Turah Hills 45

United States

I've lived in three different sates, currant one included. Spend most of my time reading and thinking of new things. One thing that ticks me off is not having things around me in order. Whether for life or writing.

Message to Readers

Anything is welcomed, but mainly any plot or proofreading suggestions.

Where Things Lie

December 16, 2017

PROMPT: Open Prompt

The door slowly opens the rest of the way. What in the world is going on? This is a cruise, not a game show! But the door was still open. Waiting, begging me to go through it and get the answers I wanted.
    Almost against my will, I get up and walk ever so steadily to the door. I am just an inch away from the door when I hear it. Screaming. Some scared. Someone panicked. I flinch, but stay calm even though my mind is yelling at me to do something.But I just stand, doing nothing.
    After what seems like an hour, the screaming stops. With that, my mind and body finally catch up with each other.
    I fall to the bed trying to figure out what the world is going on. Why is this happening? What is the purpose? Is it some kind of game? Or is there on actual murderer on the loose? More questions keep coming, but there are no answers to find right now.
    I decide I need some fresh air. As I am walking up to the top deck, I watch the other people milling about. Most everyone jumps when someone walks to close to them. There are a few that seem totally fine and in control.
    I make it up to the top deck. I sit down on a chair and pull my legs up to my chest. It feels so good to have the soft wind with the heat of the caribbean. Soon my père comes and sits next to me.
    We sit quietly until he says, “What are you thinking about?”
    “Mère’s death,” I softly say.
    It’s hard to take in what happened today. Even after a year of her being gone. Everyone says it will get better with time. I hope it does, but it is hard when it still hurts to think about.
    “I know it’s still early for dinner, but how ‘bout we get something to eat then go watch a movie? How does that sound?” Père asks.
    “That sounds wonderful,” I tell him.

    Dinner and a movie at my père’s did just the thing. It lifted me both mentally and physically. I walk back to my room to go to bed early. Faint voices. Coming from the direction of the hall where my room is. I stop and have to think what it do. I decide to creep closer and try to hear what they are saying.
    “Told you she wasn’t here, but you wouldn’t listen,” Says a voice. A man? I’m pretty sure  it’s a man. But it is hard to tell because it was so quiet.
    A second voice responds, angrily,  “It looked like her, even had the same perfume,” the voice pauses, then continues, “And I’m pretty sure you said that she goes walking there every morning after lunch.”
    The first then retorts back, “No, I said before lunch!”
    I quickly take a chance and glance around the corner, but before I can really get a look, I feel a tap on my shoulder and someone say, “May I help you?” and the voices going silent.
    I jump with a start and whip around to see one of the ship’s crew members standing behind me. It takes me a few seconds to regain my composer before I say, “No, thank you. I’m just going to my room.”
    He looks at me and then nods his head just the slightest. He looks at me a second longer, with a very peculiar look on his face, then turns and walks away, leaving me with a funny feeling.
    I look back down the hall where I heard the two voices. There is no one there. Huh? Where did they go? Knowing I can’t get any answers at the moment, I straighten all the way and go to my room.
    I walk in and immediately feel something off. I don’t see anyone, it’s not a very big room. So I walk to the bathroom and closet to check. No one. Or nothing? I wonder about that. I look quickly around the room again and see something on the bed. When I walk closer, I freeze and take a sharp breath. I know what is on it. It is my Mère’s rose necklace.
I pick it up and sit on the bed. Looking at the necklace, I think back on the last day with Mère. It was just over a year ago. It was a nice day, very much like it was today. Sunny and warm. Me and my mère have the same birthday. We went out on that day to have together time before she left for a job overseas at France. Which would mean she would be gone for our birthday.
    We had lunch and then decided to get each other presents for the other. We went to the local mall to find them. I went one way, mère went the other.
    I had found a fun book for my mère. It was a about jewelry making. She would have loved it. But, as I was walking to our meet up point, I heard the commotion.
    I big group of people where around a kiosk, a few whispering, crying, or calling out questions. I asked one of the ladies there what happened. She told me that that someone was shot after the shooter robbed the person. I panicked.
    I pushed my way through the crowd, that had began to thin, to where the medical personnel were. I would never forget that moment. It was one of the last times I saw my mère’s face.
    It was a blur after that. I do not remember anything that went on the next two months. Other than the funeral.
    I cried so hard that day. It was like watching one of my best friends be buried. Me and my père tried to listen to those who speak about mère, but we did not try very hard. Then came the burial. It was like she left and returned to the earth for once and for all, but I knew better. I would see her again one day.
    That brings me back to the necklace. The robber and shooter took the necklace that day of the murder. So the question is, how did it end up on my bed? Could it be the shooter? The police never found who killed my mère.
I look at the necklace again, then the clock. Père should still be up. I get up and walk out of room, locking it behind me, and then walk to my père’s room the next floor down.
    I knock once, two quick, one quick, and two slow. Our secret pass code. Used ever since mère’s death. It doesn’t take my père very long to open the door. He looks at me then asks, “I thought you said you were going to go to bed early?”
“I was,” I say, “ But something came up. I need to talk to you.”
    He tenses up, I hardly notice, then lets out a sigh. He nods and moves to let me in. I sweep my gaze across the room. To my surprise, it is still very neat, as like nobody has been here. Maybe it should not be a surprise because père has always been very tidy. I spot a cushioned chair and sit down.
    Père grabs another chairs and sits across from me. He looks at me expectantly. So I start telling him what things have happened since I saw him less than an hour ago. I first tell about the voice I heard down the hall from my room. At first he does not react until I say what I heard them talk about. But I keep going about the rose necklace on my bed. As I did, I took out the necklace from my pocket of my shorts and hand it to him.
    He stares at it, holding carefully, his eyes moistening. I ask the main question that has been on my mind as I have been here. “Père, why couldn't the police find the shooter and why he took the necklace?”
    He looks up from the necklace at me, puts it in my hand, then begins to talk. “Naak, I think it time to tell you why Ece was killed,” He pauses, then counties, “Back when we lived in Paris, when you just a babe, we worked for a large company that worked in farming and food production. I got along with everyone. But mère had a harder time because of her condition. With that, not many liked her. So after a time, we moved to america to make a better life for us and for you.
    “Things went very well the first ten years, but then one guy took special offence at us, but mainly me, because he though we not good enough for the company and wanted me pay. He started started to send thing. Letters, pictures, anything that might get us afraid. At first, we were, but it stopped and we thought we were fine. Until, when Ece was at work, a co-worker came to tell her that a man was just asking for her the front desk. The co-worker said she sent him away.
    “We knew that he would find our home eventually, so we moved again. To Utah. And you know what we found there that made us happier, yes?” he looks me, and I nod, “After that, we at peace, that whatever happened, we would be okay. A few years went by with nothing bad happening. Then there was the day that mère was killed. We did not know that he had found us or even knew what we were doing, but he found her first and silenced her. And he took the necklace to tell me that he was there watching.
    “I still do not know if he saw and recognized you for who you were, or thought you as a co-worker. Whatever it may be, it saved you from him.
    “As it turned out, he wants to take you away from me as well to get back to me for what happened. With what you told me, person who killed this morning was at the wrong place and wrong time. And it seems that he is still after me, and to get to me, he wants to take you out.
    “I am so sorry Naak that I never told you, even after mère was gone, but you were so distraught with grief that I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Now, it may be too late.”
    I did not know what to say. That was a large bomb dropped. Not literally, but still the same. Père looks at me. I start then stop, then say, “It is never too late père. We will figure this out.”
This is what I wrote for a writing contest. I am planning on doing more for it, but I haven't had the time. I have not done any editing, proofreading, or plot planning, or any suggestions are welcomed. 


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