Weeping Willow

Weeping Willow

By Emma French

.

Dedicated to Andra Horton

For teaching me so much about writing

Copyright 2015

Maple Leaf Writing Project

Brattleboro, Vermont

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I stare blankly at the deep brown bark on the old willow tree in the back yard, re-running the events of the previous couple days. I reach my hand up to feel the dampness on my cheek. Tears had been rushing down for the past hour or so. The pain still wedged in my heart.

The feeling I had just felt was something, me Willow, no child should ever have to go through. I still can’t believe this is happening to me, why me? The pain of such loss, the feeling of a dagger penetrating into my heart without a single soul to mend it. I couldn’t stand the thought of life without my mother. She had been my best friend since, well forever actually. I mean of course there were things I would change, but my life was wonderful till, you know. The only thing that could circle through my mind is what type of dark-souled demon could murder such an altruistic human being. As well as pain, I feel mountains of fear piling inside of me. What if this killer was interested in consuming me as well?

11 Months and 2 weeks Later

My father has been staying with me since the incident about a year ago. It hadn’t always been like this. Before my mother died I would only see him a few times a year.

At about 9:00 my father calls me down to the kitchen and broke the news that he will be leaving for 9 months on business. He tells me that my Aunt Sophie will be coming to stay with me. The next two weeks raced by and before I know it Sophie and I are farewelling my father as he boards his plane to Japan.

I feel tension between me and my new caretaker as we head for our taxi cab. The whole entire ride home an awkward silence built between the two of us. Knowing I will have to live with such an sloppy rat hurts inside. I don’t exactly know how she relates to anything sloppy or rat-ish but that’s the first rude name that pops to mind.

Once we reach my home I notice a strange-looking package toppled over on the porch as if someone was in quite a rush to drop it and go. As I approach the small box I see my name with the words Happy Birthday in awful penmanship written on the top. I pick up the box and carry it up my staircase right to the patio table where I open the little box. I tear open the rough brown paper to find a small doll laying inside. Its eyes stare directly into mine as if it is in a trance. I can’t figure out if i am scared or intrigued. Its eyes are all black except a few spots where the paint had chipped, its broad lips are shiny red as if they were recently painted. White ragged scraps of fabric make a dress sort of thing that covered its body and burn marks were all over its pale skin. It reminds me of one of those insanely creepy dolls you would see in an horror movie. I rummage through the small box looking for any name or note, but nothing. I decide to ignore the sinister doll, so I leave it there hoping it will just disappear.

All through the evening I try to start a conversation with the odd woman I call my aunt, but whenever I try to acknowledge her she just blatantly ignores me.

“So, what do you do?” I asked in my last attempt.

She looks up from her book to reply, “Now is that any business of yours.” And looks back down at her book.

So instead of trying to interact with Aunt Sophie, I just decide to head off to get some sleep. In the morning I would be 13 years old. Which meant only three days till the anniversary of my mother’s brutal death. I knew that these next few days would be nearly impossible to suffer through.

The next morning I wake up early and sneak down the hall to my mother’s journal room. I was never allowed to step foot in this room. Behind this door was the room that she filled all her secrets with. It was off limits to everyone, not that my father cared.

My hand starts shaking. I feel as though I don’t have the muscle power to unhinge the door. Instead, I lean against it and slip to the cold floor. I begin thinking about the secrets that may lay behind these wooden planks and wonder if there may be something to lead me to my mother and how she died.

I sit with my back pushed up against the door for what seems like an hour until I finally get the courage to turn the brass handle and find the secrets that lay behind it. I Find myself in a tiny room with one desk and eight to ten lock boxes set up around the room. I run over to the desk and pick up a piece of folded paper.. All that is inside is a phone number, an address and a name. Lance Patterson.

I bolt out of moms journal room and head straight for my bedroom where I will call this mysterious Lance guy. I grab my cell phone and dial the numbers.

“Lantern Bar and Pub. How may I be of assistance?” A lady says from the other line.

“Hi, is there a Lance Patterson there?” I ask.

“Oh are you a client? Hold on.”

“Okay thank you,” I respond.

“ Hello.” I hear a deep voice come over the phone, “ You there? I am not sitting here all day for you.”

I build up my courage to respond and know I have to be very straightforward.

“ Umm… right, I’m Grace Holtin. Did you know my mother, Casey Holtin? Umm… I found this paper in her journal room. and I was wondering if…” I suddenly hear beeping on the other line knowing he hung up.

I make my way down the road to the nearby subway station,on the way to the mysterious place this address leads. As I strolled along the only thing i could think about is what i would say when i knocked on the door labeling the numbers on that crumpled up piece of paper. I also think, if this is some illegal event why would they let a 13 year old in. I can’t help but think about this even though I know it won’t be the case, “illegal” No way. Thats not who my mother was before she died, at least as far as I know.

I keep looking at street names and address numbers but nothing. The more i think the more i realize how ignorant i can be. This address could be from anywhere within Malibu or no California! How am I, a dull witted middle schooler going to be able to help solve a murder. This whole thing is so dumb!

I look up and start looking around to see if anything around me even looked the slightest bit familiar. And I see a side of a building shimmering from the sunlight, along with a beautiful Quote “It doesn’t matter how slowly you go as long as don’t Quit; success is around every corner.” Its not the words that grab me or the way it flows. I know its the simplicity that almost forces me to continue, persevere and endure no matter what. My mother deserves it.

I approach a young man

“Hi I am trying to get to this address,” I say showing him the crinkled paper,”do you happen to know where i can find it?”

“Yah I do but why? That is not a place or business for people like you.” Hey tells me in a frightening voice. I wonder what he means by “business”

“Umm… yes yes,” This is when acting class finally come in handy, “Lance is my… Uncle.” i say with the fakest smile on earth.

I see the entrance to the Malibu subway station. After I buy the ticket I check out a map and bored the red line heading north.

About ten minutes later I am walking along a stone path I have never seen. I look at the road signs and see, one intersection ahead laid Lantern rd. which was the name of the road on the address! Finally, I found it.

I approach a beat down building with a rotten old sign barely hanging from the door frame that read “Lantern Bar and Pub” in big celtic letters. when I enter their are two swaying boards as if I am some super lame, tacky western film or something.

“GET OUT,” I suddenly hear from the corner behind me. “look kid, I know your under aged so don’t even try the fake ID thing with me!”

I try to stay calm and say, “No, no I won’t I am just here to talk to Lance Patterson I am… Casedy Holtin.”

“Well then… I guess Follow me, I’ve heard about you and you must be freaking out! I mean with that money you owe, just good luck.”

… “Thank you” I say slowly

“What? What is going on? did my Mom owe money. Wait, No impossible she is married to Father who is a multi millionaire!” I think to myself.

I follow the man down a thin hallway to a wooden door. When he opens the door, It looks like an old fashioned rich persons home. Red velvet heavy looking drapes cover the windows and a table with fancy bottles of alcohol sits in the corner. As I look up I see dark terrifying painting of abstract people being beheaded.

Suddenly the wooden door across the room swings open and a tall harmless looking man in a suit walks in. My eyes follow him as he makes his way to the table filled with alcohol.

“so, when were you planning to tell me your true identity?” He says as he pours himself a tall glass of whiskey (more than I had ever seen my father drink in a sitting). He sounds like some sort of fancy british man.

“Yes, umm I am very sorry about that I am actually her daughter Willow.” I say with fear building inside of me.

“Oh that girl that snoops through her dead Mother's personal life.” he says taking a sip of his drink

“Please, This all must be connected i just Need Answers! Please!” I beg as I raise my voice.

“Look, If I were to tell you about something you shouldn’t know then how would I trust you to not tell anyone.” He says

“Please, I don’t care!”

“Fine… it was an accident. But we will get to your mom’s death first I must tell you about what kind of business she was involved in”, he pauses for a moment to take a sip from his glass, “anyways, I would give her illegal weapons and she would travel all around selling them. So, At the end of each week we have a few men come around and collect the portion of money I should get. For almost two years we couldn’t find Her anywhere until about a year ago, when my men found her. I don’t know the exact details but it was awful! But she deserved it! And now that you know that I must kill you as well.” My eyes widen with fear as I think about my life ending.

A few men enter a put a burlap sack over my head and lead me out the door. I feel a breeze on my ankles and know we are now outside. I hear someone loading a gun and pull back on the trigger. A gun shot fires through the air and it only takes a second to realize I am still alive!

I feel a choke on my neck and someone pulls of the burlap sack so I can see where I am.

“Come on,” I hear from behind me. I turn around to see my Aunt Sophie holding a gun and my wrist pulling me. I stumble up and begin to run towards an alley way. I begin to think of my future, How we would ever escape these people? But we would figure that out I just knew that for once I wasn’t all alone.