Julie paid the cab driver and found herself nearly running for the front door. She fumbled with the keys for a bit, but soon enough she found herself inside. She collapsed, her breathing has heavy, her body covered in thin layer of sweat.
She lay there on the cold marble floor, her eyes squeezed shut, and cried.
Had it all been worth it? Had she really escaped her father, her family? She was right back where she started. She sat up slowly, her arms shaking. She looked up the long stairway that led to the second floor landing, and she could still picture her father standing there.
She could see him, always in that same black suit, the deep lines on his face creating a permanent scowl. What would he have done if he had seen her like this? Would he have laughed, walking down those steps towards her, a smug smile one his face.
"Stupid girl," he would say. "Now you know what I’ve known for years. You’re poison. Just like me. Everything you touch withers and dies."
He would stand over her, his hands clasped behind his back. Then he would lean down, placing a hand on her cheek, and not say a word. He would just smile, his eyes peering into hers.
She could see it all playing out so clearly. How many times had he mocked her when she had cried? Even when her brother had died he had called her "weak".
"It’s your fault!" He had said. "You should have saved him. You should have been there to protect him you little bitch!"
He had slapped her that night. It was the first and last time he had ever laid a hand on her, but he made it count.
She had been in her room when he had come storming in. She could still see the fire in his eyes. He yelled at her, grabbing her by the shoulders. He shook her so hard that her neck hurt for three days after. There was a brief moment of stillness, and then he had hit her. The blow was so hard it sent her sprawling onto the floor. She had been stunned silent. He had said nothing, just watched her as she tried to stand, but only managed to fall back onto the rug.
"You’re poison." He had seemed to spit the words at her.
Then he had left. Her mother had tried to console her, but Julie had been so stunned she couldn’t even cry. The pain was so intense that she had just frozen up.
Now, even as an adult, she still felt that intense pain.
"You bastard." Her voice was weak.
Julie stood, her legs still trembling. She looked up those stairs, at the spot she had last seen her father.
When she had left he hadn’t spoken to her. He just stood there, watching her, that smug smile on his face.
He knew what was going to happen. He knew she would eventually come back to his house, to his memory. Even in death he knew he would still be able to control her.
"You son of a bitch!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. "I should have killed you!" She took a step forward, picturing Charles Kramer at the top of those steps, just as she had left him. "You didn’t deserve to die in your sleep. You didn’t deserve to just drift off. You should have had your throat cut!"
Even in her imagination he didn’t respond. All he did was smile. Then he raised his hands and clapped once.
"Very dramatic." His voice held that familiar, mocking tone.
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them he was gone. She was alone. She brushed her long black hair out of her face, cleared the tears from her cheeks, and walked up those steps.
Being back in this house was going to drive her crazy, but she couldn’t leave now. She owed Carla, and Roy, and even Paul some time. She wasn’t going to let her father’s memory keep her from making things right for the people who had always been there for her.
She also needed answers. Her mother wasn’t the best, but she had at least tried. Victoria Kramer did the best she could under her husband’s rule. Julie would not let her disappearance go unsolved. She refused to.
She opened the door to her room, ready to collapse on the bed, when she saw it. There, on the comforter, was a small note attached to a long stemmed black rose.
She opened the note.
Your search will only bring you pain.
Be wise and end it now.
-The BRS
She ripped up the note, throwing the pieces out of the window. She was about to do the same with the rose, but something inside of her stopped her hand from flinging it out of the window.
Why waste a perfectly good flower?
She placed the rose on her dresser, next to the picture of her brother and her. It almost seemed appropriate there.
She sat on the bed, her head swimming. Then, before she could even undress, she lay back, her eyes falling shut, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.
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