Sinner's reaper

005~ MURDER

Jane Adams

I sought permission from my boss, the coffee shop owner, for a day off, and she promptly approved, mentioning that Father Jerome had already informed her of my unavailability. Opting to stay home, I noticed I was drawing undue attention with my less-than-stylish hair band. Meanwhile, Mercy was at home yet to discover the bandage discreetly wrapped around my head.

"Hey, shithead," she called out as I walked past the sitting room where she was watching a show.

"Did you lose your job or something? Why are you home at this time?" she asked, but I ignored her, making my way to my room – where, by the way, I've fixed the lock.

"If you lose your job, you'll have to find somewhere else to stay. I'm not letting your lazy ass freeload here," she shouted after me.

I shut the door, locked it, and sat on the bed, feeling stressed and frustrated. I really need to leave this town – and fast.

By 8 p.m., I found myself at the bar, attempting to assist Blade in managing things since his girlfriend was MIA. Limited by my injuries, he had someone cover for me, and Blade, visibly more furious than me about the incident, threatened to handle Mr. Freeman, if he dared, show up near his bar again. His explosive reaction lifted my spirits, and I was grateful I had ventured out.

Around half-past 11, a weariness settled as I decided to call it a night, indifferent to perceived risks. Briskly navigating the deserted town streets, the echo of my footsteps blended with the haunting stillness of midnight. Memories raced through my mind as Mr. Freeman's house loomed ahead, the thought of encountering him sending shivers down my spine. Yet, determination propelled me forward, eager to reach the safety of my home, the irony not lost on me.Passing his house, my heart pounded, and an unsettling chill enveloped me

A glance towards the porch revealed a figure, freezing my breath in my throat. Panic set in, and I fumbled for the pen knife Blade had given me, hands shaking with fear. Blade's offer to escort me home had been thwarted by a bar fight, leaving me to face the dark alone.Each step grew heavier as the shadowy figure tailed me, streetlights casting eerie shadows, intensifying my unease. The seemingly endless street played tricks on my imagination, a silent self-reproach echoing in my mind—You overestimated yourself.

Instincts urged me to run, but my legs refused to comply. Vulnerability intensified, and I clutched the pen knife tightly, prepared for a moment's notice. The cold wind whispered through narrow alleyways, heightening the isolation of the night.Suddenly, footsteps quickened, my pulse racing even faster. With a surge of adrenaline, I spun around, brandishing the pen knife. To my surprise, a stranger stood before me, hands raised in surrender. Fear lingered, but confusion replaced some of the panic.

A wave of relief washed over me, yet wariness lingered as I demanded, my voice trembling, "Who the hell are you?"

"Aidan," he replied with an unsettling coolness, as if scaring the daylights out of me was entirely acceptable.

"Why the hell are you following me?" I asked, my irritation palpable.

"I noticed you were scared and decided to follow you at a distance, didn't mean anything. I am sorry if I scared you," he explained, his words sounding sincere, but my scepticism lingered.

In a surprising twist, he swiftly seized my hand, disarming me with a practised move, and lowered his head to my eye level. The scent of his body wash wafted through the air, creating an unexpected intimacy. His green eyes locked onto mine, and a disarming smile played on his lips, momentarily freezing the world around us. Time seemed to suspend, leaving me momentarily breathless.

"Little girls shouldn't be playing with knives. If you're scared walking home alone, maybe reconsider going home so late. How about I escort you?" he offered, his tone almost teasing.

Confusion and a racing heart betrayed me as I hesitated, ensnared in the allure of a strange moment. "Why is my heart racing?" I wondered, the unexpected intimacy with Aidan leaving me questioning my own reactions. Pulling away abruptly, I stepped back, refusing his offer and hastening home, yet he persisted, a mysterious silhouette trailing me from a distance.

"Here, your pen knife," I heard him say, but I ignored the gesture, swiftly locking the door behind me. Leaning back against the door, my chest heaved fast with a mix of relief and lingering tension.

"Is he for real? Why would he follow me back home?" I mused aloud to no one, the unanswered questions gnawing at my thoughts.

Rushing to the sitting room, I pulled the curtain lightly to peep outside, only to find Aidan standing in front of the house. A disconcerting smile played on his face as he waved, still holding the pen knife.

"Weirdo," I muttered, my intrigue battling with the unease of the unexpected encounter.

"What are you looking at?" Mercy's voice startled me from behind, making me jump in fear. Hastily, I closed the curtain as if concealing the unfolding mystery.

"Nothing," I replied, attempting to sound nonchalant, though the unease lingered in my voice.

"Why are you so jumpy if it is nothing?" Mercy's suspicion cut through the air, adding an extra layer of tension to the moment.

"Suit yourself," I retorted, choosing not to divulge the peculiar encounter.

With a hurried pace, I walked away, leaving Mercy with unanswered questions and me grappling with the enigmatic presence of Aidan lingering outside. The air was thick with intrigue and unanswered curiosities, heightening the mysterious atmosphere surrounding that peculiar night.

◇◇◇

Startled by the insistent ringing, I fumbled through my dishevelled sheets, blindly searching for the elusive phone.

"What?" I grumbled, unintentionally injecting my tone with a hint of impatience.

Nancy's voice, fraught with panic, sliced through the morning haze. "Did you receive the video?"

"What video?" I inquired, suddenly alert as I sat up. Glancing at the clock, it stubbornly declared 8 o'clock. The urgency of the situation clashed with the early hour, leaving me puzzled.

"Check your phone; apparently, everyone was sent a video, and it's..." Her voice caught a tremor of unease palpable before the call abruptly disconnected. The room fell into an unsettling silence, leaving me to grapple with the mysterious urgency that had disrupted my morning tranquillity.

A mysterious buzz drew me into a world of suspense, compelling me to unlock my phone. The screen revealed a chilling video notification that gripped my curiosity, transforming it into a visceral horror as the clip began to play. In a grotesque tableau, Mr. Freeman was bound to a chair, his naked body bearing the brutal marks of unfathomable suffering.

The room enveloped him in shadows, pierced only by a dim light casting an unsettling glow. I hesitated to contemplate the depths of the torment he had endured, the gruesome scene unfolding before me like a nightmarish revelation.

"Forgive me, for I have sinned. In a moment of weakness, I succumbed to the temptations of the devil and had carnal knowledge of my daughter. In the throes of frustration and anger, I lashed out at her, driven by haunting memories of her mother's relentless mockery that had turned me into the town's laughingstock. It felt like she inherited not just her mother's features but also the ability to inflict the same wounds with words. As I looked at her, battered and bewildered, doubts about her paternity gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. Was she truly my daughter, or was there a cruel twist of fate at play, entangling us in this web of resentment and uncertainty? The weight of guilt presses heavily on my soul as I confess this transgression." His tired eyes bore the weight of regret and years of festering resentment.

However, as he spoke, I couldn't shake the feeling that beneath the weariness, there lurked a stubborn refusal to fully acknowledge the gravity of his actions.

In the weariness etched across Mr. Freeman's face, there was a noticeable absence of remorse, a haunting revelation that lingered in the air. I vividly recall the subtle hint of a resigned smile that played on his lips when the police suggested forgiveness during the report yesterday. It was a chilling expression, betraying a disturbing truth—I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that he was fully conscious of the gravity of his actions when he subjected his own daughter to such torment.Despite my suspicions, grappling with the harsh reality was a formidable task. It was hard to fathom that a father, a supposed pillar of support and love, could inflict such pain on his own flesh and blood.

"I know that this is a sin, a grave one. In taking out my frustration on my daughter, I tarnished the sacred bond that should exist between father and daughter. I am filled with remorse for my actions and acknowledge the pain I may have caused her during her lifetime. I recognise the gravity of my sin and the importance of seeking amends for the wrong I have done. May the light of forgiveness shine upon me and may occur find the courage to make restitution and learn from this lapse in my moral compass."

Abruptly, the screen burst into a vivid splatter of blood, catapulting me from my bed with a jolt that sent shivers cascading down my spine. As the screen plunged into darkness, the haunting sound of Mr. Freeman's screams echoed in the background, weaving an unsettling symphony of dread that lingered in the air.

My heart raced, and my grip tightened on the phone as shock washed over me. I struggled to comprehend the reality unfolding before my eyes. Questions swirled in my mind as I grappled with the unsettling visuals. Why was I sent this? Who would create such a gruesome video? Panic set in, and a chilling realization struck me – this wasn't just a random video; someone had meticulously crafted a murder scene and unleashed it upon everyone.

A thunderous bang echoed through the door, Mercy's announcement of police officers sending my heart into a frenzied rhythm. I approached the sitting room, a torrent of questions flooding my mind about their unexpected visit. Could it be related to the ominous video?

Entering the room, the atmosphere crackled with tension. Two stern-faced officers awaited, one of them a familiar figure – the same officer I had reported Mr. Freeman's assault to. The air hung heavy with unspoken intrigue, leaving me to grapple with the enigmatic connection between the gruesome video and the arrival of law enforcement.

"Jane Adams?" The other officer inquired, confirming my identity.

Anxiety tightened its grip as I nodded, my curiosity piqued by the ominous air surrounding their visit. "What is this all about?"

The officer's response cut through the tension, his words heavy with gravity.

"Since you've seen the video, I'll be direct. We're investigating the murder of Mr. Freeman, and your name came up." The weight of implication hung in the room.

"We need you to come down to the station to provide your statement. It's just a routine procedure," he added, attempting to downplay the urgency, but the term "routine" did little to assuage my growing apprehension.

Through a maze of uncertainty, I trailed behind the officers to the police station, my thoughts caught in a whirlwind. As we stepped into the dimly lit room, the weight of the situation descended upon me like a chilling fog. Seated across from a detective, the sterile environment heightened my unease despite the familiarity of such settings. The air crackled with tension, and my mind braced itself for the interrogation.

"You came here yesterday to report Mr. Freeman claiming he assaulted you, right?"

"Yes," I replied, my voice remarkably steady despite the tumult within, a veneer of composure concealing the storm of emotions.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"At the station. He showed up while I was making a report and apologized, so the officer suggested I forgive him."

"You didn't go to confront him later?"

"Why would I go to meet a man who assaulted me? Who goes back to the person who assaulted them?"

"What time did you go home after your shift at the bar?"

"Half past 11."

"How many minutes does it take you to get home?"

"Twenty-five minutes," I answered, irritation simmering beneath my surface.

"You didn't make a stop at Mr. Freeman's home?" He raised an eyebrow, a subtle expression of doubt flickering across his features.

"No, why the hell would I at that time of the day? For heaven's sake."

"Calm down, Miss. Adams. I'm not accusing you of anything."

Like hell you weren't!

"It seems that way to me."

"It was estimated that Mr. Freeman died around 11:50 p.m., and we are questioning all those who were close to his place within that time," he explained, unravelling the gravity of the situation.

The detective persisted with his questions, delving into the intricate threads of my connection to the victim. His gaze bore into me, dissecting each word I uttered, extracting seemingly insignificant details that carried weight in the context of the investigation. Despite the discomfort, I cooperated willingly.

As the final question lingered in the air, the detective leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he studied me intently.

"Thank you, Miss Adams. We may need to follow up, but for now, you're free to go."

The tension in the room eased, but the lingering uncertainty of being entangled in a murder investigation of a man who assaulted me clung to me as I left the dimly lit confines of the police station.

Outside the station, the mysterious stranger from last night caught my eye. Surprisingly, I had completely forgotten our encounter. Yet, instead of the black hoodie and grey sweatpants, he now donned a striking black cassock, its fabric gracefully dancing with each step. A crisp white clerical collar adorned his neck, symbolizing his sacred calling. His transformation from our last meeting was astonishing.

"Hi," he greeted with a warm and sincere smile, approaching me. His smile illuminated his features, leaving me standing there, seemingly dumbfounded.

"Hi," I replied, my voice unintentionally dry and muffled. I couldn't help but wonder why I sounded like a moron and questioned why I was even engaging with him.