Forty-Eights Hours To Remember

I sighed and entered my key into the slot of my apartment doorknob. The grooves and divots slid into place and clicked. As I turned the lock, something caught my eye. A manila envelope. Wedged halfway underneath my door, strings bound tightly around the metal clasps. It made it rather hard to push open, but after a few shoulder bumps, I was able to enter. I pushed the front door closed with the heel of my boot and scooped up the envelope, examining it. Flipping it over, there was only one word written boldly in smudged permanent marker:

E M M A

The crimson-red color was slightly ominous, but I dismissed it. Probably from my asshole landlord or something. He can’t be bothered to fix a thing, but if I was a minute past midnight when rent was due, he’d charge late fees. I let out a deep exhale, trying to push out all of the exhaustion of the day from my lungs. I tossed my keys towards the kitchen counter, clipping the side of the peeling, adhesive vinyl sending them tumbling to the floor. Damn it. Whatever.

I attempted to pull the strings around the metal clamps, but they wouldn’t budge. It was like they had been sealed with Gorilla Glue. After a few moments of a frustrated struggle, I grabbed a kitchen knife and sliced it open. I tore back the seal flap and fished the letter out.

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID

I turned the letter over.

48 HOURS

It felt like someone had wrapped a chain around my heart and started tugging from both ends. A sharp humming began to rise in both of my ears. I don’t know why, but I took it seriously immediately. I just moved here. The only people who know my address are my parents, my brother and my employer. Whoever wrote this either really did want me dead or got the wrong apartment number. I really wanted it to be the latter, but I knew it wasn’t.

“What the actual fuck?” I must’ve re-read the letter a hundred times, just trying to make sense of it all. Every other word looked like it was written by someone different. Half the words were confident, fluid strokes. The other half were shaky and unsure. Almost like they were switching back and forth between their dominant hand and their off hand. I played it over and over again in my mind. Okay, say I did do something worth being stalked and killed over: what the hell would it have been?

I’ve never been arrested, never been in a fight, never stolen from anyone. I always minded my own business. I tried to go back as far as my mind would let me. I played back what little memories I had of middle school, high school, college. I didn’t remember anything about my childhood prior to age 10, though. My therapist told me it was most likely a coping mechanism my brain concocted to deal with the trauma of my parents’ nasty divorce. Unfortunately, our exercises only left me with the memories of the custody battle. Replaying my mom and dad, who were my heroes and in my mind the perfect example of love at the time, being absolutely vicious towards each other. It’s funny that that is what therapy helped me remember. Nothing else.

I dug around in my purse until my hand brushed against the pack of Marlboro 100s that I kept tucked away next to a pack of mints and a perfume bottle. I snatched the old petrol lighter, circa 1960, that my grandfather gave me. It was my most prized possession. He’s the one person in my life who never changed.

I hoisted myself over the windowsill and planted my feet on the fire escape. My legs bounced as my shaky hands tried to light the cigarette. I inhaled the toxic, euphoric smoke deep into my lungs before I exhaled. I frantically pushed the hair out of my face as I tried to sit there and make sense of it all.

My eyes fixated across the street on a piece of newspaper that was twirling in the wind. I watched it sway and dance between cars as I pondered over how many different ways I could die in the next forty-eight hours. That’s when something caught my attention.

Standing motionless in an alleyway, sandwiched between a liquor store and a deli, was a man. At least, I think it was a man. Tall, lanky frame with his hands in his hoodie, a baseball cap pulled over his face. He was staring directly at me. His face fixed on mine, but somehow the cap completely concealed his identity. Like a shadow that wouldn’t be there naturally.

I coughed, sucking in cigarette smoke in places it shouldn’t have been and felt bile building up in my throat. My ears began to ring and my skin felt clammy. Before I knew it, I was hunched over the railing of the fire escape, evacuating my stomach. I emptied my lunch all over the sidewalk seventy feet below. Some guy side-stepped my projectile and flipped me off, screaming some choice words. I could hear him, but I wasn’t listening.

I wiped my mouth against my sleeve, panting from the overwhelming dread that had crept its way through my body and settled in my heart. I hesitated for a moment, but turned my head towards the alleyway. Nothing. He was gone. My head started pounding. Tension building so intensely that I felt like my skull might split in half. Was he skipping the timeline and headed towards me now? Was he even real?

I spent what felt like hours on the fire escape waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. I had tensed my muscles for so long that my body was sore. I clambered through the window and slammed it shut. I triple checked the lock on it. Locked. Did the same with the front door. Locked. My cheap, dingy apartment was a studio. Which I didn’t mind tonight. Because my bed was directly facing the door. I climbed in bed, pressed my back against the wall and fixed my gaze on the entrance.

I woke up in a panic, gasping for air. I grabbed my neck, slid my hands down my body and patted them against my face. I was alive. No cuts, no gunshot wounds, I was fine. I laughed to myself. He said two days. It had only been one. I let out a deep sigh and threw my legs over the edge of my bed. That’s when I saw it. Wedged under the door, yet again, was another letter.

I was angry. Which is funny considering my reaction the day prior, but nonetheless I was. Angry that someone was fucking with me. Angry that they were threatening me. Angry that I even came to this city in the first place. I started to think I should’ve stayed home and taken over my father’s restaurant like he wanted me to. But, NO I had to become some big city chef. Well I’m here. And I’m just a line cook. A line cook who might be dead by tomorrow.

I didn’t even take the time to put on a shirt. I ran to the front door, pulling so hard I thought I might rip it off of its hinges. I stood smack in the middle of the hallway, torn sweatpants, bralette and all.

“FUCK YOU!” I snarled, panting so hard I looked like a rabid animal. “If you’re going to kill me, come do it now you fucking coward!” I stood there for what felt like an eternity, turning back and forth to see if he would respond to my challenge. All I got was my elderly neighbor peeking through a slight opening in her door. I wanted to apologize, but any words that came out of my mouth would be venomous. I halfheartedly lifted my hand towards her and walked back into my apartment, slamming the door behind me.

I screamed. I threw open my cupboard, grabbed the first thing I could and flung it across the room. A plate collided with the wall, sending dozens of ceramic shards across the floor. I started to get upset with myself over how irrational I was being, but ultimately I just laughed. I got the plate from Goodwill, that was worth the buck-fifty I paid for it.

I called my boss and faked a sick voice, giving painstaking details on my non-existent illness. He cut me off and told me it was fine and that he’d see me tomorrow. I knew he wouldn’t. After he hung up, I remembered that I was still holding the envelope. My mind told me no, but my arms started tearing open the envelope. He didn’t even bother tying it this time. The outside was the same. Just my name in red letters. But, the inside was different.

T A R A

I turned the letter over.

24 HOURS

I furrowed my brows and tilted my head. Tara? What? Is that another one of his victims? Is he trying to scare me? Or is he planning on killing her too and got his stationery mixed up? I opened the freezer, rummaged through my selection and grabbed the half empty bottle of Shitty K I got from the corner store and sat criss cross on my bed. I mulled it over for hours. Just sitting there trying to understand what this could possibly have to do with me and the reason this guy wanted me dead.

As my eyes remained fixed on the torn piece of paper, I noticed tears splashing on the page before I even realized they were my own. I wiped my cheeks and stared at my fingertips, confirming that they were indeed mine. That’s when it hit me. Like Muhammad Ali kicked in my door and sent a right hook barreling into my stomach. Tears weren’t escaping the corners of my eyes anymore. I was sobbing. Wailing. Lamenting the loss of a loved one. I remembered. I remembered everything. As I played it back in my head over and over again, I continually lifted the bottle of vodka to my lips. My shaky hands sent streaks of liquid from the corners of my mouth down my face.

Tara Langley. My best friend in fourth grade.

Our families had decided to take us hiking on a short trail just a few minutes outside of town. We had packed our little picnic baskets, had our hiking boots on and were ready to be the present day Lewis and Clark. Tara was a great friend to have. I was a very reserved child. It was hard to make friends. I was too afraid to speak to most people. Not Tara, though. She would go up and talk to anyone. Tell anyone how she really felt. That’s what happened to me. She walked up to me on the first day of fourth grade. My first day at a new school. She looked at me, told me her name and told me that I was now her best friend. Bold, but it ended up being true.

Being as young as we were, our families decided on the leisurely trails with the small incline and clear pathways. We had stopped at the midway point in the trail to take in the scenery. Rocky cliff faces jutted out across the tree line from what felt like a hundred miles a way. White foam climbed across smooth black rocks as the water rushed down its path. Vibrant green moss stuck firmly to broken logs and bent tree branches. My palms were sweaty and my knees wobbled. I didn’t like being this high up. We were only halfway up the trail where most families stop and turn around, but we were still probably a hundred feet in the air. Holding my dad’s hand, I peeked over the edge. Sharp, jagged rocks and dry cracked tree branches layered on top of each other above a bed of tall trees. My stomach lurched. This was probably why I maintained a fear of heights into my adulthood. After we ate our turkey sandwiches and talked out the rest of the plans for the day, we began the descent back down the trail. We were probably only five minutes in when Tara dug her heels in the dirt and grabbed my arm.

“I forgot to get a picture! My camera is in my backpack!” She wiggled her arms out of the straps and zipped open her bag, pulling out a cheap, yellow disposable camera. “Come on, let’s go!” She was giddy at the idea of it all. Her entire wall was plastered with captured memories. From something significant like a picture of the first tooth she ever lost to something as insignificant as a muddy pair of boots. My stomach turned. I didn’t like getting in trouble and this was a bad idea all around.

“Tara, we should ask our parents. It’s not safe. They’ll turn around for a picture. We can have one with all of us.” I replied with a half-baked smile, hoping she’d listen to reason.

“Emma, I’m almost ten and a half. Which means I’m basically twelve. Twelve means I’m basically a grown up. We can go take a picture and come back, it’s not a big deal!” She grunted and rolled her eyes. She was already twenty feet ahead of me by the time I could muster a reply. So, begrudgingly, I followed her.

We arrived back at the trail stop as she hurried over near the cliff’s edge.

“Tara – stop! You’re getting too close to the edge.” I yelled.

Click.

“Ugh, this is no good. The shadows are horrible!” She adjusted her position, scooting from side to side slightly. Then she scooted two steps back. “I think this should be good and -”

Click.

“This should be PERFECT. Come on! I want one with you too!” She motioned towards me, shuffling her feet with excitement.

“No. No way. Absolutely not.” I shook my head and stepped back even further as if she could pull me closer to her from over there.

“Oh my god, Emma. Literally just one picture, five seconds max and we’re done.” She begged and begged. Stomping her feet like a spoiled brat. I mean she was an only child. I knew that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer and I didn’t want to make the rest of the day awkward because I ditched her and went back.

“One picture. That’s it. Then we leave. Got it?”

“Yes! Yes! I got it. Thank you. It’s going to be such a good picture! It’s gonna go RIGHT above my bed!” She was giddy. A big toothy smile spread across her face.

I cautiously made my way closer to her, scooting my feet inches at a time. After what felt like hours, I was only about a foot or two in front of her.

“Oh my god, Emma. Come on!” She locked her fingers around my elbow and tugged me next to her. I was so focused on how afraid I was that I just reacted. I ripped my arm back and tumbled to the ground.

Startled by my sudden jerk, she pushed her weight on her back foot and her heel slipped. The small, loose rocks and clay that scattered the rock’s surface shifted under her feet. Her momentum threw her body forward. She pushed her arms in front of her to break her fall but she wasn’t quick enough. Her temple slammed against rock, the sharp edge slicing skin across her cheek. Unable to control her body’s trajectory, she rolled to the side and her legs slipped off the edge. She somehow was able to stop her momentum and clung onto the rock, her armpits clamped against the edge.

“EMMA!” Her panting grew rapid and louder with each breath. “EMMA HELP ME!”

My vision blurred. My heart thumped rapidly in my throat. I couldn’t move. My mind screamed at my legs to get up, to run, to do anything. My arms wouldn’t listen either. I was frozen. Tara began to sob.

“Emma, PLEASE. I don’t want to die.” Her sentence trailed off as her crying wavered her speech.

“Emma?! Tara?!” I could hear her dad’s voice bellowing up the trail. This snapped me back into reality. My head jolted back and forth frantically. I finally mustered the strength to push myself back up. I grunted and pushed my hands against the ground as hard as I could, clenching my eyes shut. That’s when I heard it. I didn’t see it. Her screaming. Her terrified wail pierced my eardrums. Then it was weaker. Weaker. Barely audible. Then it was silent.

I was hyperventilating by this point. Overwhelmed by sadness, grief, anger. I wrestled with my mind. Is how I remember it actually what happened? Did I really do nothing? How could I let myself forget this happened? I ran to the bathroom and began to dry heave in the sink. I had been crying so aggressively, it made me choke and cough. I splashed water across my face over and over. The small pools of cold water did nothing to quell the heat that radiated from my face.

I flung open the freezer door and grabbed an armful of the cheap, corner store vodka I had stashed away. I saw the empty bottles in the trash can on my way over. I didn’t care. I sat back on my bed and flipped open my laptop that was stashed in the end table. Then I came here. I had to make an account and everything. I had to get this out. I had to write it somewhere that forced me to remember. I typed and drank, typed then drank even more until everything went black.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but judging by the empty plastic bottles of vodka sprawled across the bed, it didn’t take much guessing to understand why. I shifted my body and sat upright in bed. Splotchy snot stains were spread out across my shirt. Crumpled up tissues were scattered across the covers. I took in a deep, cleansing breath and shook my arms and rotated my neck from side to side as I exhaled. I had a pounding headache that throbbed with each movement of my neck. I was about to reach over and check my phone when I heard a loud crunch. The sound of something heavy pressed against my keys that I never picked up off of the floor.

My eyes shot forward and there they were. A tall, lanky figure with their hands in their hoodie pocket and a baseball cap covering their face. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but only a faint whisper escaped my open mouth. Small static shocks of fear spread through my body reverberating against my bones.

“Today’s the day.”

The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. It was like an amalgamation of every voice I’ve heard up to this point. A rich, baritone voice with hints of high-pitched raspy notes. They didn’t sound like they were trying to intimidate me. They were just stating a fact and purely nothing more. They didn’t move. Just stood there and stared at me for minutes on end.

“Plea – if you’re going to do it… would you please be quick?” I pleaded quietly. I already felt defeated and this was a last ditch effort.

They chuckled under their breath and shook their head side to side ever so slightly.

“That isn’t up to me.”

The dread that built up within me, that threatened to erupt and exhume itself, was tangled with confusion.

“I don’t – I don’t understand. I know why you’re here. I know what I did wrong. Please just do it fast. Please.” Tears were rushing down my face, but I remained silent and waited for a response.
They took one step forward, keeping their hands in their pocket, head still facing the ground.

“Is that so?” They waited. “… Tell me.”

My chest was tight. My breathing was shaky and uneasy.

“Tara. I could’ve helped her and I didn’t. She would still be alive, but she’s not. She’s dead and it’s my fault.” I had no more tears left, I just stared at the quilted pattern in front of me. As incoherent as this entire situation seemed to be, this made sense. It had since the memory came back to me. “I just don’t understand why wait until now? Did – did her dad send you?” They just shook their head again and said nothing.

“I’ll go to the police! I’ll tell them everything. I’ll call her parents, my parents. I’ll talk to anyone, please – just don’t kill me…“ They said nothing. I struggled to breathe through my sobs. The only audible sounds were the air passing in and out of my mouth.

“Please… just tell me. Why are you doing this?”

They took one more step forward. A mere few inches away from me. They slowly slid their hands out of their pocket causing me to clench my eyes shut and tense my body.

“I’m not doing this. You are.”

I slowly opened my eyes and tilted my head upwards. They had removed their hat so that I could see them clear as day. My jaw was unhinged. My skin began to tingle. I was staring at myself. Not a mirror, not a picture. It was me. The thin, lanky frame. The loose, unmanaged curls. My Trigueña complexion. We sat there staring at each other. It felt like I was in a nightmare, like I’d fall through the bed and lose all my teeth.

I slowly moved my body from side to side, examining my duplicate. They mirrored my movements. I raised my eyes, they raised their eyes. I reached out and touched their cheek, they reached out and touched my cheek. Their touch was ice cold.

I leaned back and furrowed my brow. I sighed and pulled in a new breath through my nostrils. A deeper one.

“Are you going to kill me now?” After a few moments of silence, I fixed my eyes back on myself. Again, they nodded their head from side to side and pointed down towards my lap. I turned my gaze downwards and gasped, scooting backwards frantically.

Blood was seeping out of deep, vertical slits that had been carved into my forearms. A kitchen knife, smeared with blood, sat in my lap. I snatched it and flung it on to the floor, painting the rotted floorboards with speckles of blood. I began to feel lightheaded. Panicked, I scooped up as many of the used, dried up tissues as I could. I fought against the searing pain of the open wounds as I dabbed away at them, but the cuts were too deep. They stung like wasps as my tears began to splash against them.

“NO! Please! I can -” They were gone. Without a trace. No footprints, no sound. The silence was deafening. The only company I had was the muffled clanking of the radiator. I knew the decision had been made already. There was nothing I could do. Except finish this.

I was going to die now, but there had to be proof of what I did. Or didn’t do rather. It was probably selfish of me to want her family to find this. This wouldn’t bring them any peace at all. But, maybe they’d be better off having me to blame and not God.

So, if you’re reading this:

I am dead. Mr. and Mrs. Langley, there is nothing I can say to make any of it better. I just want you to know, I am truly sorry.

To Mama and Papa, I’m so sorry. I know you wanted more for me. I should’ve listened more. I should’ve told you I loved you more. But, I can’t. So I’ll say it now. I love you. And to Eddy, my greatest joy in life was being your big sister. You are so much smarter than me, so much stronger than me. You have made me and our family so proud. I love you.

And finally, to Tara, I’ll see you soon.

Credit: ChanceTellsTales

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