Chapter 1 – A Girl on a Mission
by Kleo Erili
LOCAL NEWS
An Unsolved Murder No One Seems to Care About
The scene of the crime in Samantha Michaels Lollard Heights apartment (Photo: Morgan Blake)
Ten days ago, Samantha Michaels (20), better known as Samantha Sparkles, an up-and-coming actress in Valley City’s adult entertainment industry, was found dead in her Lollard Heights apartment. So far, the police have not released the exact cause of death, but have announced that it was a violent crime and that the case is being treated as a murder investigation. Despite this fact, the police do not give the impression that they attach much importance to solving this brutal crime. Although ten days have already passed since the murder, there has been little progress in the investigation.
The victim’s ex-boyfriend, Damien C., was released by the police after a preliminary interview because the evidence was insufficient to hold him further. Meanwhile, rumors are running rampant on industry-related internet forums. It is said that Samantha was involved in disputes within the industry that could possibly be related to the crime. However, the police are not commenting on this and seem otherwise unwilling to comment on the names or suspects mentioned. […]
Chloe’s hand hovered over the newspaper clipping for a moment, unsure whether to take it with her. Then she withdrew her hand.
No. There was nothing in it that she didn’t already know. She had read it again and again in the almost three years since Samantha died. Burning it into her memory.
The large, worn sports bag lay open on her bed. She stuffed another T-shirt into it, then a pair of jeans. The room where she had spent her entire childhood looked almost cozy in the diffuse morning light, like a memory filmed with a camcorder from the early 2000s. Faded posters hung on the walls, of bands she had listened to when she was fifteen and whose names she now barely remembered. A trophy from high school track and field, gathering dust on the shelf. Lots of photos in cheap frames.
Her gaze lingered on one of them. She and Samantha, both laughing, arms around each other, in front of the old diner here in Oak Springs. Samantha’s brown hair blowing in the wind, her eyes squinting against the sun. Chloe was half a head shorter, twelve maybe, still wearing braces.
She didn’t reach for the photo. She couldn’t take all of them with her.
Instead, she threw a hoodie into her bag, then underwear, socks. Her blonde ponytail fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward to zip it up. She had turned eighteen a few days ago. Old enough for her plan. Finally.
“Really? You’re leaving? Just like that?”
The voice came from the doorway. She didn’t turn around, didn’t need to.
John Thompson stood there, arms crossed, shoulders so broad that he filled the entire doorway. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, just like he always did when he wasn’t showing up at Thompson Construction & Development in a suit and tie for some important deal. His face had that stupid expression he always put on when he tried to act fatherly, even though he was only her stepfather and they both knew it very well.
“Yes,” she said, putting on her sneakers. “Just like that.”
“You just finished high school.” His voice was calm, almost bored, but there was a sharp edge to it. “You think they’re just waiting for young girls without even a college degree out there? That they’ll just hand out jobs?”
She picked up the bag from the bed and dropped it on the floor. It was heavy enough to make a thud.
“I’ll find something.”
“Sure.” He laughed. A short, harsh sound. “The city will swallow you up, just like it did her.”
That was what hung between them. Her.
Chloe didn’t look at him. Instead, she stared at the bag at her feet, the worn fabric, the frayed handles.
“Best case scenario,” John continued, “you’ll work in a fast food restaurant and flip burgers for the rest of your life. Is that really what you want to do with your life?”
“It’s my life, John.”
Her voice was controlled, cool. She lifted her head, looked him straight in the eye.
There was so much left unsaid. His behavior had driven Samantha away. The constant criticism, the shame he had made her feel. Chloe knew it. He knew it. But neither of them said it.
The silence stretched on.
“Don’t expect to be able to crawl back here if you fail,” John finally said.
“I don’t plan to.”
She lifted the bag, hoisting it over her shoulder. Heavy, but not impossible. She walked toward the door.
John didn’t step aside.
For a moment, they stood facing each other. He with his arms crossed, she with the bag over her shoulder, more than a head shorter but unimpressed. Then, finally, he moved. One step. Just enough for her to squeeze past him.
She didn’t look at him as she walked through the door. Only her sneakers squeaked softly on the floor in the hallway as she left the house without saying goodbye.
It was already warm outside, even though it was only nine in the morning. The heat crept up from below, from the gravel of the driveway, and settled like a blanket over everything. Dust swirled as she walked, leaving a fine layer on her sneakers. The sun was low and bright, stinging her eyes.
She didn’t turn around.
The house behind her, the house where she had grown up, where she and Samantha had played as children, where her mother had died, grew smaller with every step.
She just kept walking until she reached the bus stop two blocks away.
It smelled of diesel and hot asphalt here and a dented bus stood at the curb, “Valley City” in faded red letters above the windshield, dust settled in every crack.
Chloe stepped up to a window made of scratched acrylic glass, behind which a gray-haired woman sat at the counter, bored.
“Valley City. One way.”
“Forty-five dollars.”
Chloe slid the bills through the slot. The woman didn’t count them, just stamped the ticket and slid it back.
“Over there. Leaves in ten minutes.”
The bus was half empty. Chloe hauled her bag up the narrow steps. The driver, a burly guy with a beer belly, didn’t even glance at her. She plopped down in a window seat, four rows from the back. The seat was worn, the leather cracked at the seams. She put her bag on the seat next to her.
A few other passengers got on. An elderly Latina woman with lots of bags. A guy in construction workers’ clothes. A mother with a whiny toddler.
None of them paid any attention to her.
Then the engine roared to life and the bus jerked forward.
Chloe leaned her forehead against the window. The glass was warm and dirty. Oak Springs glided by, those familiar streets she knew by heart from countless hours spent running over the years. The gas station on the corner where she used to buy slushies after school. The diner where she had her first date. The cemetery where her mother and Samantha were buried.
Everything passed her by until there was nothing left but endless rows of empty fields.
She still didn’t turn around.
At some point, after Oak Springs had long since disappeared and there was nothing to see through the window but dusty hills and scattered trees, she got up.
The aisle was narrow. She had to squeeze sideways, her bag tucked under her arm. The guy in construction clothes was slumped in his seat, staring boredly ahead, his knee sticking out into the aisle.
The toilet was at the very back. A narrow door with a faded “Occupied/Free” sign. She pushed it open.
The stench of disinfectants and stale air stung in her nose. A tiny room, barely big enough to turn around in. The mirror was scratched and smeared, the sink full of rusty stains. The bus swayed, causing her to stagger against the wall.
She locked the door.
She saw herself in the mirror. She was wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed her figure. Baggy jeans. No makeup. Blonde hair tied back in a careless ponytail. Hazel eyes that looked back tiredly.
Chloe Thompson.
She pulled the hoodie over her head and stuffed it into her bag, along with the tank top underneath. She slipped off her jeans, balancing on one foot in the tiny space, then the other. The bus lurched over a bump, forcing her to brace herself against the wall with her hand.
The black dress was crumpled at the bottom of the bag. She pulled it out and shook it out. It was short and tight. She had bought it three days ago in a thrift store for twelve dollars.
She squeezed herself into it. The fabric stretched across her hips, clinging to her body. The neckline was low enough to leave little to the imagination. She pulled at the hem, which ended just above the middle of her thighs.
Chloe Thompson slowly disappeared.
She rummaged in her bag for her makeup. She applied foundation with her fingers, smoothing it over her cheeks. The bus jolted, her hand jerked, and she smudged the line on her chin. She wiped it off and started over.
Mascara. She leaned close to the mirror, pulling the brush through her lashes. Left. Right. Another coat.
Lipstick. Red. She opened her mouth slightly and traced the outline. The bus swayed again. The tip slipped, leaving a red line at the corner of her mouth.
“Damn.”
She rubbed it away with her thumb and tried again. This time more carefully. She pressed her lips together and checked the result.
Her hair. She undid her ponytail and ran her fingers through it. Brushed it with the small brush from her bag. Let it fall over her shoulders.
She took a step back, pressed herself against the wall as far away from the mirror as possible, and looked at herself.
Someone else looked back. Young. Hot. Approachable. The dress accentuated every curve. The makeup made her eyes look bigger, her lips fuller.
Chloe Heart.
She practiced her smile. Wide. Inviting. Corners of her mouth turned up, teeth showing. Held it. Let it drop. Tried again.
Good enough for now.
She stuffed her old clothes into her bag and opened the door.
The hallway seemed even narrower on the way back. Maybe it was the dress. Maybe it was how unfamiliar it felt to walk in something that tight.
The man in the construction worker’s outfit now gave her his full attention. His eyes followed her openly as she passed by, his gaze wandering up her legs, lingering on her hips, then settling on her neckline.
In the past, she would have looked away, made herself smaller.
Now she held his gaze. Smiled. Just a little.
His eyes widened. He quickly looked away.
She sat back down in her seat with her bag at her feet. The dress rode up as she sat down, exposing more of her thighs. She didn’t correct it. She just left it that way.
The bus rolled on. For hours, there was nothing much to see but sky, and the sun slowly sinking lower.
At some point, she reached into her bag. Her fingers found the photo. The only one she had taken with her, tucked between a pair of socks to protect it from creasing.
She pulled it out.
Samantha smiled back. The photo had been taken a few months before her death, somewhere on the beach. Her hair was tousled by the wind, but she looked happy. Like someone who still had her whole future ahead of her.
Chloe’s fingers gently stroked the edge of the photo.
Then she put it away again. Quickly. Without looking at it for too long.
She turned to the window.
On the horizon, still far away but already visible, Valley City was coming into view. A sea of buildings, flat and sprawling, stretching out under the orange sky. Smog hung over it like a veil. Even from a distance, you could see how wildly and haphazardly the city had spread out in all directions without any plan.
Chloe leaned back in the worn seat and the bus continued on, carrying her toward the city where she would try to find her sister’s killer.
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