Young Writers Society

She would often dream about the last time she ever exchanged words with her mother. It was the wee early hours of the morning, an invigorating night of shopping and partying coming to an end. Her mother frantically called her several times, before she finally gave in and answered the phone.

“Mom? …Mom, what is it? Why aren’t you in bed yet?” she asked.

“Well, actually Catalina,” Ellie Bordinos started, pacing back and forth in her bedroom. “I was going to ask you why aren’t home yet.”

There were hard, loud knocks on the door to the mother’s bedroom. “Ellen! Ellen! Open the door, right now!” Tyrone Burgess shouted as she quickly covered up the phone speaker. “Ellen! Open this door, please!”

“Is that…” Catalina started, a sharp, twisting pain beginning to form in her stomach.

“No!” Ellie quickly said. “Just…please.Come home as soon as you can. I love you.” The phone clicked off, and Catalina let out a deep sigh.

She would never forgive herself for never saying those three words back.

***

Five years later…

Done, Bert Colene thought as he finished his mug of coffee, dropping it onto office desk as he rose to his feet. Another day of work, come and gone.

“Excuse me, Bert,” Vito Manchez, his overweight boss said. “I’ll need you to go with Hank & Bob downtown and check out a domestic dispute. Two women arguing and hollering about some stuff…no big deal, right?”

“What…? Vito, we’re homicide detectives-”

“Mr. Manchez!” Vito said to the shiny-topped detective.

“Mr. Manchez,” Bert corrected himself. “Why would a homicide detective go out on a call to break up two women arguing? That makes no damn sense!”

“I’m not sure I like your attitude, or your language,” Vito said, tilting his head to the left. “Just cause you’ve got cancer means you can mouth off at your superior? I don’t think so. I really don’t think so. All their guys are busy at the big game today and they’re short on hands. You need to do this for me.”

“You know I was planning on visiting Catalina today. Go get someone else to do it, please?”

The lieutenant scratched his graying hair. “Catalina…Catalina…who is she, again? I forget.”

“The girl who has been in a coma for five years,” Bert responded, crossing his arms.

“The one who tried to commit suicide? The girl who used to be your neighbor or somethin’?”

“Yeah. No. I was neighbors with her mother. Can I please just…?”

“I don’t get your big obsession over her. I say, drop it. And I’m the lieutenant. What I say goes.”

Bert checked his watch and grinned. “…Actually, my workday ended…four minutes ago. You’re not my father. You can’t tell me what to do after hours. I think I’d like to visit a comatose girl at the hospital, and hey, I don’t think it concerns you or anyone at this failing police department. Goodbye.”

“You walk out the door and you won’t have a job. How’s that?” Vito said as Bert froze in place.

The 6’0 detective snickered, slyly turning round and approaching Vito. “Alright, fire me. Dare you. Come on, old guy, you think I don’t know a bluff when I see one? I’m the best detective here.”

Vito straightened his blue tie and snickered, the rotten smell of his onion flavored breath flooding Bert’s nostrils. “You brought up your dad a few minutes ago, didn’t you? You know what I think of him? I think if he hadn’t gotten shot up, he’d be ashamed at the piece of garbage that popped out of his woman’s p-”

“Nggh!” Vito was unable to finish his sentence before Bert decked him with a right hook. “Don’t ever say anything about my father, do you hear me?”

Vito grabbed the shattered remains of what moments ago were his nose, his fist and white dress shirt becoming soaked with blood. “Yes…yes…” he cried.

Bert swiftly scanned the area as his co-workers began flooding the office, watching and whispering amongst themselves about what had conspired.

Used to be a lot better at hiding my emotions, he thought as he rushed out of the police department. What happened to me?

***

“When is she coming back?” Tyrone Burgess asked, frantically pacing back and forth in his ex-lover’s bedroom.

“I don’t know…she told me she was at some party,” Ellie responded, placing her palm over her forehead in an attempt to quell a mounting headache.

“We’ve been in here for forty-five minutes! Don’t make me kill yo-”

“Kill me? Kill me?” Ellie asked, hopping back off her bed. “How many times are you going to threaten me? You walk around with that pistol in your hands like you actually have the balls to use it. You know what? Yesterday, I went to a man’s house. I was ready to tell him everything about you.”

“Who? Who is this man? Whose house did you go to?” Tyrone asked, clutching the gray pistol in his right hand.

“…His name is Michael Timberg.”

“Michael…Michael Timberg…? That’s…that’s the man that arrested you all those years ago!”

“Yep. And I was going to tell him everything before he guilt-tripped me into leaving. Hmph.”

“I thought Sophie was the one who pulled the gun on you first.”

Ellie nodded. “Yes…she did. We were arguing about money I borrowed from her…things got out of hand. Anyway, that has nothing to do with it. I wish I told him. I wish I told him everything about you, oh man, I do.”

“Why? Why would you tell him?”

“All those beatings you gave to me and Catalina? All the times you tied our hands behind our backs and raped us? …Even if you never did…I’d still hate you.”

“I think you should watch what you say, Elle-”

“Shut up!” Ellie shouted, as the door opened behind Tyrone. “You’re nothing but a filthy monster and God help me if you let your guard down for just one second, because I would not hesitate to grab that gun and put a bullet in your head myself!”

Realizing his ex-lover’s bluff of courage, Tyrone looked at his daughter, Catalina behind him, and then at Ellie. “Let’s go for a drive,” he said after a long pause, putting the gun nuzzle up to the fifteen-year-old’s temple.

***

Bert Colene rushed through the halls of the third floor on the hospital. “Hey! Dr. Marcus!” he said, speaking to the man carefully examining a clipboard. “How is Catalina?”

The thin doctor adjusted his eyeglasses, carefully examining the bald homicide detective. “She is…the same as always,” he said, noticing the man’s heavy panting. “You jog all the way here, Mr. Colene? You are very out of breath.”

“Yes…no! I’m…I’m not…I’m…I’m fine. Can I see Catalina? …Why do you look so scared? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Police! Hands up!” a man yelled in a startlingly loud voice. Bert turned around to see three armed officers holding up their firearms.

He and the doctor both threw their arms in the air. “What is the meaning of this?” Dr. Marcus asked, as his clipboard crashed onto the floor.

“You’re under arrest for assaulting a police lieutenant! On the ground!”

***

“Drive to the bridge or I shoot her,” Tyrone Burgess said, sitting in the driver’s seat of Ellie’s SUV. He listened as Catalina sobbed and cried, the cold nuzzle of his pistol still kissing her temple. Ellie complied, driving all the way up to the bridge not too far from Michael Timberg’s home. “Stop here,” Tyrone said.

She killed the motor and stared blankly at the windshield in the distance, enjoying the last minutes of her life with an eerie calmness in her heart. “…Ty-”

“I’ve had enough of you talking trash to me today, Ellen! You say one word and I shoot her!” her ex-lover barked as Catalina began to cry louder. “Get out and jump. Get out and jump or I’ll kill her! Go!”

“…You have to promise me you won’t hurt her,” Ellie said.

Tyrone Burgess was a disgusting, horrible, wife-beating rapist – but Ellie knew he always kept his word. It was just about the only good quality he had. “I promise,” he said.

Ellie sighed as Catalina began to cry and scream, attempting to keep her mother in the car. Tyrone stopped her by putting all his weight on her.

Her daughter kicked and screamed and bit her father, but she was too weak for the trained security guard. And so she watched as her mother waved goodbye to her.

And so she watched in fear as her mother gazed out into the big blue ocean.

***

Five years later…

Tyrone Burgess entered­­ her hospital bedroom, a single red rose in his right hand. His eyes gleamed at his twenty-year-old daughter, her big blue eyes still glued shut. Someone cut your hair, he thought, gazing at her pale head. The forty-five-year-old opened Catalina’s hand, carefully placing a rose in her palm. He said a quiet prayer before turning towards the door.

Before making his exit, Tyrone turned his head and frowned at the young girl, a seeming regret for what he had caused her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

The room empty, Catalina opened her palm before squeezing it shut; a tight grip around the thorny stem.

***

“What did you call me in here for, Vito?” Bert Colene asked, wearing a gray long coat over a white undershirt, as well as worn black slacks. “I mean-”

“Mr. Manchez,” the lieutenant said, tightening his gray suit jacket.

“Vito, you fired me. I didn-”

“Mr. Manchez, detective, Mr. Manchez. Did you sign the release forms?”

“Mr. Manchez…I was assuming I was here to sign the-”

“Did you sign the release forms?” Vito Manchez asked again in a stern, gruff voice.

“…No. I didn’t sign any release forms.”

“Then you’re not fired are you?” Vito said, pointing to the bandages piled up on his surgically repaired nose. “And be happy I didn’t press charges for this here, understand?”

“Yes, Vito…erm, Mr. Manchez.”

“Good. Now, I’m sending you to Texas.”

“…Texas.”

“A while back, Texas caught that man slashing woman’s tires when they left the parking lot and then shooting them when they kneeled down to see what was wrong.”

“…Yes. I know about that. I was part of the investigation.”

“I told them I owed them one for their help and now, they want to borrow one of our best guys to find their Allen Poe Killer. Guy leaves these old references to poems in his…ahem, work – I use that term loosely. The guys in Texas can’t find anything.”

“…Fine. I’ll go to Texas, Mr. Manchez. And how are those two women doing?”

“The ones you didn’t want to check on?” Vito giddily asked, grinning and slapping Bert on the back. “Hah! They’re fine, don’t worry about it.”

After Vito Manchez walked away, Bert Colene approached one of his co-workers nearby. “Hey, you know about those two women who got into an argument yesterday? I was wondering if you could help me find them, maybe check in to see how they’re doing…”

***

Two weeks later…

“Red solo cup. I fill you up. Proceed to party…” Tyrone Burgess sang along to the catchy tune, tossing chopped vegetables into the nearby Crockpot. He stopped when he heard three knocks on his front door.“Coming!” he excitedly exclaimed, hitting pause on the CD player.

“C-Catalina,” he said to his recently awoken daughter. “It’s so good to see you.”

“I’d like to say the same thing to you, but it’s actually awful to see you, and if I said it was good to see you, I’d be lying. Mother always said it’s not good to lie. Of course, she wouldn’t know because she’s dead. You killed her, after all.”

“Catalina, I apologized over the phone.”

“Oh. You raped and beat me for years on end, then forced my mother to jump off a bridge while I watched from the car. It’s all ok though; you apologized on the phone.”

“Just give me a chance, Catalina,” Tyrone pleaded. “I know I did you wrong, but I’m a changed man. Please, just…please.”

Catalina crossed her arms and shook her head. “I don’t think people change. Monsters are monsters; they’ll all tell you they’re different but they’re all the same. But…fine. You’ll have this dinner.”

***

Meanwhile…

“You sure the guy we’re looking for is in there, Bert?” Matthew Willams asked, scratching the top of his short blonde hair.

“We’ve made more progress in this case in the two weeks since you’ve been here than we ever have,” Lieutenant Sampson said, keeping the binoculars over his eyes.

Bert nodded. “I analyzed all the markings he left. They all contain these references to old poems, each poem has a reference to where the next location is…and when the next killing will be.”

“So you think the killer will go in there at any moment,” Sampson said.

The group of men waited in the bushes from afar, before a man drove up to the hut, exiting his pick-up truck. He appeared to be an elderly man; early seventies, wrinkly-skinned, muscular and bald. “That must be him!” Matthew exclaimed as the man entered the hut through the rear door, readying his assault rifle.

Wait…that…that can’t be him…! Bert thought, panic overcoming his mind. “W-wait! Detective Williams!”

“Don’t worry detective, governor already gave us permission to engage this lead any way we see fit. Charge!” Sampson said, commanding the small army of officers and detectives into the small hut.

“Mike…?” Bert asked. The old man stared blankly at the detective; fists raised, a pale, mustached man bloody and unconscious on the floor.

The long-bearded author looked at the officers and threw his hands in the air. “That you, Bertie?” he asked. “I like the haircut.”

“That was some good vegetable soup,” Catalina told her father, slyly licking her lips. “Did you take mother’s recipe as well as her life?”

“My doctor said I eat too much sod-Catalina! Who’s to say it was my fault? She went to that Timberg man, he could have helped her! If he did, we wouldn’t even be at odds.”

“Yes. He could have helped her. And that’s why he’ll pay for what he did. After you, first.”

He watched as his daughter pulled out a black pistol, the firearm trembling in her tiny hands. “You don’t need to do this,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry for everything that I did!”

“You took five years off my life.”

“I set you up a bedroom as soon as she died! You could’ve stayed with me! Or, you could have gone to the police! It was your decision to kill yourself, not mine!”

“Sophia…the woman who mother killed…her old co-worker…mother always said she was drunk, but what if…what if there was someone else behind it?”

“What…what are you implying?” Tyrone shouted, banging his large fists onto the dinner table.

“…No…it all makes too much sense. There was someone else at the house that day, wasn’t there? You were there. Mother was too afraid to turn you into the police, just like I was. Sophia was trying to get her to rid of you…and so you shot her.”

“That’s a nice theory, but I didn’t even meet your mother until she was imprisoned! That’s when you were born!”

Catalina stared a hole through her father’s eyes. “It’s amazing…even with my gun pointed at your head…you’re still lying to me. You knew mother before, didn’t you? I’m not the first…I’m not your first child, am I?”

Tyrone’s face turned a bright red, a lifetime of lies and secrets unraveled in mere minutes. Who is she…? he thought to himself. Who is this woman? He slowly nodded his head. “You…you,” he muttered.

“I went to mother’s tombstone after I awoke. There was a plaque there, signed by someone named Elaine Burgess - addressing her dear, sweet mother.”

“Then, you’re right. You have an older sister. And yes, I did meet your mother long before her imprisonment. But I swear to God, Catalina – I did not kill Sophia! …Are you happy? Are you happy now?”

There was a long pause, before Catalina finally smiled. “Yes. I’m happy.”

She pressed down on the cold, remorseless trigger.

***

“Am I going to get to go home, Bert?” Michael Timberg asked, sitting on the hard bench in his jail cell.

“Tomorrow morning is what I hear,” Bert responded. “Honestly, Mike…can you run through with me what happened again?”

“…Nah. I don’t think I can.”

Same old Michael. Some people never change, Bert thought to himself. “You know, you’re pretty calm for someone who was targeted by a serial killer. You know that guy you knocked out was…”

“…The serial killer. Yep. I know that. The guy you call the Allen Poe Killer; the guy I call, Johnny. He’s been my little pet project for the better part of five months.”

“But I thought-”

“Whatever you thought, I’m sure you were wrong. Anyway, I was onto him and he was on to me. When I went home, I knew he’d be waiting for me.”

“He had a gun with him, Mike. How did you avoid getting shot at?”

Michael snickered. “Let’s just say I’m pretty good. Anyway, I like your shaved head look. I really do. Bald suits you.”

“Thanks but I don’t really like it. I should probably get to the hotel; there will probably be a couple more guys in to question you. You should get out first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Wait!” Michael cried as Bert turned around to make his leave. “Why would you shave your head if you don’t like it?”

Bert turned around and gave Michael a sorrowful look. “Mike…I have brain cancer,” he said.

“…Oh…oh…I see.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Bert said, before turning back around to leave.

“W-Wait!” Michael cried once more. “You know, Bert; I’ve been having this dream lately. I dream that there’s this woman there. She keeps looking for me. I don’t know why. She looks for me. Then she finds me, and the last thing I see before I wake up is her pistol. Don’t be scared, Bert. You’re gonna beat this thing – just like I did.”

Bert recalls the time Michael told him of his own cancer diagnosis; bladder cancer at age 39. “Thanks, Michael. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

His obnoxious ringtone blasts his ears early the next morning. Bert reached for his phone, carefully examining the caller ID. Vito Manchez… he thought to himself. What does he want this early?

“Why’d you call me back so soon from Texas, Mr. Manchez?” Bert asked from the passenger seat of the car.

“Please…call me Vito.”

“Oh…uh…Vito?”

“I heard ol’ Timberg was the Allen Poe Killer all along. You think you know a guy.”

“N-no! The killer targeted him. He…he got the jump on him and beat him down.”

“Ha! You think that will fly in court?’

“He’s not going to court…DNA evidence already proved the guy he attacked was the killer.”

“I’m just messing with you, Bertie! I know Michael ain’t the killer. Anyway, you know this house?”

It had been so long since Bert Colene stepped foot in the home; five years, to be exact – but he knew the place very well. “Yes,” Bert responded. Tyrone’s home…?

“There’s been a murder here. Man shot to death at a dinner table. We think his daughter is responsible.”

Catalina…that’s…that’s impossible! “But…Vito…Mr. Manchez…she’s been in a coma for five years.”

“Was, being the keyword here. She was in a coma. She woke up as soon as you left for Texas.”

“…And nobody thought to tell me. Let me check out the scene.”

“W-wait!” Vito cried. Bert ignored him, hopping out of the car and over the yellow tape, ultimately entering the home.

The house smelled a vile smell, one of death and despair; he had been at dozens of crime scenes, yet nothing like this. It was like a haunted house come to life, a presence telling him he didn’t belong here, a presence telling him something was amiss.

There he was – Tyrone Burgess, slumped over at the dinner table in a pool of his own blood; dead.

Son of a…

“Hey there!”

“Ah!” Bert jumped and turned around to see Hank Ross standing with a wide smile on his face. “H-Hank…please don’t do that.”

“What are you doing at a crime scene without gloves on?” he asked, holding a piece of notebook paper in his right hand. “Anyway, I know you knew this man, so I wanted to show you this note we found before we baggie it up. I mean you can’t touch it since you have no gloves on, but you can read it from my hands, alright? Maybe you can make sense of it somehow.”

“Why’d you hobble on out of the car like that, detective? Didn’t even let me give you any gloves or let me let you into the crime scene the right way! Real professional, aren’t you? Punching out your boss, hobbling into crime scenes as you please…”

Vito Manchez ceased his rambling, finally noticed the detective's skin become pale and pasty. With a gruesomely unpleasant noise, Bert Colene began to vomit onto the floor. “Well, we sure are great about not contaminating crime scenes, aren’t we?” Hank quipped.

A minute passed; Bert coughed before wiping the bile off his lips. “Vito…we…we need to get to Texas…r-right…right now!”

***

Bert and Vito knocked on the door to Michael’s hut several times – no answer. “Open up!” Bert cried. “Good God, Mike! If you’re in there, open up!”

“It’s not going to work,” Vito said. “We’re going to have to break it down. We’ll deal with the implications of not getting a warrant later.”

The two in agreement, they kicked and punched at the old, worn-out wooden down until it crashed down with a loud bang. Bert’s heart immediately sank into his stomach.

“Oh, god,” he said, dropping to his knees at the sight laid before him. “Oh…oh god!!”