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CHAPTER 4: Bad News

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The sun shone brightly through the sliding glass door of the balcony like a holy call from the angels above. The birds chirped from outside, and the harmonizing call of a new morning echoed through.

Samara let out a yawn, stretching her arms before getting out of bed, but not before expressing a grimace from her face. Her head felt like spinning, caused by her headache; last night's drinking session was warm and all-fun—which was the apparent cause of her hangover. After tidying herself up, the young brunette got out of her bedroom and went downstairs.

She passed by the living room, seeing the two boys watching TV.

"Morning, fellas," she greeted them with a wave as she passed by.

She went down a narrow hallway. Ahead of her was a door on the left which led to the bathroom, and an archway ahead that lead right to the kitchen and dining area. She went to the latter, smelling the lustful scent of bacon and eggs being cooked upon entering. Her gaze landed upon a familiar figure standing over by the stove.

"Morning, Charissa," she greeted the blonde girl who returned a wave as a reply.

Samara went to the fridge, grabbed herself a cold carton of milk, poured it over a glass before drinking the creamy-white content with big gulps.

"Damn," Charissa grumbled, just enough for Samara to hear, "my head is still pounding."

"I know you're a sucker for tequila and all, but next time, tone it down a little, genius," the young brunette joked.

"Remind me not to go near to one of those again."

They exchange chuckles. Silence had soon prevailed afterward. Just as short as that. It was not a normal type of silence, however, at least on Samara's case. This kind of silence was not the type wherein two people can get comfortable with not saying a word to each other. It was just as close as that as to what she thought. Judging by her muteness, Samara has sensed that her friend wanted to say something but seemed hesitant to do so.

"Hey, Samara?"

Samara, who was just done putting back the carton of milk inside the fridge, turned her attention back to Charissa upon being called. "What is it?" She asked, relieved that the blonde girl had finally broken the silence between them.

A long pause from her friend again, however.

Charissa can't tell it right in front of Samara's face, that the reason she and the boys visited her was simply not just because about welcoming her for her return. Rather, they planned to surprise her as a way to give their regards and condolences for Samara's loss.

The surprise was primarily Charissa's brains and ideas, even the drinking session they had last night. She was doing this not because of any desire for herself, but for her and the boys to console their best friend. She felt remorseful for Samara. To see that she lost her only blood-related family, and now she was all on her own—it pained the blonde girl too.

"Charissa?"

She was cut out of her thoughts, hearing Samara's calming voice from behind. When Charissa heard sizzling sounds, she noticed soon enough that the bacon she was cooking was already near to toasted. She hadn't realized for now that she was frozen to her spot for a while. She hastily flipped the bacon over with a spatula that she was holding.

Releasing a deep sigh, she finally took the courage to spoke. "I'm sorry about your loss."

Silence had once again conquered the air, just a tad awkward this time.

The oxygen in Samara's lungs made its way throughout her nostrils, gushing in and out. A tiny, understanding smile slid from her lips. She went closer to her best friend. Raising one arm, she placed her hand over Charissa's shoulder, patting it lightly.

"Hey," The brunette uttered, trying what she could to hide the croak from her voice, "I appreciate you and the guys' efforts. It's alright."

Despite Charissa's back facing her, Samara noticed that thoughtful smile crossing the latter's thin lips.

"I know. It's just that..." Charissa dropped the spatula onto the pan and turned the stove off. She then faced the young brunette, "... it's just that you're all on your own now. Like, I couldn't imagine myself in your shoes. I know just how much it hurts, but still, I'll never fully understand the weight of it... because I was never in your position anyhow."

Samara half-smiled, patting her friend's shoulder for a second time, "you know, you have a point. None of you will ever know how I feel about... Crystal," she crossed her arms, looking down a bit for a brief second before letting out a sigh, "you guys won't really know what I'm going through these past few days. I mean, I'm practically an orphan now. But you know what? I still have a few more important people in my life that can be a reason for me to keep moving forward. That includes Geoff, Jayson, and even you... and that's one of the things that really mattered to me."

They exchanged tiny grins, newfound comfort found its way between them, erasing the tension in the air. Samara couldn't ask for another set of friends; she was beyond thankful that she still has important people in her life that she could live for.

"Girls!"

Their little moment was interrupted by the sound of Geoff hollering from across the hallway. Next thing or two, the tall, young man went rushing inside the kitchen, his face painted with unexplainable distress to it. His breathing was two times faster than normal. Sweats were dripping down from his temples like raindrops staining a glass window. He was apparently in some sort of panic.

"Calm your shit down, Geoff! What are you screaming about?!" Samara, who was still confused and yet, worried about her friend's state, questioned.

"Television news. Now!"

~~~~~~~~~~

"Just this morning, locals had contacted Amberlyn police department after discovering the mutilated corpse of eighteen-year-old Moira Pendleton at Carson St. just meters away from the town's nightclub---"

All four friends were taped in pure silence as their ears listened to the reporter from the television news.

"Oh God. This is just so unreal." The young brunette heard Charissa mumbled from beside her.

She took a glance at the blonde girl who was massaging the bridge of her nose while looking away from the television.

"She's in physics class with me—Moira. To die like that..." Geoff trailed off, his eyes still glued upon the screen.

"Yeah, poor her. Offed like that when you just want a drink or two's a bummer way to die."

Samara shot the other boy best friend a glare; the latter giving her an innocent look in return.

"What?"

"A little sensitivity right there, dickface!"

Samara looked back at the television screen after scolding Jayson. She wasn't having it with the bad news. She knew anyhow that the girl's murder wasn't some sort of coincidence. It had to do something with her sister's death. But was it? She can't be sure yet. It's too early to conclude. She only had one thing in mind to do in order to know her answers.

"That's it," she uttered, combing her brown hair in devastation, "I know for sure that that girl's death is no coincidence or shit. I'm going over there. No one's gonna stop me."

"Are you crazy?!" Jayson blurted, "what are you going to do over there?!"

"To see the corpse," Samara answered in a straightforward manner, not even thinking of facing an almost-hysteric Jayson as she undid the front door locks, "and so I can be live on TV too."

"Are you serious?!"

"Do I look like I'm messing around, Jayson?"

As she undid the last lock, Samara rushed out of the cabin, with her friends having no other choice but to tag along.

~~~~~~~~~~

Driving around town, Samara and her friends could hear the commotion nearby—emergency sirens coming from the local police and paramedics blared, together with the blending sounds of the ensuing crowd huddled and bustled at the actual crime scene.

Samara parked the Volkswagen a few distances away from the location where the majority public was. Without a word, she got out of the car and started making her way through the crowd, completely ignoring the camera flashes irritating her eyes.

Her pacing stopped as soon as she got a clear view of the girl's corpse:

The headless body was all hacked up into bits and pieces, body parts and chunks of pinkish flesh coated in blood was sprawled all over the pavement like confetti from a busted piñata. Her limbs were chopped off, strewn all over too. Dry blood smeared the place, and the foul smell of that sickening, crimson liquid was still lingering around the air. One hand was completely hacked off, leaving only a bloody stump with the said body part lying next to the severed limbs.

To add it all up, the decapitated head of Moira lied beside the bloody, chopped up torso; the eyes showed no signs of life as it completely stared back at Samara.

Those soulless eyes—the young brunette felt them looking right through her. She could feel her stomach grumbling the longer she observed the gory details of the crime scene. The urge to throw up was crawling up to her throat, but she tried her best to fight it back.

"Samara!"

A husky voice called out to the brunette. She searched around the crowd, her gaze landing upon the cop she ran into a few days ago.

"What are ya' doing here?" The young cop questioned as he got close to Samara.

Wrinkling her forehead, the brown-haired girl answered, "trying to take a closer look at the body."

"You had your time now." He then pulled Samara by the arm with a firm grasp.

"Wait!"

Samara yanked her hand off of the man's hold. She went closer to the bloodied corpse. Her eyes traveled upon some sort of etched writing, encrypted in blood, on the corpse's only, intact, bare leg. She could not comprehend clearly what the writing was. She leaned closer, finally able to make out what the message was.

"Samara," she read.

Her name was encrypted. Samara didn't need to question herself as to why her name was written out on the victim's body for some strange reason. She was, not at all, surprised.

She looked back at the young cop who was actually staring with an accusing gaze.

"Oh great!" Samara blurted, "Dane, right? Please don't tell me you're gonna about to accuse me of putting Myra pencilton or whoever she is, into freaking shish kabobs?!"

"It's Moira Pendleton!" Jayson corrected from behind.

This prompted the young brunette to give her friend a glare in which the latter gave a shrug in return.

Samara found herself getting dragged by the young cop away from the crowd, her friends following from behind.

"Hey, hands off of the pretty girl, will you?" Samara arrogantly scolded Dane.

"Okay first---" the young cop showed his pointing finger, flicking it up, "you're not responsible for murdering the girl, I know that. And two---" he raised his next finger up, "you're a suspect, unfortunately."

Samara deadpanned, releasing an incredulous chuckle after. "You gotta be fucking kidding me! A suspect?! Really?! I just got here?!"

"As of now, you're in questioning with the chief," Dane replied calmly, much to Samara's chagrin.

"Oh come on! Just because my name's carved on the girl's hacked-up body doesn't mean shit! That's just damn insane!"

"Just following the rules, fine young lady. Just doing my job."

"Yeah right! You guys suck with your protocols!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Inside the chief's office, back to forth arguments shot between the chief himself and Samara regarding of what the latter saw at the crime scene. It's been already past ten minutes since Samara was escorted to the police station, and every minute she stayed there made her grew impatient.

"For the last time, I'm not the one who wrote my name on Mira Penhouston's body or whoever the hell she is!" The young brunette rambled, scratching her head in irritation. "Can I please go now?!"

"It's Moira Pendleton, young."

"Ugh! Forget about the name correction goddammit!"

"Language, young, calm down," the chief spoke in a gentle tone, his arms crossed against his chest while leaning back to his swivel chair. "I just wanna know where you at around nine last night, 'cause accordin' to police reports---" he then grabbed a stapled set of papers on his table, reading their contents briefly before facing the grouching young brunette again, "the girl was murdered around nine. Nine-thirty to be exact."

Closing her eyes gently, Samara let out a sigh. 'Sometimes, I just wanna hit that jackass Dane with a hammer for bringing me here.'

"Okay. I didn't kill the girl, in no way am I related to her 'cause she's a total stranger to me, and I was there inside my house the whole night. Nothing else."

"Nothin' else?"

"Yeah. You can even ask my friends. We were drinking the night away with some rounds of tequila and stuff."

She noticed the chief pouting his lips slightly, his eyebrows crooked for a second before it loosened up, shrugging his shoulders afterward.

"Okay," he sighed, "you run along now."

"Wait what? Seriously? No more follow-up questions?"

"None."

Samara stood up from her seat, shot the chief a dubious look in the process. She dusted off her jeans, reluctantly headed for the door that leads out of the chief's office.

Twisting the knob slowly, Samara turned one last time to shoot a glance back at the chief. With hopeful eyes, she asked, "you're still gonna help me, right? About... Crystal?"

With a tiny smile protruding from his lips, Frederick replied, "of course."

"Really?"

"If it gives you the peace along with this town's, yes."

~~~~~~~~~~

Samara had finally got out of the police station and went to join up with her friends who were waiting for her nearby. Unbeknownst to them, a mysterious individual was watching from an alley, a couple of distances away, hidden in plain sight despite the hot sun and the atmosphere of liveliness roaming at this hour.

Their eyes were intensely set upon the young brunette. Their face turned red as a tomato and hot as boiling water steam. They could feel that. Their soft palms turned into twitching fists in a rageful manner that they were trying their best to hold back from unleashing. They struggled to repress an uproar that was building up from inside their chest, ready to blast off through and out of their vocal cords.

"You don't know how long I wanted to cut deep into your throat with a knife, Samara," they muttered within clenched teeth.

They pulled out a photo from one of their coat pockets and stared at the image for a while.

The smiling faces of three people in it made their hands tremble in anger, crumpling the photograph within their fist so tight and intense that their knuckle had almost turned white.

"This is just the beginning. All the answers you need will be provided soon, Samara. Until now and then, you'll suffer, slow and painful," they grumbled, their gaze diverted back at the shape of Samara from meters away, not prying off, with such bitterness that one could just imagine.