FOR JACEY, ALWAYS
My heart sank the day I found myself beside the old coffee shop at Creek Avenue, where Jacey’s body lay lifeless with many civilians gathered around the scene, taking photos and conversing with each other in low tones. The police arrived a few minutes later after I did and some men wrapped him up in a body bag. I watched as they put his body into the back of a van and he stayed still, like a tree that had just been cut down. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I bowed my head and began to reminisce about the last weekend we spent together.
I felt a strange tightness in my chest, the one that made the morning feel like a bad dream.
“Hey, you Miss Wrights?” A tall, young man with a stern face walked up to me and asked.
He was the Chief Investigating Officer. I could tell because he wore a white shirt and navy blue trousers, different from the black colours the other officers had on.
“Yes, I am. I was a friend to Jacey.”
“Must be tough. The street says he was a good guy. Accept my condolences, miss.”
“Thank you,” I replied with a cold shoulder.
“You think you might know something about how his body showed up here this morning?” he asked.
“Um, not really. I only got here after our former boss, the owner of this coffee shop beside us, rang my phone.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir,” I nodded.
“Well, if you see or hear anything, here’s my number,” he said as he walked away.
I looked at the card he had given me. I couldn’t believe the police were beginning an investigation over the death of my friend. I wished the world would become a wind and lose me in the middle of its whirling. But if wishes were horses, I guess we would all ride.
I left the scene and made my way to the coffee shop. Immediately I stepped in, I spotted Mr. Smith, our old boss. Jacey and I used to work there after graduation and he was the nicest employer ever. As always, he looked like the warmest in the room.
“Oh sweets,” he said with a somber voice as he got down from the cabinet to give me a warm hug. I didn’t realize when I started bawling my eyes out as I leaned into his arms. Maybe because I felt safe around him, I didn’t need to bottle up any emotion or cry half tears.
He walked me to one of the tables and offered me a seat.
“Poor Jacey. I wonder who could’ve done this to him… to us,” he said, even though he wasn’t expecting an answer.
There was a long silence between us and we found comfort in it.
Being inside the coffee shop felt like being present in a time where Jacey still existed, sitting between the smell of espresso and the sound of the grinder.
Mr. Smith got me a cup of Americano and we sat there for a while, recounting shared memories of our dear friend.
When I got home that evening, I called the Chief Investigating Officer and told him I knew something about the murder.
“I’m 80% sure Jacey’s stepbrother is behind his murder. They fought two weeks ago over their dad’s properties after the lawyer declared the contents of the will in favour of Jacey alone. His name is Eddie. He lives downtown, lane 4, block 65.”
I ended the call abruptly, knowing I had just made one of the most risky mistakes of my life because if Eddie knew I was the one who divulged this information, my life might be in danger. Fun fact, Eddie always finds a way around things like this.
I stared quietly at my phone for long minutes, knowing that one call could tilt everything out of place.
So, I began to pack some items I would need for a few days and called Jacey’s only surviving sibling from the same mother to meet me at the penthouse by morning. It was a secret place his dad first took them and their mom to when his family rejected his marriage to her. I was the only outsider who knew. But I guess I was family now.
The next morning, I didn't wait to hear the distant horns of the early buses from two streets away. I had already packed the last few essentials I needed into my handbag and ordered an Uber. We were riding close to the penthouse when we started hearing gunshots. My driver was smart enough to suggest a diversion and we decided to take the other lane. But before we could make a turn, we got blocked off by an old, black SUV with a driver and a passenger moving like they were being chased by the feds. Before we could utter a word, they held up a gun, ushered us out of the car and drove off with ours.
Fear covered my skin with goosebumps. I could see sweat trickling down my driver’s neck like drops of water gushing out of a damaged tap. We were in the middle of danger and had no idea what step to take next. He held my hand in a bid to run for safety when a police car headed towards our direction. They stopped and immediately seized us without question.
“We know nothing about the SUV. It's not ours. We’re innocent,” I cried out.
“We’re sure you are,” the officer in the driver’s seat said as he started the engine.
He turned on the radio midway and it was being reported that Eddie was caught at the airport trying to flee the country with some very private documents relating to Jacey’s properties. Further news revealed that he was trying to escape being wanted as a core suspect of murder, who would likely be tried in court. Apparently, the police had raided the hotel where he left his gang, so they had gone to the penthouse to take Jacey’s sister hostage by the orders of Eddie. There, the shooting commenced between both parties, leaving some policemen injured and the gang members arrested, excluding the ones who took our Uber. Indeed, I was right when I said Eddie always had his way of finding out things.
Either way, my heart screamed in disbelief. Notorious Eddie had been caught. I had made the grave mistake of letting the Chief Investigator know about Eddie’s possible involvement in the murder, which did put Jacey’s sister’s life at risk, and mine too.
I felt a mix of guilt and relief, alongside the kind of grief that takes years to burn down. But I was proud I was able to save the day. I was happy my deceased friend would be getting justice.
“This is the best mistake I’ve ever made. This is for you, Jacey.” I whispered to myself as the officer drove us down to the police station for a statement.
Cover image is from unsplash
THANK YOU FOR READING MY SHORT STORY!🤗
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