*𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘: 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗰𝘀/𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗰 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗶𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗿𝘀*

April 1977, Manhattan NY

It's finally happening: I am getting released from prison.

I don't know exactly all that happened to get to this point. I think it's called... uhm, pole? Pal-uh-role? Oh...  parole! That's the word. They never really explained to me why specifically I was being released. It's been, I think, eight years, and they're just now deciding to release me? It was all so confusing. I'm just glad that I get to go home. Maybe they realized I'm innocent? Who knows, but I still ask myself this to this day:

Who really killed my dad?

As soon as I step out of the doors of this place, I'm going to find out the answers to that question. That's going to be my goal.

If only my cellmate Stephanie were here to see me being released now. After her death, life in this hell hole has gotten progressively worse. Not that it wasn't already bad, but at least I had somebody to support and protect me. We would talk about our lives before prison almost every night, but now I could only talk to myself and the walls. I just imagined that she was here next to me, or looking down at me and wishing me good luck for my future. I smiled at the thought.

I woke up early, preparing myself for the big day. The officers gave me my new clothes my mom sent me that I'd be wearing home- a striped, long sleeved shirt with some jeans. They were slightly small, but it wasn't too tight. It's not like my mom, who hasn't seen or visited me since my sentence, would know my size.

They walked me to the front office desk, and made me sign all kinds of weird papers. How many times did I need to confirm that I was, in fact, Cynthia Quinn for crying out loud? I'm right here. After endless amounts of paperwork and checks, all I had to do was wait to be picked up. And after about an hour, I heard my mom coming through the front doors, feet away from my holding cell.

Something was very different about her. I know it's been a long time, but I didn't think she would be nearly unrecognizable. But, next thing I know, I'm being handed off with all of my belongings to the woman I was reluctant to call my mother.

As we made our way outside,  suddenly everything felt complete. That first deep breath of fresh clean air felt therapeutic, soothing. Seeing cars passing by and the nature outdoors for the first time in eight years took off a weight I've been carrying on my shoulders for so long. Although life would be very different now, considering I missed out on proper education, and there were many things I needed to relearn, the feeling of freedom was pure bliss.

But as we got in the car, my focus switched to the woman next to me. There was an awkward silence between us, like she still held a grudge against me. I don't blame her, but the silence was so loud that it almost forced one of us to say something. Thankfully, she spoke first.

"Well, it's nice to have you back Cynthia."

I could tell by her tone of voice that she didn't truly mean that. It was more of just an icebreaker than anything. But, at least she bothered to say something.

"Yeah, it feels great being free again. There's so much I've missed, so much to look forward to, but... what happened to you? You changed something."

We stopped in the typical New York City traffic and she glared at me over her shoulder.

"That's nothing for you to be concerned about."

"But-"

"Look, all that matters is that you're freed now, and back to normalcy. Okay?" She interrupted.

I guess she didn't want me talking about her, since she obviously did something to her physical appearance. But besides her looks, she seemed to be angry at something, and I couldn't tell what. I wasn't going to ask, since she seemed to get pissed off more just by me talking. The rest of that car ride was silent.

A loud silence.

↞↠      ↞↠ 

We stopped next to an old, run down looking apartment building, tucked away and blended in with the rest of the infrastructure in Lower Manhattan. It didn't look like much, but neither did many of the buildings in NYC, so who am I kidding? I grabbed my belongings from the trunk, and we made our way to what was now my home.

After several flights of stairs, we finally got to our apartment. It looked surprisingly nice for such a bad looking exterior, and definitely an upgrade from our old apartment. It had more space, and more rooms. This one had tan colored walls, with a simple couch and television, something we didn't have before. The kitchen was nearly in the same room as the living room, but it still blended in nicely. Although it lacked furniture and some decorations, since my mom was never really too extravagant, it felt like a home. A new beginning.

My mom gave me two suitcases full of some extra clothes I could try on, along with a few other basic things and accessories.

"Make yourself comfortable. Your room is over-"

She couldn't even finish her sentence without being stopped. A woman came bursting through the door, smiling ear to ear.

"MICHY!! You're NEVER gonna believe what happened at the store, we saw... "

She noticed me standing next to her, bags in hand.

"Mich who the hell is this?"

Her voice was awfully annoying. She clearly knew my mother somehow, and she looked oddly familiar. She was slightly taller than me with short brown hair, curled and side parted. Her outfit was... interesting? She definitely was a walking freak flag with her style, that's for sure. Her jean shorts weren't covering much, and her halter top was more of a bra than anything. At least it was covered with a black David Bowie leather jacket, seemingly new.

She slammed her keys on the kitchen counter and raised her sunglasses above her head. My mom sighed and rolled her eyes the second she walked in.

"This is Cynthia, my daughter. She got released today, you remember Lucielle, right Cynthia? She babysitted you a few times."

That's why she looked familiar, I figured I had seen her somewhere before. Why would she be here, though? I nodded.

"Ohhh, I know you! You look just like ya mother, am I right, Michy?"

She groaned. "Sure."

She bent down with her hands on her knees like she was talking to a toddler, squinting at me and looking back at my mom.

"Ah, a face only a mother could love, huh? Hopefully the slammer didn't beat you up too much, I would know... oh yeah Michy-pie, look! Ya like my Bowie jacket?"

"Sure, Lucy."

While Lucy kept rambling on, another woman who looked the polar opposite of Lucy comes barreling through the door, dozens of grocery bags piled in her arms. She loses her balance and tips over, trying to carefully set down as many bags as she could without spilling anything.

"I appreciate the help, Lucy." She mumbled, sarcastically.

Lucy sneered and picked up a few bags to help her regain her balance. "Calm down, spaz. You never asked for help."

"Yes I- you know what, nevermind. It's fine."

I heard my mom let out a small "Jesus Christ" under her breath. She rubbed her forehead in both confusion and exasperation.

"God, you make my head hurt. Who even is this?"

"Michy, this is my girlfriend Rosemary Ford. She's staying with me for a while because of her eviction, whether you like it or not. Don't worry though, she's a real softie. And Rosy, this is my best friend, Michelle."

"We are not best friends, Lucy. Acquaintances."

Lucy laughed, shrugging her off. "She just won't admit it, but I was always your favorite student back in the day. She's just cranky, menopause is getting to her."

"Lucielle, for the love of God, shut the hell up. You just walked in the damn door and you're already giving me a migraine."

Lucielle rolled her eyes, and childishly blew a raspberry at her.

So much was happening all at once, it was hard to process it all. And according to the look on my moms face, she was struggling to comprehend it too. We both just met someone new, and I just got here.

She put her hand on my shoulder. "Anyways, as I was saying, your room is over there next to the kitchen. Make yourself at home."

She glanced over at the couple and then back at me, irritated.

"Sorry about her. We're stuck with it." She whispered.

I giggled, and carried my things to my bedroom. Although Lucy might be annoying, I always remembered her being fairly friendly. And her girlfriend seemed to be pretty laid back.

This is my life now, and maybe it won't be so bad after all.

⧫           ⧫

I took a deep breath as I watched her find her new bedroom. She closed the door, and I looked back at Lucy. She leaned up against the wall, crossing her arms and giving me that 'Really?' kind of look, while Rosemary is putting away groceries by herself.

"What's that look for?"

"You still haven't told her, have you?"

"No, why would I?

"Don't you think she's old enough to know who really did it? The poor gal probably still blames herself."

Now why would I do that; willingly confess to my daughter that I murdered her father and was the reason she was in prison for most of her childhood? She must be crazy to think I would tell her any bit of what really happened.

Rosemary pitches in on the conversation while stocking up the pantry. "What are you all talking about?"

"Michy shot her husband and some other chick like eight or something years ago and blamed her daughter for it." Lucielle explained.

"Shhh, both of you, hush. These walls aren't soundproof, I don't need her listening in."

Rosemary whips around, and walks towards me and Lucy. She starts inspecting me, squinting before widening her eyes.

"Wait, what was that woman's name that you... you know?"

"I don't know, like Catherine or something?"

She slams her hand on the table, and a shocked smile spreads across her face.

"Well I'll be damned, that was my aunt. I was there when you shot her!"

She seemed awfully happy about it. Me and Lucielle both looked at each other, confused and a little disturbed.

"Oh, uhm, I'm sorry? You seem a little too happy about that."

"Don't be sorry, you did me a favor. She was a horrible person, alcoholic, new man every week, it sucked. I was basically just her servant, but I was forced to live with her. You did my family and the world a favor with that one."

"Then, I guess, you're welcome?"

"Thanks, but back to what she was saying, you probably should tell her. It's kind of a bitchy move to make her hate herself for the rest of her life."

"No, are you crazy? She'll never forgive me, and I can't lose another daughter. There's nothing she needs to know, she knows nothing and neither do I. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Fine, just remember that you're a top suspect, and they're looking for you. Just don't say I didn't warn you when she eventually finds out." Lucielle said, making her way towards the kitchen.

"Whatever, she's not gonna find out. She's not that clever."

Hopefully.

⧫           ⧫

The room was fairly small, but that didn't bother me. The bedsheets were my favorite color: A light blue, no patterns or design. There was a small white nightstand and a wardrobe just beside it, filled with more clothes. Some basic toiletries were placed on the top of it, assumingly for me.

But, the best part was that my room led to a balcony. It was a beautiful view, since we were on one of the top floors pretty high up. It felt so nice to look out on the skyline, a view I haven't seen in such a long time. You couldn't see the Empire State building, though. That was my favorite as a kid, since our old apartment had a clear view of it. This one was fairly close to the World Trade Centers though, which ended up being even more beautiful to look at from the balcony. I would watch them being constructed when I was little, but never got to see them after they were fully built. I was in prison when they finished it.  They were much taller than what I anticipated, but added a nice touch to the NYC skyline.

I heard a crack of thunder, so I decided to go back inside before I got rained on. But, when I went back to the room to unpack, a new face was sitting in my bed. She looked fairly young, wearing a fluffy white dress and her curly hair tied back in a satin bow. She had her nose buried in a book called Watership Down. I then remembered that Mom was pregnant when I went to prison. Was she my baby sister? I tried to think of what her name was...

Angela.
Her name was Angela.

A smile started to form on my face as she glared up at me, noticing me standing in front of her. 

"Angela? It's me, Cynthia. I'm sure Mom has talked about me before."

"Who's that?"

Wait, what? If she wasn't my sister, then who was she, and why was she here?

"You're my baby sister, right?" I asked.

She seemed about as confused as I was. "I'm a grown ass woman, kid. I'm not your sister. Sorry."

She had a heavy accent that sounded like Dutch. She most definitely was not my sister. She's awfully short for a grown woman though, but I'm not even going to bother asking her about it.

"Well, if you're not my sister, do you mind taking you and your rabbits somewhere else? In case you haven't noticed, this is MY room. Out." I pointed to the door.

I was serious, but she clearly was not. She pretended to think about it, before putting on a voice mocking mine.

"Make me."

I already gave up trying to get through to her. She clearly wasn't budging, so I'm not gonna force it. I had a word or two to say to my mom, though. Who was she, why is she in MY bedroom, and where is my real sister?

I stormed over to my mom's bedroom, which took more time than it should've trying to find, and knocked.

"Come in."

I walk in, and she can already tell I was frustrated. She raises an eyebrow, confused.

"What's the matter?"
"Where's my sister? Because whoever that girl is that won't get out of my bed is definitely not her."

Her face dropped, and she sat up from her bed squirming. She patted her hand down on the bed, telling me to sit down. That was never a good sign. I could tell by her expressions and body language that whatever she was about to say wasn't going to be pretty.

"That's Bonnie, I found her homeless on the sidewalk about two years ago, and I offered to give her a place to stay. She's not from here, she's moved here from the Netherlands, so try to be respectful. She's had it rough too."

"Yeah, but what about Angela?"

She sighed deeply and stared down at the floor. She paused for a moment, getting choked up everytime she tried to talk. I think I already could guess what she was trying to say.

"She's not here anymore, is she?"

She shook her head. My heart sank instantly, I've never seen her so upset before. In all honesty, I've never really seen her cry before either. I hated seeing others cry, let alone my own mother. She tried to pull herself together to form words.

"I don't know what happened. She went out to play outside one day, and never came back.  I looked everywhere, asked everyone I knew to help me look for her, but no luck. And then one..."

Her voice cracked and shook, she took a deep breath and tried to contain herself. She wiped her red puffy eyes and tried to continue.

"One night, someone left pictures of her on my doorstep. They were pictures of her body. Some sick psychopath killed my six year old girl, left the photos for me to discover, and is still wandering around free." She broke down into hysterics, unable to calm herself.

Holy hell. Nothing would've prepared me to hear that. I can't imagine losing a daughter so young. I could tell that it left her scarred, because I've never seen her cry or act like this ever before. I cried with her, I lost my sister and I never even got to know her.  And to make matters worse, the murderer is still wandering the streets today. A thought came to my mind, a thought that sent chills down my spine.

"Maybe it's the same person that killed Dad, do you think someone is targeting us?"

She fidgeted, biting her lip. I think the thought made her uncomfortable and worried too. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Maybe. Let's not think about that though, ok?"

I nodded. "Okay."

She inched closer to me before reaching for a hug. I was surprised, but hugged her back. Even when I was younger, she never liked hugs. Her blatantly offering a hug was unusual, but not a bad thing. She hugged me tighter, putting her chin on my head.

"Also, try to be nice to Bonnie. I know she can be a little shit sometimes, but you'll warm up to her. She reminds me of her, even though she's an adult."

"I'll try. No promises, though."

She puts her hands on my shoulders, observing me for a moment before smiling.

"I mean it, it is nice to have you back, Cynthia."

I smile with her, grabbing her hands off my shoulders and placed mine on top of hers.

"It's nice to have you back, too."

➪ 𝗔/𝗡: if you scrolled down here to see the content warnings, I'll put them here, possible spoilers though.
•Death of a child (nothing graphic)
•Brief mentions of the WTC: only pointing this out to say jokes about 9/11 or the Twin Towers will NOT be tolerated. Most people have this common sense, but I'm looking at you, middle school boys. They did exist in the 70's, so if you can't be mature, please keep it to yourself (that applies to any serious topic as well 😉)

Thanks :)