Mind to Die

I never thought this would be my life. Running from the police didn't exactly fit into my future plans. But I guess being framed for my family's murder wasn't exactly on that list either.

My name is Araquinn Carpenter, and I live in a very expensive, very protected, neighbourhood. I'm 21 and have never had to work a day in my life, but I recently decided to start looking for houses for myself a few weeks ago anyways. My parents were kind people, my mom being a lawyer and my dad a shareholder of a company. Our small street is cut off from the rest of the city through a thin driveway surrounded by trees.

My sister is - was - a kind person. She never wanted anything but to help others, and would even volunteer as much as she could at soup kitchens or food donation places. Her grades weren't stunning, but my parents were proud of what she did nonetheless.

I, on the other hand, wasn't as kind. I did donate occasionally and helped throw charity galas once a year, but I never put in much effort. I was much more focused on my grades and sports than I was on anything else. I'd even set aside any relationships for that reason. Yeah, that meant ignoring all the people who wanted to be my friends. If I'm being honest, the fear they'd be using me for money was good motivation away from that anyways. But thinking about it now, sprinting through the dark and mud-ridden forest, while giant splashes of rain hit my face, maybe I could've used more friends.

It's been eight hours since I ran from the wailing sirens and distant barks. Eight and a half since I found them. The carpet they had each been dragged to had already been soaked in blood. It's too much to even think about so I hit and shake my head, finally crashing into tears when I know I'm almost safe. My hands are covered in blood and my fingerprints were left on their bodies from checking their pulses. My sister's first, then my parents. I cry silently, trying to scream but no sound leaves my body. I know I'm not safe enough for that yet.

I know I shouldn’t have run. I should have stayed after I heard the sirens and rushed to the cars, but if the person who did it was still there, I didn’t want to risk being easy prey. Not to mention items had been scattered around them so it was slightly obvious this person knows things only I should know.

I decide to get up and keep trekking wherever I can sleep or eat or do something. The walk isn't hard for me, but the memories and images that flash through my mind weigh more than anything I could've ever imagined. Tears freeze on my face when they finally finish rolling and I rub my arms to keep warm. I'd just gotten home from a gala so I still have my raven dress and scarf on, but my soft coat was forgotten at home. The dress is fairly short, leaving my body to be cut by the chilling air.

I want to turn back. Go home. But my home has been destroyed. So I keep going. I walk and fall and get up until I see the moonlight strike through the treetops and begin to shower the ground. I keep walking until I finally reach the crest of the now fogging woods. I break onto a barren street, packed with gravel and potholes. I hear cars coming and hide in the tree line until they pass.

I decide to walk through the trees, following the road which eventually leads me to a bar filled with motorcycles and drunkenly chipper motorists. Maybe I can sneak in and wash my hands in the bathroom.

Hide them until I get there, I tell myself.

I take a deep breath and rush over, shoving my hands in my pockets and pushing the door open with my shoulder. People look over when I walk in so I try to look inconspicuous and head to the bathroom. Before I can, the bartender stops me.

"Sorry miss," he says, his hands on the counter and a rag draped across his shoulder, "you gotta buy something if you wanna use the bathroom." I hear a couple of men at the bar chuckle slightly.

"Just a water then," I respond, which makes him shake his head with a laugh. I head to the bathroom and immediately lock the door behind me.

The bathroom is small, with two porcelain sinks and metallic stalls. The mirrors crack at the edges and there's rust at the base of the faucets. I rush my hands under the freezing water, pressing out large mounds of white foam soap that quickly turns pink. Drops of once dry blood fall onto the white surface under them.

My hands are stained but I can pretend that's from paint. My mother taught me that trick after I got into my first fight in high school. She’d say that I would always need a good cover story and that it should always connect to my life to make it easier to state. Since there is nobody else in here, as long as nothing stays on the sink I'll be fine. But turns out I was in such a rush I forgot to check the stalls. I only realize this at the sound of an automatic toilet ringing through the space, startling me as if it were gunfire.

A woman clad in black and white tattoos walks over to the sink next to mine just as I finish rinsing away the hints of mess. She looks over at me when I walk to her side for some paper towels.

"Damn," I whisper under my breath.

"Yeah, Tommy's waiting for the shipment," she sighs, wringing her hands over the sink.

"Oh, that's fine," I reply, trying to seem courteous and upbeat.

"You okay?" She looks down at my hands then up at my skittish expression which I'm failing to hide.

"Yeah totally," I lie. "I just had a bad day at work and then got syrup all over my hands - don't ask."

She looks at me suspiciously. "So your hands are stained because of the syrup?"

I look at her for a second with confusion then immediately remember my cover story, acting as if I hadn't even noticed.

"Oh no, I'm a painter...I dropped red paint this morning. I spilled syrup, like, five minutes ago." Smooth.

She looks at me suspiciously while rubbing her hands on her muscle shirt, which is the only cotton fabric she's wearing. Her pants are a tight fake leather and a mark from a jacket button sticks out on her wrist. I look at her while she fixes her very short blonde hair in the mirror.

"You're already gorgeous, you don't have to fix anything," I comment, nearly at the bathroom door again. I can see my comment working when her hand stops for a second and her eyes dart over to me ever so slightly. The corner of her mouth just barely quirks up.

"I was gonna tell you this anyway," she started, fixing her deep red lipstick, "most of the guys here are good but there are a few that you need to watch out for, okay?"

"Oh, I'm not planning on staying." Shit. Cause someone would come to a bar for the bathroom, that's a great lie.

"The atmosphere scaring ya?" She jokes, smirking now with an amused gaze.

"I mean the 'atmosphere' in here is pretty nice," is what I say before slapping a hand to my mouth. What am I doing? Flirting? Right now? I've never flirted in my life.

But that seems to work out in my favour as the woman before me hides her smile from that horrible sentence. I'm trying not to break down and spill everything but somehow talking to her has already calmed me down a bit. Still, when I remember them I feel guilt and memories rushing through again. I shut my eyes tight to block it out.

"Woah you okay?" The woman asks, but before I can respond her phone rings. "One sec."

She answers and has a hushed conversation with whoever is on the other side. When she hangs up she gives me an apologetic look.

"Sorry, I gotta go. Work stuff."

I'm kind of relieved when she says that but my stomach also twists.

"Yeah, don't worry about it, good luck with whatever it is, " I smile back and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Why don't I get your number and we can continue this conversation over drinks sometime? I know a cafe that isn't filled with 40-year-old men."

"Yeah that sounds fun," I agree, holding out my hand, which gets a weird reaction from her. "My phone's in my boot and I feel like it'd be weird to pull it out right now."

She smiles and opens her Contacts app before handing over her phone. I type in my name and number then hand her phone back. She looks at it then laughs.

"You really put your name as ‘Bar Girl'?"

"I'd much rather introduce myself over coffee," I smile slightly. Half of that is true, honestly, but I also don't want her knowing my name in case she knows - knew - my family.

"Well, I can't wait then. See you soon."

With that, she hurriedly takes off and I'm left in the bathroom alone. I lock the door again and press my back against it, finally able to stop smiling. Tears come to my eyes but I push them down and leave the bathroom.

"The water is free here but I'm going to let you off this once," the bartender teases, "only cause you look like crap though."

I fake a chuckle and gesture a goodbye before leaving the bar, breathing in the cool air I was running in just fifteen minutes ago. I decide to turn at the street on the right of the bar, which eventually leads me into a casual part of town with motels and diners. Thank the Goddess.

Words can't describe how thankful I am to have a family friend that owns the very first motel I stare at. The Bookkeeper Motel is a one-story building with about six guest rooms and a check-in desk. There’s a small space for breakfast and lunch which I got to design while I helped the owner, Andrea, redecorate everything. The doors are painted a shiny cotton pink, pastel blue curtains covering the windows. I walk through the small parking space to the office where I meet Andrea face-to-face. The news is on and she looks at the tv before yanking for the remote and shutting it off. Before she does, I catch a glimpse of the story which reads, ‘CARPENTER FAMILY FOUND DEAD, DAUGHTER STILL MISSING.’

I catch what the reporter says as well before the screen goes black.

“Officers say Araquinn Carpenter is only a person of interest, but I’d bet my money on her being the only suspect,” he states, confidently. I’m frozen in place by his words and Andrea immediately hugs me, rubbing comforting circles on my back.

“Don’t listen to him honey,” she coos. I can hear her voice shaking before she pulls out of the hug enough to see my face. Her eyes fill with tears as she drags my hair behind my ear. “You know David Dougal only says those things for publicity.”

“They-they can’t really believe that. I’d never…” I try to speak but my voice dies in my throat. Instead, thick tears stream down my cheeks and I fall to my knees while holding onto her. She sits with me, crying and hugging me back for what feels like an eternity until we both can’t cry anymore. Finally, we let go, with Andrea leaving for a moment to look for blankets and water after sitting me down on a fold-out chair, then we sit in silence for nearly twenty minutes as my body adjusts to the warmth of the room.

“Quinny,” Andrea finally says, “what happened - where were you?” She is trying to be careful with her words.

“I…” I take a deep breath then start again, “I ran away when I saw…

“Don’t talk about it if it’s too hard, honey. But you shouldn’t have run.”

“I couldn’t stay…” tears well in my eyes and Andrea pats my shoulder.

“I know, but you’ll have to call in or head to the station to clear your name.”

Before I can respond, my phone vibrates in my boot and I pull it out, seeing an unknown number lighting up the screen. I answer it.

“So Araquinn Carpenter, huh?” I’m surprised when the woman from the bar says my name.

“How did you-”

“Your photo is everywhere already, I don’t think you understand how much this town loves to gossip.” Remembering back to when I brought my first girlfriend here, I stay silent.

“So, you think I…did that?”

There’s a long pause.

“I’m not saying that. I knew you were lying to me before and I want you to tell me the truth but I’m trusting my gut with you. I don’t think you could’ve...done that. Now tell me where you are so I can pick you up.”

I breathe a sigh of relief that I had been holding in the entire call but my stomach still twists at her words and the flashes of memory.

“How do I know if I can trust you?” I ask, obvious suspicion in my hesitant whisper.

“Because I’m the detective on your case now,” she states and I can hear her car engine revving up. This single night has been the most emotional and confusing one I’ve ever experienced and now the only person keeping me up turns out to be involved too. Great.

“I’m at the Bookkeeper Motel,” I say despondently, looking over to Andrea.

“I’ll be right there, I’m close to it.”

The phone call ends with silence and I wait by the front window until a sleek black car with shining silver rims rolls into the parking lot. She gets out and heads inside where she looks over at me before nodding to Andrea. She walks closer to me as if making sure I’m not injured while she speaks.

“I’m Detective Maya Jack, nice to meet you.”

Andrea stares at her with squinted eyes, judging her harshly. “It would have been under other circumstances. Here to take Quinny away?”

“It’s just procedural since she left the crime scene. Her hands were stained so it wasn’t difficult to find out she was there.” She looks over at me with an apologetic look when she references my situation and I eventually stand up to follow her.

“I’ll be okay Andrea, I trust her,” is all I can muster before the ginger-haired woman hugs me one last time. We leave the warm space and head to the car where Maya holds open the passenger door for me.

“You don’t want me in the back?” I ask curiously, which is received with a slightly cold yet kind expression.

“I told you I trust you,” she scolds me slightly but looks away as if she regrets the way she said it. I let a thankful smile on my lips and settle into the passenger seat. Maya gets into the driver's seat, rolling her eyes when she looks over at me. She clicks her belt into place and I reluctantly put mine on too, not used to using one since I rarely drive.

“So we’re going to the station then?” I ask as she pulls out of the parking lot and onto the street. I can see the pale curtains glide closed in one of the rooms from the corner of my eye.

“Yeah, we’re going to need a statement and your prints since - well you know.”

I nod in understanding and it’s silent for a few minutes until she speaks up again.

“So, are you okay?” she asks with hesitation, almost as if she’s afraid to speak. I look over to her with a blank stare and she looks back to the road with pursed lips. “Right, sorry. I just meant, like, were you physically hurt?”

A small smile plays on my lips. The worry in her voice would have made me blush at any other time, but right now I’m just grateful for her kindness.

“I got there after everything, so aside from some scrapes and bruises I’m fine.”

“I’ll ask everything at the station for the legality, but I'm glad you're alright. When I found out who you are and what had happened…” her voice trails off as if there was something more she’d wanted to say.

I look down at my darkly stained hands in the shadows of the street lights while her foot presses a little heavier on the gas pedal. It’s a black Dodge Charger with tinted windows and it makes me feel safe. Or she does, I can’t decide. Maya opens my door once we arrive, ushering me into the station with a gentle hand against my back.

“Hey, Monroe!” she calls to a curly-haired woman with high-waisted pants and a vibrant purple shirt. Her eyes widen when she looks at me, whispers and eyes picking up to follow her gaze.

“Come on,” she gestures her head towards a hall lined with multiple doors. Some police stand up as we pass, staring at me in shock. I look down at the floor and sink further into Maya’s side who grips a little tighter to comfort me.

The woman that leads us opens a door and we walk into a small room with a metal table and rickety chairs hollowed in the back. There’s a hook on the table for handcuffs sitting opposite a wall with a mirror covering the majority of it. Maya motions for me to take the chair near the hook, taking one of the two on the other side. I breathe deep calming breaths which doesn’t seem to sit well with the woman Maya called Monroe.

“You have two seconds to explain where you were tonight,” Monroe states, though it is much more of a scolding manner than an accusing one. It’s hard to talk or even think about, but I answer the question to the best of my ability.

“I was at a gala and decided to come home early - there was a lot of drinking and I try not to drink much,” I explain at the pair's gaze. I keep going, “When I got home…they were there already…” I say the last part in a whisper, barely able to keep thinking about it.

“You better have an alibi for that,” Monroe comments. Maya looks at her in shock.

“She isn’t a suspect, Cal,” she states, anger hinting at her voice.

“She’s the sole heir now, right? Seems like a great motive.” They both look at me and I see two very different emotions playing on both of their faces. I’m shocked by her accusations, but I also understand them logically. That doesn’t stop a surprised gasp from leaving my angry lips.

“I wouldn’t have ever done anything like that! I never even cared about our money! None of us did.” The thought of asking for a lawyer crosses my mind but I am not guilty and I know it.

Maya nods at this, believing me completely. I’m grateful to have her here.

“So then go through the details,” Monroe starts again, “we can show you some photos if you need a reminder.”

My body freezes completely and tears well behind my eyes. “No,” I whimper. The woman’s eyes soften, and I watch as something immediately snaps for her, her entire physical standing changing in an instant.

“Is there anyone you know that might have held a grudge against you or your family?” she asks, sitting down in front of me.

I think hard. Nobody has ever wanted to hurt my family, but I am a different story.

“I rejected a lot of people in school - mostly friends, but some did try asking me out. Aside from that, the list could be longer.” I stop for a moment, trying to think of anyone specifically before a face pops into my stunned mind.

“What is it?” Maya asks curiously, on the edge of her seat, the back legs lifting slightly.

“A man…tall build, caucasian. He attacked me last week.”

Both of their eyes widen in shock, Maya trying to recover by looking away, though Cal’s mouth is still left agape when she continues asking me questions.

“Why wasn’t this incident reported to the police? Let alone, why did you only remember about it now?”

“It happens a lot,” I sigh as I begin my explanation, “my parents wanted bodyguards but I kept ditching them. My biological mother apparently had some bad company so they’re typically looking to get back the way they know how.”

“And you never thought they’d come after your family?” Cal asks, regaining her professional attitude.

“He was a cop,” I look at them with low lids and a tilted head, unfazed by her question. “And we did file a report, but you can guess how that went over.”

The two look regretful and angry. I know exactly what they’re feeling but say nothing.

“Do you know anything else about him?” Monroe asks, to which I nod.

“He had a nail mark around his right wrist and some kind of healed burn on his neck.” They look at each other immediately, not needing - or wanting - to question how I determined the scars.

“Arin Galvin,” Monroe confirms, and she gets up after she and Maya exchange a long, worried look. “We need to get you out of here, now. Maya will take care of you from here on out but you two need to leave through the back as fast as possible.”

Maya’s already up and scouting the hallway before she pulls me with her through the hall and down a flight of stairs. We make it to the back exit with no other police or staff seeing us and she slips her keys from a pocket on her jacket, checking under and around the car before opening my door and getting into the driver’s seat.

“What were you doing?” I ask, clicking my seatbelt into place.

“Checking to make sure he didn’t bug the car or something,” she mumbles, turning the key in place and speeding out of the station. “We’ll ditch the car halfway anyways and take a rental.”

“Wait, why? I don’t understand what’s happening,” I speak hurriedly, my eyes wide with frustration and confusion.

“That man - Arin Galvin - he’s one of the most powerful cops around here and if he’s after you, he won’t stop until he gets what he wants. Any ideas on what that is?”

“My head on a silver platter I guess?” I half-joke though I fear that is most likely what he does want. Maya looks over, completely unamused.

“Think, Araquinn.”

“It’s Quinny” I correct.

I think back to the day he attacked me. It was dark and I was getting home late from practice, the trees were flush with wind. He was at the front steps brandishing a silver and red pocket knife that seemed as old as him.

“Something personal I think,” I begin.” He had an old pocket knife and was in dark clothes, so he didn’t want to be seen, right?”

“Keep going, you're doing great,” she comforts, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“He said something but I didn’t hear him, then I punched him when he came at me and he ran off.”

Maya nods before slamming hard on the breaks.

“What happened!” I yell looking at the front of the car. A deer looks up at the headlight and casually walks back into the woods. I chuckle with relief as she speeds up again, her breath slightly raggedy.

“You okay?” she asks passively.

“Are you?”

She only looks at me for a brief second before turning her gaze back to the road.