READER DISCRETION ADVISED: this story may be disturbing for some younger peoples

Of Marble Staircases and Murder

CatCooper

I run my hands over the smooth handrail, slowly ascending the stairs.  I think how fast Halloween is approaching, how fast the anniversary of my finding Art Fellows on this very staircase approached.  Finding him being murdered, that is. 

 

I glance at my hands, shuddering as thought the blood is, quite literally, on them, as it was last year. 

Another party, another day, another caterer could’ve changed everything. 

I could say I remember it like it was yesterday, but that would be a lie.  I recall every detail as though it had only happened five seconds previously.  As though his chilling body is still in front of me, his killer still running from me.

 

“Annie.”  I am snapped out of my reverie by my coworker and closest friend Haley’s voice.  I turn around quickly to face her, knowing I am as pale as the dead.  “Annie, the party starts in thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, uh, I, uh, I-I-I,” I stutter trying to regain some semblance of composure.  “I just need a few more minutes.” 

 

“Alright.”  Her voice is compassionate, as always, and I know she’s trying her best to understand why I would want to spend time at a place I witnessed a murder.  “Just go to the kitchen when you’re done.”  Though I have turned back around, so that I am facing the enormous window at the foot of the stairwell, I sense her hesitation.  Haley doesn't want to leave me alone now.  She wants to kiss the booboos away, make everything all better, like the mother hen she has been since our first job together with Hiltrage Catering Company. 

 

When she does depart and the loud clicks of her heals fade, surrendering the corridor to an eerie silence, I slowly sink onto one of the steps, pressing my face into one of the handrail’s supports, wishing closure would come.

 

I stood with champagne on a tray, distracted by the happy couple I could see from the corner I stood in.  The woman was beautiful, that could be seen despite the peacock mask she wore, a large diamond on her ring finger.  The man, who was obviously her fiancé, grinned as he said something to her and ripped off the feathered mask he wore.  She laughed loudly, and he joined in, wrapping an arm around her waist.

 

I knew it wasn’t me they were laughing at me, but it seemed like they were.  So often, since there was no longer a ring on my finger, but a fading tan line, it felt like the whole of nature was mocking me.  Birds migrated and bears prepared to hibernate, but I was still stuck on an ex-fiancé who’d left me for my own cousin.

 

Too distracted with my brooding to feel the tray being pulled out of my hands, I was surprised to see Haley with the champagne.

 

“You need a break,” she said before I could protest.

 

I nodded and she gave me a small shove, pushing me away from the late-running masquerade Hiltrage was catering.

 

Finding a secluded, but gorgeous stairwell, I let a few tears escape the tight hold I had kept over them all night. I rubbed my ring finger, missing the texture of the rough stone being under my thumb more than a fish out of water misses breathing.

It occurred to me that that’s who I had been in my ex-fiancé’s social circle.  I never had and never would belong in a rich world full of Dolce and trust finds.  I didn’t belong in a palace-like building, on a marble staircase with a huge window holding a perfect view of the crescent moon above.

 

A beautiful staircase filled with the echo of erratic footsteps.

 

I quickly hid in an alcove at the top of the stairs, not wanting to disturb one of the masquerade’s guests. 

 

Despite the mask and drunken gait, I recognized the intruder as being Art Fellows, an elderly but wealthy banker.

 

It was dark enough that I didn’t see the silhouette looming behind him suspiciously until it was far, far too late.  Fellows was given a hard shove, and, maybe because of his advanced age or intoxicated state, did not catch himself.  I could almost hear bones snap and shatter as he tumbled down one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, and twelve steps.  As soon as I saw the blood pool beneath his head, I screamed.

 

I rushed from my place in the shadows, shrieking, “What have you done?  What have you done?” 

 

In a thoughtless panic, the man in black turned to face me for but a second, yet his face, illuminated slightly by the moonlight,  would be forever burned in my mind.  A large, crooked nose, thin lips and a thin face, with distant amber eyes.

 

He dashed out of sight, ignoring my roars, “Coward!!! Just run like a scared little boy!!! Coward!!!”

 

I rushed where Fellows lay and searched for a nonexistent pulse.  Crimson coated my hands, a warmth that made me gag along with it.

 

My phone buzzes loudly, making me flinch. 

A text from Haley reads, “Where r u?? Prty n 10 min!!”

I know she is not worried about me being late, but being lost in the world of darkness this place holds for me.  She is the one I told about the nightmares of remote amber eyes and their owner, of cold, rigid bodies, of shadows swirling around me until I am engulfed, unable to escape.

 

I quickly message back, saying I’d be at the kitchen soon enough.

Over the last year, I’d wondered why I had to be there that night, at that spot.  Why I had to be the one to witness Fellows’ murder.  Why I had to be haunted almost constantly by the man’s slim faces and aloof expression. 

 

Of course, I remind myself that, without me, the carefully planned assault would have deemed an accidental death.  No identification would’ve been made for the killer if it my detailed description hadn’t existed.  Consequently, no one would’ve discovered the connection between the killer and Mrs. Fellows, the supposedly mourning widow.

 

I shake my head; it is just mind-boggling that an insurance pay out could be worth killing for.

 

I stand, willing myself to fall into a dreamless sleep when I get home.  A dreamless sleep without cold, dead hands and men in black.