AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It’s weird being in this house without them, knowing they’ll never walk through the front door again.
Dead.
Murdered.
The cop who delivered that tragic news seemed annoyed that they had to tell anyone at all. What’s two more dead people in the wrong neighborhood? It was a patrol officer, assuring me that a detective would be reaching out soon, but I hadn’t heard from anyone. Calling the police department didn’t yield much info either, other than the detective assigned to the case letting me know he was going to want to go through the house to look for clues about what could’ve possibly led a middle-class couple to Benton Park West. The tone of his voice suggested that he believed Carlen and Janet weren’t the most law-abiding people, but he rushed me off the phone before I could assure him that they were.
I haven’t spoken to my sister in over a year, and now I can’t even recall the reason for the fight that kept us apart for so long. Had we known that today would happen, that three days ago she and her husband would be dead, I doubt I would’ve let a day go by where I didn’t reach out to her.
I open my eyes, tears swelling on my bottom lashes for the briefest of moments before they make a well-traveled trail down my cheeks.
The house is more than just lived in. Clothes are in piles on the stairs as if waiting and forgotten numerous times to be carried upstairs and put away. The living room is scattered with toys, and several empty drink bottles cover the top of the coffee table. It doesn’t exactly look like a bomb went off in here, but it also isn’t like my sister to have a mess in her house either. She always prided herself on her home and took her job as a stay-at-home parent very seriously. She was the type to have dinner on the table when Carlen got home. Luca and Jace always had the correct amount of protein, starch, and vegetable combination in every meal. She was the class parent in Jace’s kindergarten class, although she lost her bid for PTO president to the same woman who has been doing it for the last ten years.
The mess makes no sense, but the evidence of how much things have changed for my sister and her family in the last year is right in front of my eyes. I didn’t see the disarray when I was here several days ago, grabbing things for the boys. I couldn’t focus on anything other than getting what they’d need and getting the hell out. The air is heavier now than it was then, and it feels like sadness and lost opportunities are pouring out of the walls.
The millions of questions the detective didn’t have answers to only doubles as I climb the stairs, noticing a hole along the wall. I don’t know if it was put there by accident, or if someone was angry and threw something. What I do know is that Carlen was always quick to fix anything and everything around the house without hesitation. I press my finger to the edge of the damage, but I don’t have the skills to determine whether it happened last week or months ago.
Emotion clogs my throat. I wanted to think that their deaths were a wrong place/wrong time situation, but what I do know about their murders is that they weren’t mugged. Carlen still had his watch on. His wallet was still in his pocket. Janet’s purse didn’t appear to be rifled through. They both had their cell phones on them.
As much as I don’t want to think that they were on drugs, the condition of the house isn’t helping, despite my own mental insistence that I wait for toxicology reports to come back.
I take a deep breath before pushing open their bedroom door. I didn’t come in here the last time I came to grab stuff for the boys. I had no need. But today, my mission is different.
I never imagined that I’d be the one tasked with being responsible for picking out the clothes my sister and her husband would be buried in. I’ve planned a double funeral, knowing that the Carlen and Janet I knew would want exactly that. I don’t know what the last year has been like, but I know they always considered themselves soulmates. They never wanted to do anything alone. What I saw as sweet and comforting now looks like co-dependency.
It’s easy to pick out Carlen’s clothes. As I pull the only suit the man owns from the closet, I can only hope he’s still the same size as he was when he wore these very clothes to his own father’s funeral several years ago.
I lay the clothes out on the unmade bed, refusing to think about the aftermath of that funeral and a certain Marine that came into town.
Opening my sister’s closet door is harder, making me realize I’m already shifting blame on Carlen for Janet’s demise. The man was like an older brother to me, always helping me when I needed it, without one complaint on his lips. How quickly I’ve turned on him.
Fresh tears spring from my eyes when I flip the closet light switch and nothing happens.
Did Carlen know the bulb was blown in here? Why would he not change it for her?
The man I knew changed a taillight in my car late at night once, despite the fact that I didn’t have to go to work until late the next afternoon. He was a see-the-problem, fix-it type of guy. Why put off tomorrow what can be done today, through and through.
My chest is heaving as I reach to the far side of the closet where Janet has always hung her nicer clothes. She wasn’t a designer type of woman. She was the type to brag about grabbing a great deal at an outlet store. She was quick to say anyone can look great spending a lot of money but it took skill to look good buying on discount. She took pride in her ability to find the best sales.
Her closet looks thinner than I remember it ever being. As much as she liked to get bargains, she did like to shop, and her wardrobe always reflected her frequent trips to department stores.
I grip the small handful of hangers from the closet and carry them to the bed, so I can see better.
I’ve never done this before. I’ve never picked clothes that were so important. I’m not married, so I’ve never donned a wedding dress, arguably what most women would consider the most important outfit a woman will ever wear.
Those people obviously haven’t stood before a layer of clothes, wondering if they should go dark because of the somberness of the event or go brighter because no one wants to be sad forever. As if this task isn’t stressful enough, it makes me wonder who will do this for me. If I were to die, who would sort through clothes for my burial? Who would take care of the kids?
I shake my head, shoving those thoughts away, just like I’ve done with the horrific thoughts of how hard it’s going to be to be responsible for two little boys who didn’t even recognize me a few days ago.
I know I’ll have to grab the boys something to wear to the funeral, and the idea of that hurts even more. I figured they’d have a ton of questions, but they didn’t even recognize me when I got the call and had to pick them up from school. It was frustrating at the time because the school wanted a million forms of identification that they only deemed enough when the caseworker from children’s service was called. I guess it’s a good thing they won’t let just anyone pick the kids up. The craziest thing about that situation, and the first hint that things hadn’t been right for a while, was that the boys were no longer in their private charter school but at the public school—Luca in kindergarten and Jace in first grade.
Come to think of it, Janet’s car wasn’t in the driveway either, making me think they were down to one car.
Had he lost his job? Was money so tight they had to start selling things off, including her clothes?
She never called me. She told me when I walked out that night over a year ago that I was being petty, and not to bother coming back around if I was so quick to get mad when I wasn’t getting my way. How do I remember that part but not the actual subject of the argument?
I decide to grab the royal blue dress, knowing it was always one of her favorites, and then grab the hanger with Carlen’s suit on it.
