The Day Hope was Murdered

3. Two Liars

Thank you @Silver_Mystic for the cover!! I absolutely love it:)

// Chapter 3: Two Liars \\

     You know those moments when you stomach starts to feel funny and you desperately want to be anywhere but where you are in that moment? When you go over every possible outcome in your mind about what will happen and they all turn out worse than a horror movie? When you tell yourself that you'd rather die than face that one person? If you have, then come join the party. Because I'm experiencing all this and more right now.

     To be honest, I am completely freaked out to see him. And not in that way like when some people are freaked out to see their favorite band. More freaked out when a dude points a gun at your head. I follow the nurse down the hallway until we stop at a black door with a little window at the top.

     Almost there, I tell myself. I'll be seeing him any second now.

     She opens the door, and motions for me to go in. I look around. The medium-sized room is filled people sitting at tables and a play area where it looks like some little kids are playing with their father. But I don't see him anywhere. Probably because I've never actually met him before. Turning to the lady, I grab her sleeve before she leaves. Seeing the questioning look on my face, she points to a guy sitting at a table in the back corner. "Thank you," I mouth to her. Then, she's gone.

     I look over at him. He's staring down at the table, a disheveled look on his face. I wonder if he ever gets any visitors.

     Suddenly, he looks up and stares directly at me. I can't move. His face . . . It's so young; I expected someone much older. But it looks as if he's not much older than me. I'm rooted to the ground. I'm not ready for this at all. I need to leave. This is just too intimidating. I turn around towards the door, and place my hand on the door knob. But then, before I even know what I'm doing, I let go, turn around and take twelve steps to get to the table in the corner.

     He's right in front of me now. Merely a few feet away. I can feel the sweat pouring out from my body.

     "Hi," I manage to croak out. His deep brown eyes are looking into mine and it's as if he can read my soul. But his mouth doesn't move. Way to go, Leila. The first thing you say to the guy who killed your very own sister is 'hi?' Seriously? The minutes pass by in complete and utter silence.

     Finally, I can't take it anymore; I can feel the anger oozing up out of me, but I manage to control it. Right as I open my mouth to break the silence, he speaks.

     "Leila, oh Leila. You've grown up quite a bit, I can see. I love the new haircut. It's quite . . . what's the word?" He taps his finger on his chin. "Oh yeah . . . hairy. How are you these days?"

     I cough. Has he seen me before or something? Hold up. I haven't even gotten a haircut recently.  My brain is muddled by those first few sentences alone. Not good, Leila. Not good. "I'm just gonna cut straight to the chase. Did you murder my sister?"

     He replies, yet in a way, he doesn't. "Well . . . would I be in this place if I didn't?"

     "I ask the questions here. Did you, or did you not murder my sister?"

     He swallows, his eyes glance away as he replies, "Why, yes. Of course I did." His eyes still avoid my piercing gaze.

     "Okay." I pause, holding in the tears. "Why?"

     He just gives me a blank stare.

     I speak louder. "Why did you kill my sister?"