CHAPTER 4 - Black Envelope

The moonlight shone down on me as I walked down the lonely streets. It has been approximately seven hours since the death of my bastard of a stepfather. I walked over to a store where they sold televisions, and unluckily for me, the news about the murder of my stepfather was on.

"What did you say happened here, ma'am?" The voice of the reporter booms through the speakers. I felt a stab in my chest as my mother's face appeared. Her eyes are puffy and red, like she has been crying non-stop.

The cops are definitely after me now.

What pained me the most was that I didn't kill him; even if I have had dreams like that a million times, I still don't have the guts to kill him.

"My son was at school when I came back from the store across the road..." she sniffs, "...I entered the house announcing my arrival like I always do, but all I got was silence. I knew something was wrong because my husband was the type to increase the television volume when no one else was at home." She cries softly, trying to hold herself so that she doesn't break down before she has the chance to finish the story. I wish I were there to console her.

"I strolled into the living room, conscious of my environment; I approached and saw a trace of something red on the floor. I didn't want to jump to conclusions; I didn't want to believe what I saw. I turned to my right to see my husband pinned to the wall with a knife sticking out of his head as the blood spilled everywhere. I screamed, which attracted the neighbors, who called the cops."

I looked at the screen with shock as my mom told all those lies. She was protecting me. She didn't have to, but she did. Even if she didn't know where I was, she still cared.

I dig my hands into my jacket pockets and feel something inside. I brought it out and saw the same note that caused all this. If I weren't going to see who had sent the letter, George wouldn't have asked me to get him a beer; none of this would have happened. I stared at the paper for another minute before dropping it in front of the store.

I need to find out what happened at home.

I had to find out what was wrong with me.

******** ******** ********

Walking through the school hallway was annoying due to the stares I got from all angles. The worst were the whispers. I tried to ignore it all as I continued walking.

I returned to my room late yesterday night to bathe, brush my teeth, change my clothes, and pack a few things. I checked on my mom, but she wasn't there, probably with a neighbor since the house was now a crime scene. I went downstairs, and the blood was still on the floor; my stepfather's body was missing.

A white tape traced how his body was on the wall when he died. I stared at the spot where I stood when it all happened. I walked over to the kitchen and saw one of the knives was missing from its place in the knife rack.

The murder weapon.

It wasn't murder! I scolded myself before jumping through the window I had come through.

I'm about to open my locker when someone calls my name. I wasn't expecting someone else when I turned around to see Dave. "How are you doing?" He looked concerned, unlike the rest of the crowd.

"Not well," I answer, opening my locker.

"I heard what happened. What happened, dude?" He asked the question I had yet to receive an answer to. Yet. "And I know something else no one knows," he whispers, stepping closer. I look at him with a raised brow and a bored expression.

"And what is that?"

"You weren't at school when your stepdad died; you were at home, weren't you?" He glared at me, daring me to deny it, but I turned back to my locker. "You know what happened."

"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't", I answer.

"Of course you do; don't try to hide it from me," he says with a severe tone.

"I..." What I saw next stopped my words. I raised my textbooks in my locker to see the same black envelope I had thrown in front of the TV store. I pulled it out to see it was the same, nothing new.

"What's that?" Dave asked behind me as he looked over my shoulder at it.

I didn't answer him but continued my research on the envelope. I opened it to see a different letter from the last one.

"Look around".

"What does that even mean?" Dave voiced my thoughts as I turned around to search my surroundings, but nothing looked suspicious. I looked back at the letter before stuffing it in my pocket, not caring about its neatness. I swung my bag over my shoulder and went to class with Dave.

"You're not answering me, Cedric." He puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me and turning me around to face him. "What's going on? I know you know something no one knows yet. So once again, what's going on?"

I dragged Dave into the Chemistry lab; luckily, they had no class. I paced around, looking for a way to explain everything to him. "My stepdad wasn't murdered, okay? You were right. I was at home when he died, and my mom was doing the chores. I got a letter like this yesterday". I brought out the letter, emphasizing it. "It told me to come outside; I was on my way when George stopped me and asked me to get a beer. We got into a massive argument, like always.

"Then he starts saying shit about my dad" I feel my temper rise just by remembering what happened. "You know how I get when talking about my dad. I warned him to stop, but he wouldn't listen and continued talking. I closed my eyes and shouted loud; when I opened it, George was hanging on the wall with a knife in his head." I took a deep breath. "I didn't do it. I didn't see what happened or who did it, but something wasn't right".

"So, you have superpowers or what?" Dave asked.

I stop in my tracks to face him, confused. " Why are you asking this type of question? It doesn't even relate to what I just said".

"Do you activate it when you are angry? Like that time with Ben and the balls?" His eyes screamed excitement.

"Stop it, Dave. I'm being serious here", I run a frustrated hand over my face.

"I'm just trying to help the best I can."

"Great method you got," I murmured.

"So why didn't you tell the cops what happened?". He asked, ignoring my side comment.

"I ran away when it happened, and I will become a suspect if I come out now and say I was there when my mom finished lying for me." I take a seat on one of the stools.

"So, what now?" He asks, leaning on the teacher's desk. "You going to tell the cops the real story or allow your mother's story to brainwash them?" He crosses his arms over his chest.

"I'm not telling the police anything," I answer, staring into thin air, thinking about nothing in particular.

"So, you're just going to sit down here, do nothing, and wait for your death?" He asks mockingly.

"No." I stand up and walk to the door; pausing, I turn around to face him with the letter in hand. "I'm going to look for who is sending me these letters." I walk out with neither a word from each of us.