Trapped in a Killer's Memory

“Wherever shall I go?” Amerys whispered quietly to herself. Blades of fallen, dying grass lie at her feet—freshly clipped amidst orbing bulbs of bright pink tulips that had been plucked from her dead hands. It was the first time Amerys realized anything was wrong. Her head wasn’t fully attached to her body, at least not in any conventional form or fashion.

She—it appeared—had left it behind. Unwillingly, of course.

She had been told over and over again—just how quickly all of this would be over. Just a few more seconds. Just a few more seconds.

The words consumed her. The quiet way the man spoke did little to quell the fear. He was so calm, so calculated, so methodical. The way he held her, the way he cut, the way he watched the life drain from her wounds; blood that now dried in the sun. It was unfair, mostly because it was all her own blood being spilled. Her life being taken. The stark realization that yet, it would be all over soon.

Life would still go on after hers stopped.

Everyone says accidents happen quickly, but Amerys would beg to differ. It took four-and-a-half full minutes to die, and she felt every painful, desperately dreadful moment. Her dress—dyed off white, stained by years of washing in stripped denim water made her look much younger than she likely appeared. Maybe that is what got her killed, a naivety, a common air of innocence. A series of small, slightly unreasonable decisions. She had lessened her grip on reality, her hands still clutching to the Earth as though it might shield her for what would inevitably happen next.

It was, after-all, her decision to cut through the treeline and out onto the old two-eighteen. An area of abandoned farmland that stretched miles until a house dotted the horizon. She had first spotted the man as he stood along a dilapidated fence line, looking mostly out of place. Dust from the dirt road still hung in the air as though a car might have been through recently. It was a man in a similarly dyed, thick cotton, stained button-up and brown trousers. A gray tweed cap covered his unkempt, unshaven head. He had the kind of skin that showed a rougher way of living.

“Just my luck someone so beautiful would pass, must be fate the two of us met.”

His words hung heavy. The spirit of death passing between them. For a second it pained her she had let him so near, but it also soon became clear he would never have let her go. It was no coincidence the two of them had crossed paths. Any person unlucky enough to stumble across them might have thought them to be kin, lovers, or acquaintances of some sort.

Amerys knew better.

“Maybe in another life, sweetheart,” he whispered. His fingers lovingly grazing her forehead and cheek.

“It is all rather unfortunate for you, but it will all be over soon.”

“Who will want me now,” Amerys cooed, her spirit seemed overly concerned about becoming the kind of person one whispered about in passing. She would become the latest casual diner conversation, a missing girl found dead. No one would have missed her on any other ordinary day, but it just so happened that today, she crossed paths with just the right person.

His name was Thomas Melvin and he was her killer.

By this time, Amerys skin had started to mottle, purple pin-pricks dotting her eyes and neck. Blotchy veins mapped her arms and legs. She was a mess, even in death. How it felt was already too late to matter. No one was coming to save her. No one was coming to stop him. The strange part was the blood, there wasn’t much of it, but it surprised Amerys as to how quickly the fear of dying faded when she finally saw herself. How tragic the entire day had been, her life, her death, all of it—and there was nothing she could do to change it.

“It was an accident,” the man named Thomas Melvin whispered. Amerys’s ghost hung quietly overhead as though she could pester him into a confession. Maybe, just maybe, if he told himself that lie enough times, rehearsed it enough, it might just become gospel. It wasn't his first time.

“She wanted to die, she told me… I tried to save her, to help her…”

Amerys watched him tilt his head, slightly curious—just as he had done right before she got close enough for him to grab. It was as though he could see himself reflected back in her cold eyes. As though he could hear her incessant thoughts.

Whatever it was, his words fell quietly upon Amerys’s body.

She was all that remained.