Murder Out By Caster Bridge

Chapter three

Bent over on a bench outside of the museum, trying not to panic, was the hardest thing in the world at the moment. Inside, I could hear the muffled voices of my mother, the police, and Mr. Newman yelling. And by the sound of it, they were in a heated argument and it didn't seem to be pleasant at all.

While I sat there, lost in my thoughts, I knew I was in a heap of trouble. I knew that as I restlessly squeezed my hands from the anxiety running a mile a minute through me as I fought to keep my leg from bouncing up and down. This was the first time I'd ever been in this amount of trouble.

I placed my head in my hands and snaked my fingers through my black hair and tugged at it frustratingly. The guilt and anger were eating me alive. I knew I messed up. I just knew it, but the question was: what did I do exactly? I didn't rig the sprinkler system. I didnt even have that kind of know-how.

Oh, God, it must have been my magic. Did it get out of hand? Something, probably my conscience, told me that it had been my fault and that was why I was in deep trouble. But I had never caused a flood or damaged anything before. I barely had the power to do much more than move objects like my bag, my pencils, a cup, and stuff like that.

"Is anyone sitting here?"

I sat up, startled. Removing my hands from my head, I opened my eyes to see a girl standing in front of me. She had long white hair that had to be dyed because there was no way that could ever be a natural color on someone unless they were elderly and this girl was about my age. She had her hair pulled back with a red ribbon, but the ends of her hair were hanging past her shoulders. Her bright sky-blue eyes sparkled. I also noticed that she had on a white expensive blouse and white denim shorts that showed off her tanned legs with white laced up high heel ankles boots. There was also a silver bag hanging off her arm. This was the same girl I had seen on the bus earlier. Though, I didn't know who she was. Though, now instead of radiating nervousness, she was way calmer.

When her question registered in my head, I shook my head, exhaled, and then scooted over some more to give her more room. "No, please, take a seat."

"Thank you," she said as she sat down. "I just needed a moment to sit down. My feet are killing me." She rolled her ankles around. "These new shoes are a killer."

I snickered. "I believe you. They look very uncomfortable," I said. "But they do suit your outfit."

"Right?" she said excitedly. "I thought so, too, when I saw them. I was going to walk around in them a lot more to break them in, but wouldn't you know it, the mud in our yard was so terrible that I had to carry them and change them at school. What a drag. And I might as well take them back."

"Why?" I asked. "You like them and you spent a lot of money on them."

Her sky-blue eyes looked at me confused. "How do you know that? Are you a mind reader?"

I shook my head. "Not even close. You just look at them with adoration and I can tell they are expensive because I walked by that shop around the corner from here about two weeks ago and saw them in the window for like four hundred dollars."

She giggled. "Oh, yeah, I always check out that shop. Were you looking to buy them for your girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" I asked. "I don't have a girlfriend. And no, I'm just observant. I walked past that window quite a few times and glance in there occasionally when I noticed new items."

"Oh, I thought I heard you arguing with her in there." She pointed to the museum. "She's not your girlfriend?"

"God not," I said. "She's nowhere near my type and she's way too problematic."

The girl frowned. "I see," she said. There was now a wave of sadness coming off of her. Had I said something wrong?

Just when I was about to apologize, the girl turned to me with tears shining in her eyes. "I guess I am a bit problematic myself."

I was taken aback. "Why would you say that? You don't seem problematic or even a girl who likes to start drama."

Instead of being offended, she giggled at that. "Thank you. And to be honest, I am not usually. I'm a good girl. I follow every rule. I always do my homework and extra credit as I am trying to get through my first year of college classes and exams with flying colors since my parents have this big plan and have my whole life planned out and they are paying for my tuition. But I think that's ruined now."

"How do you mean?"

"I sort of got into a fight," she said. "But it wasn't my fault. I mean, it was, but I was only defending my best friend from this guy and girl who were both verbally harassing her. They wouldn't leave her alone. She shouted at them for over five minutes, telling the girl that she wasn't hitting on her boyfriend and trying to get the guy to understand that she had a boyfriend. Anyway, I'd had enough of them tormenting her, so, I, well... I kind of punched them both in the nose." She played with the ends of her hair. "I didn't mean to hurt them. Honestly. I was just so raving mad and annoyed at their antics and the fact that they were making my friend more and more upset. I wanted to protect her, you know?"

I nodded. "You don't have to explain that to me. I get it completely." I then leaned forward and whispered, "If it had been my best friend I would have done the same thing in a heartbeat."

The girl giggled again.

I leaned back. "Though, you know, it must have been quite a sight to see."

She smiled. "I am not sure I would say that," she said. "I mean, the guy was taller than me and was probably even stronger. And the girl, well, she was about my size but way more athletic from track training."

"Even so," I said. "You are a small thing and yet you still managed to put up a fight. That's still a feat. Though, I am not promoting violence. But defending someone, friend or foe, is still admirable and never wrong."

She nodded and swung her left leg over her right and placed her elbow on her thigh with her chin on her palm with her eyes forward. "True," she said. In her voice, I could tell she was thinking and by the emotions, it was about what happened because she had guilt and sorrow flowing through her. "I just..." Suddenly, there was a spike of anger as her eyes narrowed. "Those stupid, ungodly rules about tolerance are bull! They help no one! My college professor was right there and watched the whole thing and when it was all over, he gave the girl and the guy a warning, lecture, and had them go on their way. While I got suspended because I hit them! I just know that now if they come back I won't be able to protect my friend from those creeps."

"She is safe for now, right?"

"For now, I think so. But who knows for sure? I'm scared she might not be. She's not a fighter, but she isn't one to back down when she's being yelled at. She probably didn't need me to fight her battle for her, anyway. I should have just left it alone. If I had, I wouldn't be in any trouble. When I get home, my parents are going to freak out. They might even toss me out of the house. And while I'm on the streets, my best friend will be alone with those awful monsters! Why did they get away with treating her that way? It's not right!"

The guilt, the anxiety, and the panic she was experiencing were tightening in my chest. I wanted to reach over and place a hand on her shoulder to get her to calm down. But just when I was, the tight feeling vanished and was replaced by calmer emotions as she smiled.

"This is weird," she said. "I never talk about all of this with people. Especially, a stranger." She giggled. "But I admit, talking to you helped me feel better. Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. I didn't do anything.

She smiled. "Of course you did. You listened." She then turned her body to me. "Okay, now, my turn. I listen and you tell me your story. I spilled my guts to you. And I am kind of curious as to why are you out here. You don't look like the type of guy to do bad things. But that argument in there must be the reason you are out here looking like you have the world's biggest guilt weighing your shoulders down."

I squeezed my hands again. "Well, I did get into an argument as you said. She's someone who has a huge hatred for me for reasons I don't know. But she stole something incredibly dear to me, and then the sprinklers just went off like crazy. She then started blaming me for setting it off. So, now, they called the police to investigate to see if the system was indeed rigged. No word yet. But to be honest, I don't even know how to rig something like that. Nor would I want to destroy hundreds of beautiful artifacts. So far, none of them are ruined which is a relief. I hate this because I would never do anything to get myself into trouble, but it seems I got myself into a deep predicament this time."

"Sounds awful," she said. "I mean, to blame you without any sort of proof."

"Well, the girl is persuasive. Not to mention, her family and the people in this town are superstitious and believe that anything abnormal is because of me and my family. I don't get it. Then again, she is..."

Just then the museum doors flew open and my mother stepped out. Rage was boiling through her and tearing itself into the core of my heart so hard that my nails dug into the holes in the bench.

"M..." I started to say.

"Don't even start, young man," my mother sneered.

I flinched.

"You are in for a world full of trouble, young man! And when we get home..." she continued, but then let out an exasperated sigh. "You don't even want to know what I have planned. Now, get a move on!"

I gulped and obediently nodded. The girl, whose name I didn't even know, flashed me an empathetic smile and mouthed, "It will be okay."

I wanted to believe her but was too afraid to with my mother's anger so high. I just nodded once before I tottered sullenly down the sidewalk beside my mother, who had her arms crossed. Once at our dark blue Jeep Wrangler, she unlocked the passenger door, and then practically shoved me inside.

I kept my eyes downward to the floorboard as I played with a week-old fast-food wrapper with my foot nervously. Tears stung my eyes and threatened to fall, but I fought with everything inside me not to cry. I couldn't. My mother would tell me to stop being so emotional. To her, crying was a sign of weakness. But she didn't know how hard it was for me. Being a self-proclaimed empath, my empathy was extra sensitive. Emotions just hit me and I would feel like I was the one experiencing them. And right now, my mother's resentment and disappointment directed at me were stabbing my heart like a million knives. I didn't want this to happen. All I ever tried to do was make her proud of me. Now I was feeling horrible. And knowing that I failed her...

"How could you, Weston Walter Brooks?" My mother's sharp voice broke through the thoughts running through my head.

"Mom, listen, please, I didn't..."

"You nearly ruined one of the biggest museum exhibits!"

"But, Mom, if you'd..."

"No!" she shouted. "I don't want to hear any of your excuses! Right now, you are to remain silent until we get home. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly," I mumbled, slumping in my seat and looking gloomily out the window. Storm clouds were still overlaying the sky, and there were rays of violet lightning streaking across the sky now and again. But the weird part was I didn't hear any rolling of thunder.

Strange, I thought. And now that I thought about it, I realized something even stranger. The headache that had plagued me all morning was no longer there.

For the rest of the ride, I stayed silent just gazing out the window and lost in thought. Even if there was a storm outside happening, there was also a storm raging inside me, and it seemed like the rain outside of the vehicle was listening to me, pouring all my negative emotions out.

When we got to our apartment room, my mother unlocked and opened the door. I didn't waste any time walking past her and sprinting to my room. I walked in and then slammed the door behind me before I flopped down on my bed on my stomach. With my head buried in my pillow, I screamed out all of my frustration and pain.

Heavy rain splattered on my window loudly, but I paid no mind to it as I lay there, gripping my pillow like it was the last thing on earth keeping me from falling apart.

I didn't remember falling asleep, but I must've because the next thing I knew there was a loud banging on my door and my mother's voice booming.

"Weston Brooks, you wake up this instant and join me in the kitchen for dinner! It's time we discuss your punishment!"

I prolonged the torment I knew would be thrust upon me the second I stepped out that door. So, I sat on the edge of my bed for a few extra minutes and mentally prepared myself as best I could since my thoughts were a bit jumbled. Feeling a bit more organized, I opened the door and reluctantly padded into the kitchen, and sat down at the table. On the tabletop was a plate of steaming leftover spaghetti from a few days ago.

Sighing, I picked up my fork and twirled some of the noodles on the end aimlessly. I wasn't feeling hungry. Why? Because of my mother. She was sitting across from me. Her hatred was still seething madly, and the scrutinized glaring was making me more and more uncomfortable. I shifted in my seat for what felt like the twelfth or thirteenth time.

My mother must've noticed because her eyes narrowed deadly. "Stop fidgeting this instant, Weston! You know you are in big trouble."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, fighting to keep my ire at bay. I had the urge to shout, to scream, to yell out, to grab my stupid plate full of undercooked spaghetti, and throw it at the nearest wall just to get the attention I deserved. But I pushed those thoughts and feelings down. That would only cause things to worsen. The last time I threw a stupid dramatic tantrum like that, it ended disastrously.

"So, you want to tell me why you messed with the sprinkler system?"

"I didn't do it," I stated calmly.

"Young man, I am allowing you this one opportunity to explain yourself."

"Yes, I know, and I am explaining," I said. "I did not do it. One minute, I am trying to get my notebook back from evil Zelda, and then the next thing I know the sprinkler just started going off."

"I will not have you lie to me!"

"I swear it, Mom!" I yelled. "I didn't do it!"

"You are making this situation worse, mister!" she yelled back. "If you say you didn't do it, then can you explain why you were the only one out of those three girls that didn't get wet?"

"I can't explain that," I said, sulking in my chair.

"Sit up straight!" she demanded.

Reluctantly, I straightened.

Suddenly, a ding came from my pocket.

My phone.

I had forgotten that I even had my mobile on me. I pulled it out. I didn't need to know who messaged me. I already knew. It had to be Hayden or even work. Probably both. I hadn't shown up at work and so my boss was no doubt angry at me, and then when Hayden met up and saw I wasn't there he probably became worried and angry and probably even felt betrayed.

Before I could press the power button and check, the scrapping of my mother's chair had me looking up startled. She stood and marched her way over to me and snatched my cell phone right out of my hand forcefully. I could feel her sharp nails scratch me. "No phone at the table," she said before she shook her head. "No, you know what, no more phone period. I don't want you talking to that crazy friend of yours ever again."

"He's not crazy, Mom!"

The glare she sent me froze the blood in my veins and paralyzed me from saying the next words on the tip of my tongue. I closed my mouth as my mother sneered, "Young man, do you want to keep making this situation graver and graver?" She then slammed my phone down on the table. Judging by the booming crack, the screen was probably in pieces. That enraged me. How was I going to talk to Hayden or work or anyone else?

"I don't understand," my mother continued. "I have tried to be an exemplary mother. Where did go wrong?"

"Mom, you..."

"This is all because of your father, isn't it? That's why there have been so many misbehaving situations. It's all because he isn't here with us, right?" she asked, but it didn't sound like she was talking to me, and sounded more like she was thinking out loud.

"Mom, there is no need for you to be angry," I said without thinking. "I'm sure Dad had his reasons."

She pointed a finger at me threateningly. "That right there! You still pretend you know what I am feeling. You still cling to this senseless notion that you have this power that allows you to magically know how I am feeling."

"It's pretty obvious," I mumbled under my breath as I moved a meatball around on my full plate of spaghetti with my fork.

"What was that?" she growled.

"Nothing," I responded.

"You know, you are so much like your father. Your sapphire blue eyes are proof of that. They blaze with that same stormy rebellion and penetrating gaze he had. I swear the only thing you inherited from me was black hair and some facial features. But you have every bit of your father's imbecilic mindset. He used to sprout nonsense all the time and did spontaneous, troublesome things until I could barely take it."

"Maybe that is why he left," I said absentmindedly.

She slammed her palms down on the table. My plate and silverware rattled. "He left for selfish reasons!" she yelled. The venom in her voice caused the anger in her emotions to surge into an inferior rage that deprived me of proper breathing. I fought the urge to cough as my hands clenched around the edges of my chair so hard that my nails dug into the wood. I hadn't meant to provoke her like that. "Know this, Weston Walter Brooks, starting tomorrow everything is going to change. You are so lucky I sweet-talked that lovely curator into getting you out of trouble for causing that stupid prank."

I didn't like the sound of that. "What's my repayment?" I asked, panting for breath.

If my mother noticed my discomfort, she didn't pay attention. "He was too angry to decide. However, if it had been up to me, you'd be working your hands to the bone. I know you are legally an adult, but for tonight you are confined to your room."

"Why?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Because as long as you live in this apartment, you will obey my rules," she said. "I know I should've done this a long time ago when all of this nonsense began. But here I was, a hopeful mother, just wanting it all to be a phase that would eventually fade with time."

I couldnt take it anymore!

Rather than expelling her rage, I accepted it into myself and used it to fuel my anger. "And what happened to you telling me to be myself and to love myself?" I shouted, jumping to my feet and slamming my palms down on the tabletop. The plates, glasses, and silverware clattered and shook both from my movement and from my uncontrollable magic that I could feel tingling and buzzing at my fingertips. "I can't get rid of it any more than you can! And to be quite frank, I dont want it to go away! This is simply who I am!"

"It's unnatural!" she argued. "I know I told you to be yourself, but I didn't know you would turn out like this! So, you can, and you most certainly will get over this craziness! I will personally make sure of it. Therefore, you are going to march straight to your room since you don't want to eat."

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. I pushed away from the table and clenched my fists. Sounds of creaking came from nearby, but I didn't care as I pivoted and marched away.

"Oh, and Weston," said my mother.

I stopped in the middle of the hallway. "What is it, Mother?"

"Don't talk back to me!" she shouted before she let out a frustrated groan. "You know what, never mind. Just go to your room."

I squeezed my eyes shut and wished something, anything would wash away her anger.

Just then, I heard what sounded like the water exploding through the pipes and then the sound of my mother's panicking shrieking.

The anger drowned.

Worried about her safety, I turned around.

My eyes widened.

My mother was standing by the sink dripping wet from the sink sprouting water like a fountain. But that wasn't the worst part. There was fright in her emotions.

She's afraid of me.