Before I Die

by Nikki Ash

  “Of course,” I say, already pulling the sheets back and throwing on an outfit without even seeing what I’m putting on.

  I get to the station and Detective Roberts greets me then walks me back to a small room, gesturing for me to take a seat.

  “Nevaeh, I’m going to record our conversation just in case I need to go back to it later. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you please repeat for me what you said when you called nine-one-one yesterday at three thirty-three in the morning?”

  Jeez, I didn’t realize I called so late. It felt like it was only minutes after I found my brother dead. I tell the detective everything that happened yesterday. I’m not sure if it’s identical to what I said on the phone as I was out of it, but I tell him everything I know. I have to stop a few times when I get choked up. The detective, though, is patient with me, handing me tissues when I’m forced to stop my story because I’m crying too hard.

  When I’m finally finished, the detective says, “Thank you. I can’t speak too much on the case since this is now an open investigation, but as I said on the phone, this morning after you called, we drove over to your brother’s apartment. Only, we didn’t find him.”

  A cold shiver runs down my spine. “What do you mean you didn’t find him?”

  “He wasn’t there.” He pulls out a couple photos. “I had them print these to show you since his home is currently under an active investigation based on your call.”

  I take the photos from the detective and look at each one, the blood draining from my body. My throat feels like it’s closing. Each one is of another part of Stephen’s home. The living room looks spotless. My flats aren’t in the picture where they should be next to the couch. My purse was sitting on the end table. It’s gone. The tiled floor, where Stephen’s body lay cold and still, is clean. No blood anywhere. It’s like I’m looking at a completely different home.

  Did I imagine the whole thing?

  “I-I don’t get it. He was right there.” I press my finger on the photo with the sparkling clean living room floor. “He was right there, dead. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t alive. Blood was pouring out of his lifeless body.” Fresh tears burn behind my lids, and I try to blink them away. I hate the last time I saw my brother was in that way. Instead of imagining his smile and laughter, I’m stuck replaying what he looked like when he died.

  “Nevaeh, I want to believe you, I do, but it’s all not adding up. Your brother called yesterday morning and said he had to go out of town unexpectedly. He’s using some vacation time he’s saved up.”

  My head shoots up in shock. Stephen never mentioned going out of town to me. I turn the photo around so the detective can see it. “He was right here.” I jab my finger into the image. A tear flies off my cheek and makes a wet spot on the image. “You think I’m making this up?”

  “No, I didn’t say that. We’re investigating. We’ve called your brother, but he isn’t answering. Unfortunately his neighborhood doesn’t have any cameras. Until we get ahold of him, we’re keeping the case open.”

  I don’t even know what to say. I know what I saw. He was dead. I closed his eyelids!

  As I stare at the images in front of me, I remember that I needed to tell them about my belongings. “My purse was left at his house, in the living room. My shoes too. Did you see them anywhere?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “We can go back and see if maybe you left your stuff in his room or—”

  “They couldn’t have just upped and walked away,” I say, cutting him off. “They were in the living room. Inside my purse is my phone. If they took it, we can log in and track it.”

  Detective Roberts gets me a laptop and I pull up the Find my iPhone website like the guy at Apple showed me how to do. But when I click on my phone, it shows it’s untraceable.

  “This can’t be right. They had to have done something to my phone,” I tell him.

  “I’ll add this to my list of things to look into,” he promises before he walks me to the front of the station. When we get to the door that leads to the outside, he says, “If we hear from him, we’ll tell him you’re worried and to call you.”

  “And when you don’t hear from him?” I ask, because I know they won’t.

  “We will get to the bottom of it,” he assures me.

  I nod my understanding, completely stunned and confused about what just happened, and thank him.

  I spend the rest of the day in bed. I don’t read or watch television. I don’t call anyone to tell them I don’t have my cell phone, or even eat. I just lie there, trying to recount everything that happened. It doesn’t make sense. I know what I saw, but I have no way to prove it.

  Finally, I fall asleep, only to have nightmares replaying the image of my brother’s dead, lifeless body on the floor.

  As I walk into the church, I realize I’ve been running on autopilot. It’s been engrained in me for so long to get up and go to mass, I didn’t even realize I was walking through the doors until I was already in here. I consider walking back out, until I catch sight of my parents sitting in the pew. They’re listening to the sermon, without a worry in the world. Because they don’t know what I know.

  Stephen is gone.

  Where was God when I was hiding in his bathroom listening to the sounds of his murder? Where was God when I begged and pleaded with him not to take my brother?

  As I stand in the back of the cathedral, listening to a priest I’ve known my entire life preach about forgiveness—oh, the irony—all I want to do is scream, “Where was this forgiveness when Stephen was alive?” But I can’t. I don’t even know if my voice could go higher than a whisper.

  So instead, I stand in the back quietly, as he wraps up his sermon with a prayer, and think about my mother and everything I’ve learned.

  Do I forgive her for the secrets she’s kept from her family? For judging everyone all these years while painting this picture of being the perfect Catholic wife and mother?

  My answer is no.

  I don’t forgive her.

  I can’t.

  And now that Stephen is gone, she’s going to have to live with the fact that while he was alive, she not only judged him and made him feel like an outcast, but she lied to him about who his birthfather was. He died believing she didn’t love him and that’s something she will never be able to fix.

  I’ve also decided I’m done with this church. I’m done teaching at this school and running the youth group. If my mother is associated with it, I want nothing to do with it.

  And while I’m at it, I’m done with God.

  My heart constricts at the very thought. God has been a part of my life since I was born. With every decision I’ve made, he’s been who I’ve turned to. Who my parents have taught me to turn to. But no more. I don’t think I want to turn to the man who sat back and watched my brother get killed. My brother may not have been perfect, but he was a good person and didn’t deserve this. So, God and me…we’re on a break, indefinitely.

  When I leave here, after I’m done confronting my mother, I’m planning to go back to the police station to see if they’ve found any new information. They can’t possibly expect me to wait around until they realize my brother isn’t on some vacation, but was murdered. There is a man on the loose, a murderer, who has my information and can come after me any time. And this time, I’m not leaving until they tell me they’re going to do something about it.

  With one last prayer, everyone stands to leave. I didn’t plan to speak to my mother here. But now, it seems quite fitting. What better place to confront her than in the House of God?

  I watch her and my father make their way down the aisle. When she spots me, her brows furrow in confusion, and then her lips purse in disappointment. Good. That was exactly what I was hoping for. My dad stops to talk to a couple he’s friends with, while my mom makes a beeline straight for me.

  “Nevaeh,” she hisses. “Where were you? You missed youth group and the service.”


  “At home,” I say, refusing to give her anything more. She can find out tomorrow, like everyone else, when I put in my two weeks’ notice. I have no clue what I’m going to do for a job since it’s the middle of the school year, but I’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll do some private tutoring until August and then I’ll apply for a position at one of the public schools.

  “Your eyes are all puffy.” She frowns. “Did you drink when you went out with your friend?”

  Of course she would assume I look bad because I went out a few nights ago, not because there’s something wrong. She’s more concerned about keeping up our reputation than my well-being. I almost blurt out my eyes are puffy because I spent the last two nights crying over my brother’s—her son’s—death, but I don’t. I plan to tell her about Stephen, but I can’t yet. I don’t have all the information. I have no proof. No body. Not even the police believe what I’ve told them.

  “I’m not hungover,” I hiss.

  “Well then, do you care to explain why you weren’t here when you should’ve been, and when you do show up, you’re dressed like that?” Her entire face contorts into a look of disgust that up until now would’ve sent me running home to change.

  I look down at my navy blue wraparound dress. When Blaire bought it for me, I loved it, but once I tried it on and saw how much skin it showed, I knew my mother would never approve, so I’ve never worn it out… until now. It shows enough cleavage and leg to be deemed inappropriate—by my mother’s standards.

  I take a calming breath, so I don’t snap at her. I stayed so I could speak to her about what Stephen told me. My brother wouldn’t make something like that up, and while he might not have wanted to confront my mom in fear of destroying our family, he’s no longer alive, and I’m not about to let her secret die with Stephen. My entire life, my mother has been hiding her true colors while forcing me to dim mine. I’m done living in a world of black and white. Stephen was right. It’s time to live my life for me, and I’m going to make sure my colors shine bright.

  Stephen’s last words run through my head and something in me snaps. Life is too short to not be happy, Nevaeh. Starting today…starting this very moment, I’m going to live for me. No more thinking about it. No more telling myself I will start to live soon. I’m going to do what I want and be who I want. Starting now. I’m done being who everybody else wants me to be. I’m done praying to a God who allowed my brother to die. I’m done living my life for a mom who has been keeping secrets and hiding her flaws and imperfections from her family. Judging those around her while keeping her own sins buried so deep underground, nobody stands a chance at digging them out. I’m done. Stephen was right. Life is too short, way too damn short, and I’m going to make sure when I die, I can say I actually lived. And if my mother has a problem with that…well, she can just go you-know-what herself. No! Fuck that. I can say it…or think it…Fuck! She can go fuck herself!

  My dad walks over and gives me a kiss on my forehead, and for a split second I almost feel guilty for what I’m about to do.

  “Hey, sweetie,” he says. “I missed you this morning. Everything okay?”

  Before I can answer him, another friend of his walks over and pats him on his shoulder. “Edward, can I steal you away for a moment? I wanted to talk to you about the church’s insurance.” My dad is an insurance agent and does business with most of the people who belong to this church.

  “Sure, Stan.” He turns back to me. “Talk later?”

  I nod once and smile tightly. Once he’s far enough away not to hear, I turn back to my mom and say, “I need to talk to you.”

  “What is it, Nevaeh?” she snaps. “I think it would be best if you slip back out.” Her eyes judgingly scan down my body for a second time. “We don’t want people to get the wrong idea about you. We can talk tonight at dinner.”

  “Mom!” I say a bit too loudly, suddenly furious. Her eyes widen in shock, but I keep talking, not giving her a chance to say anything else. “Have you always been religious?”

  She freezes in place. “Of course I have always believed in God. What’s going on with you?”

  “I—what I mean is”—I take a deep breath—“was there ever a time you didn’t live your life according to the Bible?” I want to give her a chance to come clean on her own. Tell me the truth about who she really was back then. It won’t change how I feel at this point, but it will gain her back some points in respect.

  “Nevaeh! That’s enough!”

  “Just tell me,” I command. I could easily throw Stephen’s words in her face. Tell her about the diary he found. But I want her to own up to it on her own. It’s time she takes some ownership of her actions.

  “Now is not the time or place to discuss this. Please go home and change your clothes. You look like a whore,” she whisper-yells, and I’m taken aback by her choice of words. My mom never talks like that.

  “There is nothing wrong with this dress. It covers me completely, and how dare you call me that!” Especially when you were the one whoring yourself around when you were younger, I think but don’t say.

  “Nevaeh, go home.”

  “No! Answer me.”

  “Was this your brother’s doing? Did he corrupt your thoughts? I knew he would eventually do this. We’ll talk about your inappropriate behavior later when we’re alone.”

  At the mention of my brother, my heart constricts. She has no idea her son is dead and never coming back. And for a brief moment, I almost feel guilty for further destroying our family. But then I once again remember Stephen’s final words to me, and I know this is necessary.

  “Fine,” I say, my thoughts of Stephen causing me to become emotional. It feels like I haven’t even had time to mourn the loss of my brother yet. I’m numb, simply going through the motions. “I’ll see you at your house, but this conversation isn’t over.” I turn on my heel and walk out of the church without waiting for her to respond.

  Opening the doors to the church, the bright sun momentarily blinds me, and before I can adjust my eyes, a heavy piece of material goes over my head and a hand covers my mouth, as I’m lifted off the ground. I try to kick and scream, but the hand covering my mouth successfully keeps me silent.

  A few moments later, I’m being dropped onto a hard surface and then my hands are bound together behind my back with what feels like rope. I try to scream as loud as I can, but the second the sound of something slamming shut hits my ears, I know it’s fruitless. I can’t be sure, but I’m almost positive I’m in a trunk.

  And then the sound of an engine roars to life, the vehicle jolting forward, and my suspicions are confirmed. I’ve been kidnapped, thrown into a trunk, and am being taken to God knows where.

  Using my feet and bound hands, I try to feel around. For what, I don’t know. The trunk is very small and I can’t feel anything but the hard surface I’m lying on.

  Unable to do anything at the moment, my brain goes into overdrive. Stephen was killed less than forty-eight hours ago, and now I’ve been taken. I have no phone, no way of letting anyone know what’s happened, and my last conversation with my mom was us arguing, so she’s going to assume I’m just ignoring her. My parents are about to lose both their children and they don’t even know it. There’s no way whoever took me is going to keep me alive. It can’t be a coincidence I was taken shortly after I saw my brother lying dead on his living room floor.

  I’m about to be killed.

  I can only hope he kills me quickly like he did to my brother.

  And then a sad thought occurs to me: I’m going to die before I’ve even lived.

  I’m not sure why I think of that right now. Maybe it’s kind of like when people say the moment before they die, their life flashes before their eyes. Only I don’t really have much to flash. My thoughts go to my list tucked away in my drawer. Only a couple items crossed off. The easy ones. The ones my mom would be proud of. Except the last few, like getting drunk at the club and kissing a stranger. Those were for me. Those were me
finally living.

  And now I’ll never have a chance to do the rest.

  The vehicle comes to a stop, the engine silencing, and then bright lights appear. I can’t see because of the sack on my head, but it’s bright enough, the lights shine through.

  “Let’s go,” a gruff voice demands as hands grip my arms and I’m dragged out of the trunk. My legs are scratched against the edge of the bumper and I cry out.

  “Help!” I scream, hoping to draw the attention of someone nearby.

  “Shut the fuck up,” the man commands, gripping my tied wrists with one of his hands and covering my mouth over the material with the other, as he pushes me along blindly.

  I stumble up a step and then another. A dangle of what sounds like keys hits my ears, and then we enter air conditioning. We’re indoors. He’s going to kill me. Just like he killed my brother.

  The door slams closed and he continues to push me along. He lets go of my mouth and I scream again, even though it’s pointless.

  “If you keep that shit up, I’m going to duct tape your mouth,” he threatens, and I immediately stop screaming. “That’s what I thought.”

  There’s a pulling on my wrists and then I’m pushed onto the ground. The material covering my face lifts, and I come face-to-face with the man who more than likely killed my brother. Blond, neatly trimmed hair, blue eyes, and a face, so gorgeous that, in a different situation, would have the ability to take my breath away. He looks like the all-American boy next door—but I know different.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I blurt out.

  He smirks. It’s smarmy, and everything I thought was gorgeous about him is instantly ugly. “Hell no,” he says with a shake of his head. “You’re no use to me dead.”

  I’m no use to him dead? What the heck does that mean?

  “Please let me go,” I beg. “I won’t tell anyone you took me. I promise,” I lie.

  He snorts out a laugh. “Oh, I’m going to let you go all right. You’re being sold to the highest bidder. Your no-good, piece of shit brother owes me a shit ton of money, and you’re going to get it all back for me.”