The Key Chased the Blade

Simon got out a notebook and a pen and started jotting down facts.

"So we know that we saw the birds hung up right after Sadie was declared dead," he said. "And you saw the bird outside your window when?"

"After we went to Jefferson Bridge," I said. "I went home and it was out there."

"That was a couple days between the two, right?" Simon wrote some more things down. I felt like he was a better investigator than I would ever be. "And that was when we found the key. So the person who hung that must've put it up while we were in school, some time between when you left home and when you got back."

"And a week later you got stabbed," I said.

"Yeah, I'll put that down too."

Then a thought hit me. "Did you know Sadie Amala's mom killed herself today?"

"What?" Simon dropped his pen. But then he picked it up and started writing again. His rough hand printed his slanted writing furiously. "When?"

"This morning. At least, when they found her." Then another thought hit me. "7:23 AM. And she had a note in her hand. It'll probably be on the news again."

Simon started to get up, and I almost wanted to stop him. God, I didn't want to hear the news of her death again. But I forced myself to stay put. Simon needed to hear it, and he would write down information.

I turned away and sipped my coffee. It burned my tongue, but I didn't care.

"We'll have to wait for the six o' clock news, which is in... twenty minutes, but oh well." Simon took his seat again. He wasn't acting like he normally was. He was agitated. I didn't think I saw him ever this agitated. Maybe a normal level of agitation, but not like this. "Okay, so, Sadie's mom must've hung herself around two or less days ago, but this is just an assumption. I don't really know how much the body has decayed. And it could just be me creeped out by this, but the fact that she hung herself is just weird."

I took another sip of scalding hot coffee.

"But on the other note of hanging birds up with nooses around their necks, that animal abuse could be some unrelated crime to the murder. But from my experience when I was assaulted, I think they might be related." Simon focused on his task. His expression didn't give away his discomfort, but he turned a bit green and his hands trembled. "Whoever did these crimes, whether a single person or a group, must have had a large amount of dead birds and rope."

"The rock climbing club," I whispered.

"What?"

"John was in the rock climbing club for a while before he quit. They have rope."

Simon swallowed. "But that kind of rope is too thick to be around the kind of birds the criminal was using. We could probably rule that out."

I didn't say anything and gulped my coffee.

"The person who attacked me was also fairly big, and they were wielding a knife. It was probably something small, judging by the size of my wound, like a penknife of something. I don't think they were going to kill me with that, honestly, it was probably only used because they were startled. If anything..." He trailed off and wrote something down furiously.

"What are you writing?"

"I... I think the assailant was going to strangle me." Simon's eyes went distant and he bit hard into his lower lip. "Or at least strangle me with rope."

I couldn't say anything. My throat burned from the coffee.

"I think... hold on, I'm going to throw up." And he disappeared into the kitchen. I tried to ignore the sounds of him vomiting.

"You alright?" I managed to say when he came back.

"No." His hands were still trembling. He plunged into his chair as if he couldn't hold his weight up any longer and tugged at his hair. He was literally pulling chunks out of it. His golden locks tumbled down to the table.

"Simon, quit it!" I grabbed at his hands to make him stop. Simon kept his head down and inhaled a shuddering breath.

"The police are going to talk to my parents soon." His voice cracked.

"Look, Simon, it'll be all right, okay?" I was shaking too. Jesus. "It'll be fine. We'll both be fine and it'll be all right in the end. The police are going to help us out."

"I don't think I can handle this anymore." His tears began to plummet onto the table.

"Simon, God, please - please don't cry." I scooted my chair next to him and the chair leg accidentally kicked into the table leg. Simon's untouched coffee rocked off the table and splashed into my lap. I swore loudly. "Ah hell! Simon, Jesus, just don't cry now, okay?"

"Oh, Noah!" Simon stood up and I leaped to my feet and swiped the burning coffee off of my pants. The coffee was scorching hot and I was doing a stupid dance because my legs were burning. "Hold on, I'll get you something to change into!" and he bolted to his room.

I hobbled over to the paper towel dispenser and patted my pants off. Luckily his coffee had time to cool off before it fell on me in all its glory. I muttered some cusses and pulled a ton of towels off and bunched it up to wipe up the mess on the floor. Simon's stupid notebook was bedraggled on the table. I had to fix it before I even got on the floor.

Then I realized it was his drawing notebook.

A page was bent over and when I turned to look at it, I nearly shut it and threw it against the wall. I was so stunned my breath caught in my throat and my heart hammered in my chest. I couldn't believe it. I had to stare at it for a whole minute before I could even believe what I saw.

It was the washing lady I had seen before.

In her same outfit, washing bloody clothes in a bucket with the water tinged crimson.

Simon had wrote in notes along the side: I keep dreaming about this lady. She's always washing my clothes, and they're always torn and stained with blood. She's always singing. Every time I try to talk to her, she disappears.

What does this mean?

I closed his notebook and started mopping up the floor.