The wind ruffled the crisp blue curtains hanging from the wall. I rolled over and pushed myself out of bed. I could tell it was early by the cool taste of the breeze blowing through the hallway. The water rushing from the sink felt surprisingly cold as I splashed it on my face. My hand blindly found the towel hanging on the bathroom wall. The roughness of the towel matched the roughness of my face. I realized I still had to go pick up a new razor from the corner store. I decided that my cat had kicked my old one off the little window ledge where I usually leave it. I stumbled back down the hall to the kitchen to get some breakfast, or some excuse for breakfast. The fridge was bare except for some milk and an egg. I grabbed the milk carton to add a splash of white to my deep brown steaming coffee.
As I walked toward the large dining room table, I was distracted by a familiar picture on the wall. My sister’s dark green eyes smiled at me through the dusty glass of the frame. The house around me felt suddenly more vast and empty than it usually did. Bridget and I grew up in this house. We used to play hide-and-seek for hours until we knew every single hiding place, then our parents would yell at us when we used the hiding places to conceal ourselves when we got in trouble. Our mother died in a car crash when I was twelve and Bridget was nine. My sister and I became very close after that. We talked about everything. She used to joke about how she would never need a therapist because she had me. We both moved back home a couple of years earlier after our father passed away. I felt a shiver down my spine when my mind flashed back to last year. I couldn’t shake the image of my sister lying motionless in her bed, red staining the sheets around each wrist and around the kitchen knife lying beside her. She was always such a positive person; there was no way to see it coming. If anyone, I would have been the one to notice if she was unhappy. Since the day she died, I had nightmares about saving her; about realizing something was wrong before it was too late. Every morning is harder than the next; waking up and remembering she’s gone, then seeing those beautiful smiling eyes on the wall.
After I finished my coffee, I quickly got dressed and left for work, straightening the rug by the door as I walked out.
I got home late. I picked up some take-out Chinese and a razor on the way. I was too tired to eat any of the take-out when I got back, so I threw it in the fridge along with the milk and the egg. I was also too tired to straighten the rug by the door when I saw it was once again lying askew. I crawled into bed and immediately fell asleep.
I woke up late the next morning. I stretched and began my usual journey to the bathroom, but my journey was quickly interrupted when I reached the hallway. I stood frozen in my doorway, my eyes locked on the floor in front of me. The kitchen knife caught the light coming from the bathroom window and reflected it on the wall next to me. I didn’t know what to do so I tore my eyes away from the shiny metal and got in the shower. I didn’t know what to think. I had seen that very same knife in my dream the night before, but I expected it to be tucked away in its usual drawer when I woke up.
After I dried off, I walked back into the hallway. I took a deep breath, picked up the knife, held it tight in my hand, and made my way to the kitchen. I was thankful when I saw the drawer was already open, that just meant one less second I would have to hold the knife in my trembling hand. I was too concerned with getting the knife out of my sight to question why the drawer was open at all. When I was sure the drawer was closed tightly, I picked up the phone and dialed the first number that my fingers knew.
“Hello?” I heard on the other line.
“Hi, Sammy?” The name sounded strange coming from my mouth.
“Yes?”
“Um, hey, it’s Elliot. I know we haven’t talked for a while, but I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” The desperation in my voice was very clear.
The doorbell rang about half an hour later. I opened the door quickly and was greeted by a concerned look on my ex-girlfriend’s face.
“Hey, come in. Do you want some tea or coffee or something?” My attempt at a casual tone failed. The troubled thoughts bouncing around in my head showed in my face.
“What’s going on, Elliot? You sounded really worried on the phone and you don’t look so good now either.” Her voice was harsh but still comforting.
“Let’s sit.” I motioned towards the living room.
We sat down on the old fluffy couch. I was trying to think of a good way to explain what I thought was going on. I didn’t want to sound crazy even though I almost felt like I was. Sammy didn’t miss a beat. “So what’s up?”
“I think I’m sleepwalking,” I began. “This morning I found a knife lying in the hallway… The knife.”
“The knife?” Sammy looked puzzled.
“You know, the knife? The knife that my sister…”
“Oh! So you think…?”
“I don’t know what I think. I’m just… I’m scared. I have nightmares about that night all the time. I just don’t know what to think.”
“So how can I help?”
“Do you think you could stay here tonight? And just… keep an eye on me? I’m worried that I might be trying to hurt myself. What if this is what happened to Bridget? That would explain how I never saw it coming.”
“Sure, anything you need. I know it’s been hard.”
“Thanks, Sammy.”
That night, the two of us ate microwaved take-out Chinese and watched re-runs of Scrubs on Comedy Central. We laughed like everything was okay but we both knew that wasn’t the case. Around eleven I wished Sammy a goodnight and went to sleep, catching my sister’s eye for a second as I passed the picture in the hall.
The nightmares were worse that night. I ran down the hall as fast as I could and tried to get into my sister’s room but the door wouldn’t open. I could hear her screaming inside but no matter how hard I pushed, the door would not budge. My frustration boiled up into a sudden feeling of helplessness. I woke up in a cold sweat. I was relieved to see there was nothing in the hallway as I made my way to the bathroom. I took a quick shower then went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Once again I was suddenly unable to move. My eyes would not break away from the open drawer in front of me, the same drawer I made sure to shut tight just twenty-four hours ago.
“Sammy?” My voice echoed around the house. “Sammy?” Again I heard the name bounce between the walls but I heard no response.
I walked slowly towards the old couch we had been laughing on just the night before. “Sam…” My voice stopped as I looked around the other side of the couch. Sammy lay delicately on the fluffy sofa. Red stained the fabric around her neck and the rug around the knife lying on the floor beside her. My head started spinning. I grabbed the phone and dialed the first number my fingers knew.
When the police showed up, I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? I woke up and she was dead? That’s the truth but it doesn’t sound very convincing. I explained my sleepwalking and then forced myself to accept the only conclusion that made sense as I spoke it allowed. “I guess… I guess I did this…”
I had never been handcuffed before. I had never been in a cop car before. I had never been to jail before. I guess there’s a first time for everything. I couldn’t stand thinking about what had happened. How could I have hurt Sammy, the girl I loved for so many years? I wanted to marry her and I think she felt the same, but then I screwed it up one drunken night when I cheated. She was crushed and ended it immediately but I still loved her; I never stopped. All my rushing thoughts were wearing me out. My eyes felt heavy and soon I was asleep. I still dreamed about my sister. It was the same dream as the night before, except this time when she screamed, she screamed my name.
“Elliot Charmichael!” The officer’s voice shook me out of my nightmare.
“Yes?” I answered groggily, trying to sound awake. I heard some keys clanging, then a lock turning.
“You’re free to go.” The officer slid open the bars.
“What?”
“You’re free to go,” he repeated in the exact same tone as before.
I tried to ask more questions, but the officer told me he didn’t know anything about the case, he was just supposed to let me go. I stumbled out of the police station and started walking home. My mind could not wrap around all the events that just happened. Nothing made sense. The facts turned over and over in my head but nothing came together. If I was the murderer I thought I was, why would they let me go? Was it another suicide? It didn’t look like one but maybe that was the case. Sammy was not that kind of person either though; she would never take her own life. I was standing at my front door before I knew it. I went inside, straightened the rug by the door, and sat in my father’s favorite chair in the study. The phone interrupted my nonsensical thoughts.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Hello, Elliot Charmicheal? This is Detective Harlock. I’m investigating the death of Sammy Jones. I need to ask you a few questions.” The detective’s voice was clear and direct.
“Of course, Detective.” This call gave me hope; maybe someone would finally explain to me what exactly happened.
“Who else, beside you and Ms. Jones, was at, or had access to the house last night?”
The detective’s question confused me. Why would he be asking about another person? There was no one else here.
“No one,” I replied. “ I live by myself. No one else has a key.”
“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Jones, there must have been someone else in the house.”
A flash of the crooked rug by the door entered my mind. The detective continued, “The fingerprints we lifted from the murder weapon match neither your or Ms. Jones’ prints.”
A soft click broke the silence on the phone line.
“Detective?” I asked timidly.
“Yes, Mr. Jones.” He was still on the line.
I let the phone fall out of my hand and land softly on the carpet below my now standing feet. I grabbed my keys from the desk and began moving towards the front door. I had to get out of this house. I was around the corner from the entry hall when I heard another click. This one was louder and more familiar. Before I turned the corner I tried to place that sound in my head, that click. It sounded like a lock. It sounded like it came from the front door.