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Constance, Chapter 6 |
| Written by August Blackwood | |
| Tuesday, 17 June 2008 | |
Part One
It was about a week after that incident with Mr. Bartholomew's body. My brother had moved back into his room three days ago. Today was Sunday. I sat here, in my kitchen, eating a breakfast of orange juice and corn flakes cereal. * I had the television on in front of me. Usually, there would be nothing interesting on the television, but after what happened, I had to watch it and I watched it intently. The news was certainly not something I would have watched, but this suddenly became very important to me. During the commercials, I was planning my schedule for this next week in my weekly planner.
Finally, after about thirty minutes of useless rambling on diseases and controversial political viewpoints, the news I had anticipated rose onto the screen. A young, but overweight female reporter signified the next news coming up: The notorious murder of Mr. Bartholomew. After hearing this, I began to think of the past events and became somewhat suspicious of the police's actions. Why just investigate his room? The murderer could have been one of the fifteen people living in our house. Wouldn't it have been safer if the entire house were to be investigated to assure the inhabitants' (including my) safety? The killer could strike any time and he could be right under our noses, plotting his next attack. On the television, a male reporter walked around our house. I was probably gone to work around this time because I didn't remember seeing him or a camera crew in front of the house. There wasn't a single policeman in the scene and neither were there any warning signs against trespassing. Everything was kept untouched, except for cleaning up of the broken glass.
"There have been two suspects, but nothing is certain of at the moment" the reporter announced. Yet, no names were brought forth. That statement was left hanging as the reporter proceeded to explain the time and exact place this crime had occurred. Maybe this island WAS really ****** up, as Mr. Coffin had so kindly stated. The scene of the screen changed as Ms. Sasaki, one of the inhabitants of this house, began to describe her impression on Mr. Bartholomew and how wonderful a person he was. Three other people appeared right after, one of which was the stingy old man. "Yeah, it was a great tragedy. I myself couldn't sleep after I heard of it. He was a great, great man." My lips twisted into a nasty scowl. Removal of his coins would have been the perfect cure for the insomnia he had just described. Liar, I thought to myself. I switched off the TV and Roadrunner entered, without knocking, using the keys. He saw me eating, with my back slouching. My brother came closer to me and wrapped his arms around my neck, resting them onto my shoulders. "Are you okay?" He asked me. I nodded, "I believe you've just stolen my words. Where...no, what are you doing here?" He walked up to the TV, a little too close, and turned it on, "just wanted to chill here before my date came." He was welcome. Absolutely welcome to. I felt uncomfortable as he started to move away from the television, letting my vision come into contact with the twisted and irritating method of news casting. But, it was only a commercial. That ended soon and the weather forecast started. The murder case report was a little too brief for its notoriety. Very brief, indeed. I looked up at my brother and he said, "what?" I opened up my planner and began jotting down things I had to do this next week, attempting to distract my mind, if possible. Sunday was the only day I could rest, and so it was also the only day I could plan ahead and look back at my week and how it went. Unfortunately, my heart couldn't and it was taking longer than I expected to get myself organized. Let's see. First, tomorrow, there would be an appointment with my client Mrs. March. I had already written that down, but I just checked to make sure. There was one thing I had forgotten. I had a dentist appointment the day after. I wondered what I would do with Roadrunner if I left him with all the things I had to do that week. Wouldn't my brother need me?
I looked up at the TV to see if he was there, but he wasn't. I heard a metallic jingle behind me and so I turned around, only to see my brother standing there, holding the keys in his hand.
"You didn't ask for these back for some time, Connie." Oh, and yes, Mr. Coffin would be meeting with me this Wednesday. Shoot. Copyright 2008 August Blackwood |
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