death was so obviously foul play. The murderer was definitely not so polished yet. April consumed two fucking potassium cyanide pills. Even I didn’t anticipate that one.

As motivated as ever, I put the coroner’s report back in Dad’s drawer (who was downstairs watching TV while Mom read) before running downstairs. It was time to look for clues. When I entered April’s room, there were sticky notes all over the walls. They were all a (faded) fluro yellow color. Now I’d expected something a little weird but this just hurt my eyes. Every one of the notes on one wall seemed to perfectly mirror the other. There was only one half of the room with stuff on it though. I remembered that July ended up moving to September’s room though, which explained this.

I noticed a measuring tape on April’s nightstand. I was a little perplexed for a bit but then it clicked. The gap between each note was exactly one inch all the way round. I sauntered over to the closet and surprise, surprise there was a ladder. I sincerely doubted that she was tall enough to reach near the ceiling to place the sticky notes without some form of height assistance. A ladder was the most logical answer. April’s obsessive-compulsive habits, I had to admit, made her organized both inside and outside her head, which would help and make my searching a lot more efficient if I thought about everything in the right way.

I decided that I should try and figure out what the deal with all the sticky notes was seeing as it was the most in my face. I used the ladder to read the top note on April’s side, closest to the door. There was a date of ‘27/06/99’ on it, ‘mood: angry’ and a time of ‘4:01 PM’. Progressively, the notes would get slightly more detailed. Sometimes there would be a record of food consumed but that was only for a week or so.

The last note on that wall was at 8:56 PM, the night of her death. The mood was ‘relieved’ the reasons: ‘because I found my pills’, ‘routine wasn’t busted’ and ‘will get some sleep tonight.’

I thought about this for only a few short moments. April’s pills had gone missing. That must’ve been when the switch was made. There was evidence, and yet…there wasn’t anything that pointed to a specific person, to my intense frustration. Cyanide was something that cops would have to have looked into though. They didn’t, or they say they did but didn’t which proved my corruption theory. Someone had paid them off or something.

I checked the other wall. They were the ‘later’ notes of the ones on April’s wall. This meant that she was writing two at a time, first one went on one wall, the second on the other. I checked the last note on that wall. ‘Mood: slightly annoyed’ and her reasoning? : ‘Mom lost the pills’, ‘she didn’t give a crap that she’d lost them – seemed more interested in the TV’ and ‘the pills just magically appeared on my bed!’

Mom had something to do with this, definitely but no evidence that she made the switch between cyanide and sleeping pills. But that ‘losing’ part was very interesting.

I rummaged through the rest of April’s things. Under her pillow, was a novel – Thomas Harris’ 'the Silence of the Lambs' to be exact. Hannibal Lector (the leading male in the series) was a cannibalistic, extremely intelligent, serial killer. I found that a little comical, but I assumed it was simply a coincidence, seeing as this was still quite early on in the murders.

She was just about to start the last chapter (sixty-one) but what captured my attention was the ‘bookmark.’ It was a business card for a Dr. Stephanie McAdams, psychotherapist. There was a phone number and address, in the same town as July’s old school.

It was getting late though and Mom was calling me for apple pie (despite being mental, she made an amazing apple pie). I couldn’t visit Stephanie that night obviously, but then again, it’d been eight years or so since April had died, she very well could’ve changed jobs or professions. Unfortunately, all I had was a work number to call and it was highly unlikely that anyone would be around to call at that particular hour. I sighed as I realized that I’d have to sleep on it and wait a whole night to confirm a ‘witness’.

***

Even Tommy was smart enough not to bombard me with questions in homeroom, though my lips twitched with impatience. I obviously had things to tell him, and it made me squirm and fidget in my seat surprisingly enough. It wasn’t like I was much competition for the irritable fifteen-year-old boy. He would not sit still. He was actually bouncing in his seat. His face had gone red, like he was about to spontaneously conbust.

Unfortunately, homeroom wasn’t exactly the best place to talk, even if people had no idea what we were talking about. I didn’t want or need any extra dumbass teenagers hanging around asking questions. That was what Tommy was for, but at least he could comprehend the situation a little better. If I’d told anyone else, I think I would’ve been given an even less flattering nickname than Living Dead Girl like…I don’t know, ‘mental patient’ or some shit, and I didn’t need that getting back to my parents.

Regardless, I’d have to wait before I could tell Tommy or ring that number. I’d have to occupy myself with pretending to revise ‘être’ and ‘avoir’ verb endings in French (which was shit easy to me after half a year or so of the subject). It wouldn’t be near enough to satiate my mind but it’d have to do.

***

I was quite literally hurled into the grass come lunchtime.
“Tell me everything! Where’d you go? Why’d your mom and dad kidnap you? You found something. I know you did! You didn’t reply to my email!” Tommy said very quickly, and loudly might I add.
“Calm down, I’ll tell you. Just shut the fuck up first.”

So I updated him on everything that’d happened throughout the course of Thanksgiving break. I noticed I was speaking relatively fast too but it didn’t matter, considering he’d gotten it all. It was impossible for him not to seeing as his mind was running at one hundred miles an hour. Once I’d finished my little tale, I watched Tommy’s face go from pondering to excited.

“So all you need to do is find the killer!” He exclaimed.
“Oh my God! You are such an idiot. This is what we’ve been trying to find out the whole time!” I yelled, hitting him with my folder.
“Ow! Not what I meant!”
“What the hell else did you mean then?”
“You’ve got proof that at least April was murdered!”
“And that my parents are involved somehow…”
“Your Mom is definitely a possibility.” That confused me a little.
“Why not Dad? He told everyone that she’d overdosed. Dude, potassium cyanide capsules!”
“Well, I’m just thinking…your dad probably has something to do with this, with the cover-ups, that’s obvious, but when you really think about it…May?” He asked. I nodded slowly; still a little unsure of where he was going with this. “Was fourteen or close to it at the time and then there was the rest of you all. You were all quite young. How do you explain that your sister died because she was ‘poisoned’ or whatever with something illegal? ‘April took too many pills then went to heaven’ is just a little more child-friendly. Don’t you think? I just think that your Mom seems a little more likely. From what you’ve told me, she’s more of a loose canon.”

I inhaled sharply and processed Tommy’s words. His vibrant blue eyes darted over my face, one of his light brown eyebrows raised slightly, awaiting my reaction. I exhaled in a more relaxed manner and then replied to him.
“Just disprove my theory why don’t you? That’s just…ugh, fuck.” I slumped over and ran my hands through my hair. “Why didn’t I consider that? Not telling us because it would’ve been harder to deal with, I mean.”
“I don’t know. You’ve kind of reacted to this a little weirdly. I mean, how many people willingly name their parents as their prime suspects?”
“And how often do they let professionals investigate personal cases?” He laughed.
“Almost never because of the emotional attachment. It’s weird because it's almost like you’re impartial to the whole case, like that rule doesn’t apply to you.”
“Almost?”
“To me, it seems like you want you parents to suffer for this, no matter what.”
“I don’t…well, I don’t think I do. It’s the only thing that makes sense! Who else has access to the house? Who else could cover it up? Who else could get hold of something illegal like cyanide pills?”
“Did your dad make enemies in the FBI?”
“I don’t know, but that’s pretty unlikely.” He shrugged.
“It’s possible.”
“But not probable.”
“Who else has a motive then?” It went silent for a few moments.
“What was the motive to begin with?”
“All I'm say is don’t put all of your eggs in one basket. I’m pretty sure there’s a story behind this of some kind. It’s just so…confusing. Your parents would just be far too obvious, don’t you think?”
“I really wish I had a forensic lab right now. This would’ve been over a long time ago.”
“Too bad you’re a teenager then. Now, back on track!”
“Right. I’m just…annoyed that he never told us the truth – once we got older at least. Then this wouldn’t be such an issue, now everything’s uncertain. Dad could’ve been trying to cover his ass in front of us because I’m sure he’d have known that we were all curious about it, that or he didn’t want to tell us because of that thing you were talking about.” Tommy sighed and blew a raspberry.

“You still wanted to phone that lady though right? Maybe she can help. We could catch a bus after school if you find out where she’s at now.”
“I really don’t like this new you. You’re getting smarter and not as annoying. That’s not a good thing.” He poked his tongue out.
“You’re just mad because I’m growing on you.” I snorted.
“Yeah right.”
“The hyper thing’s my cover you know.”
“Why the change?” A smirk danced on his lips, coupled with a mischievous look on his face.
“None of your business, you poohead. Phone the number.”
“Alright…dumbass is returning. Now where’d I put that card?” I asked myself as I went through my pockets.

***

“Dr. McAdams will see you now,” the tall dark-blond receptionist said, smoothing her pencil skirt and turning her nose up at us. The bus ride had been reasonably long of course and my iPod also decided to die – not helping that fact. Tommy provided enough random chatter to keep me somewhat entertained though. Stephanie was still working at the same place, as I found out at lunchtime, which I found a little strange but she must’ve had her reasons for staying.
“Thanks,” I said to the snooty secretary. Even I couldn’t tell whether I was being sarcastic or not.

The pleasantly plump woman with red hair streaked through with gray, wore a rather grim expression as Tommy and I entered her office.
“Dr. McAdams?” I asked.
“Just Stephanie, please. Take a seat if you would like,” she said, without gesture at the two chairs in front of her desk. I took a seat while Tommy simply stared out the window, not moving.
“Thanks. Blondie’s a little stuffy,” I stated, nodding my head towards the door.
“Anna? She just does not see the point in working over time for a couple of teenagers.”
“True. I doubt I’d want to wait for a couple of teenagers either if I were in her position.”
“Why don’t you just let her go now then?” Tommy asked Stephanie.
“There are certain…procedures followed now.”

I observed her movements, in as much detail as I could: the way her voice quivered, how her pupils dilated ever so slightly, how her nose twitched and how her lips curled downward in the left corner. We’d come to the right place, that much was certain, whether we got the right information or not, was another story.
“And I assume that these ‘procedures’ have something to do with my sister’s case, right?” She raised her head slightly, exposing more of her neck, and sat up straight in her chair.
“Well are you not switched on?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. She wasn’t that surprised, I could tell, but interested, definitely.
“It wasn’t that hard to figure out considering we both know what I’m here for and what the implications the outcome of that particular prescription must’ve meant for you and your career.”
“You are correct of course, though it is a little strange to be admitting that to a fourteen year old. I mean that in the best way possible of course.”

Tommy and me exchanged a look. He was over by the bookcase in Stephanie’s office – snooping around as per usual.
“How do you know my age?” I asked. Stephanie took a deep breath.
“You are still living.”
“Right…” because that explains a lot.
“Would you care for me to explain? Because I know that is not much of an explanation.” Bingo.
“Yeah, just a little stalker-ish." She chuckled.

“April had been coming to me for years. I knew how old you all were, the pattern your parents managed to have you all born in, which seemed like a phenomenon in itself. I knew how it was when things started going wrong. I remember your mother asking me what the possibility of an overdose was.”
“On what?”
“Sleeping pills. Your sister’s compulsions relied on specific times – to the second. Numbers, counting and symmetry were the roots of her rituals, as she got older. Anyway, she used to get little sleep because of the counting so I would give her sleeping pills. They started off as heavy a dosage as I could allow for her age and then they would get lighter as she improved.
“As a toddler, she would unplug every electrical appliance she could get her hands on. She was quite the little terror, as your parents would tell me. They put it down to the ‘terrible-twos’, however it seems more likely that it was April’s own instinctive compulsion. The counting of lights or other objects, that you most likely would have heard about, developed as soon as she could count to five. She grew out of the unplugging stage. She had a new obsession.”

“Right. Now while we’re on this track, I’m curious, what was the significance of the number three? Because…some things of hers specifically relate to that number.” I was thinking about the ‘reasons’ on her sticky notes, and as always, I was brilliant at explaining. Stephanie chuckled.
“Ever heard the sayings ‘good things come in threes’ and ‘third time’s the charm’?”
“I always thought it was ‘bad things come in threes’.” She brushed it off.
“Either way, she did things by multiples of threes just as long as four wasn’t anywhere in the equation. She liked the number nine; three squared or twenty-seven; three cubed, right? Well that was even better.” I nodded.

“Okay. Now back to those sleeping pills. Mom asked about an overdose,” I said, redirecting the conversation yet again.
“Yes. As far as I knew, she would have had to have consumed all of the pills I had given her to overdose and I told Linda that if she was so concerned about April’s birthday, to monitor the dosage herself.”
“And not too long afterward she died?”
“Yes but here is the peculiar part: I was told by the police, that April had consumed potassium cyanide capsules. Apparently, the box that I had given her was found somewhere by her bed and it was filled with these cyanide pills. I was suspected with tampering for a while but then your mom stepped in and said that April had been taking them for over a week and she had not died beforehand, plus I did not see her after that session to change her medication.
“Not to mention, they are illegal and it was unlikely that I would even have been able to get hold of them. Then something strange happened, they stopped searching and put it down to a manufacturing flaw, they apologized but my job has just never been the same.”
“Factory flaw? How could they draw that conclusion?”
“I do not know. That was what I found suspicious.” She nodded at me and winked so quickly that I almost missed it. I widened my eyes before returning half a smile.
“Thank you then for your time. I think we’re done. Oh, and tell Blondie not to act so superior anyway, she’s in an office job.”

***

“I’ve never been to a park at night,” Tommy stated, using his cell phone as a flashlight.
“Well it’s so close to my house anyway, you can see the streetlights just over there, just in case you’re worrying about getting mugged or something. Not that people get mugged here, just killed on your fifteenth if you’re last name’s Lambert,” I said with a chuckle.
“True…so what did you think of that Stephanie lady? She was a little shifty to me.” I thought about it.
“It wouldn’t make sense for her to be a suspect. I think she just picked up on a lot about our family and it’s been years. I think she’s just pretty clued in. It’s her job really. I reckon she was a scapegoat for the real killer.”
“Well I guess that’s plausible…how about we put her in the ‘maybe’ pile?”
“If it helps you sleep at night, sure.”
“Well I do like to sleep every night. Why are we here exactly?”
“We needed to talk and we do not want a repeat of my bedroom, oh! Uh, Mom asked if you wanted come over for dinner tomorrow.”
“Sweet! She’s gotta be better at cooking than Timmy.” He shuddered and I smiled.
“She’s alright.”

It was silent between us for the next few minutes, apart from the padding of my Converse and Tommy’s Etnies on the grass.
“So March next huh? Whoa, we’re almost done!”
“Doing the investigation of the victims. I know we’re getting close Tommy, but we are missing something. The only reasonable explanation I can come up with is what we talked about earlier: my parents. But there’s nothing that really proves it either. It’s all speculation stuff. It’s like that last bit of evidence is so close I can touch it but I can’t hold it in my hands.”
We’d drifted over to the solitary tree in the park. It had to have been at least a hundred or so years old it was so big. Of course, I was too busy looking up at the silhouettes of the branches and leaves up overhead that I tripped over a giant tree root. Tommy laughed manically.

“Shut up!” I growled, but something caught my eye. The white corner of a piece of paper reflected brightly in the moonlight. It was just under the tree root in front of my face. I grabbed at it and shined my cell phone over it. I raised my eyebrows. It was a Polaroid photograph wrapped in plastic, under a tree, at this particular park. Who else could it have been other than, “March,” I whispered.