Forged (Part One)

Forged 1

A young girl named Sarah McBeth lay dead on the cold hard winter ground as CSIs walked all around her. Her wrist were slashed, the blood formed a pool that was now starting to dry to form a dark crimson crust. Sarah’s parents stood behind the yellow police tape weeping as they held each other. To them something precious had been taken from them; life had tainted their once pure daughters soul. The mother clutched her husband’s shirt as his hands stayed wrapped around her. Her tears turned his blue sweater a shade of the night. Both of their hearts had been taken and broken in two. 2

Neither of them would ever forget walking outside of their house and seeing their daughter dead in the moonlight. The suicide note clutched in her white slender hand, simply saying: I died amongst strangers. I loved you, Goodbye.  In the other hand she held a kitchen knife, the same kitchen knife they used before at family dinners, as memories and laughter was shared.3

To all of the officers and CSIs called out that night, it was just another case of a suicide, just another life turned rotten. And that’s how it was recorded, as a suicide. 4

...5

That frightful night seemed like a bad dream as Sarah’s mother, Margaret, awoke the next morning. As soon as she had convinced herself it was a dream, she quickly splashed cold water on her face to make herself see the truth, deluding herself was not a good way to get herself through this she kept reminding herself of that. Another thought passed through her mind, when did she ever say she wanted to get through this?6

Margaret stood there in front of her mirror, still wearing the clothes from the night before, just staring at her own eyes. Just staring and thinking of what she saw and what had happened. Frantically she ripped her clothes off and threw them out the open bathroom door. Dropping onto the tiled floor in nothing but her bra and panties she began to rock, back and forth. Repeating the process, picking up speed as she went. She wanted to forget, she had to forget. Her baby was dead! It was her fault because Sarah couldn’t talk to her; she told herself she was a bad mother. Faster and faster she rocked, but faster and faster the thoughts came. Soon tears came pouring down her face, feeling her tears on her skin her sorrow increased.7

Jonathan, her husband, heard her sobbing and awoke instantly. When he found her, he could hardly believe his eyes. She was a mess, but he could not blame her for that. He too felt intense sorrow, but unlike her, he suppressed it burrowing it deep into himself so no one would ever find it. He feared for his wife’s sanity, but then again there sanity and their hearts would be buried as their daughter was buried. 8

She looked up at him, with the same hazel eyes that he had first fallen in love with. Jonathan got on his knees and embraced his wife, calming her down so her sobs were only little sniffles. Margaret felt foolish, yet she didn’t care how she felt all that matter was her baby girl felt it was necessary to relieve herself from this world. They stayed like that for an hour on the tiled bathroom floor. Both lost in thoughts only known to them, yet shared by each other. 9

Margaret finally composed herself enough to get up; it took thirty minutes to convince her husband to leave so she could take a shower. When he left, he decided to make something small for them to eat. After the food was made he grabbed his car keys and made a quick stop at the store they owned, he left a sign in the window stating that the store will be closed for a good week or two. When he got back the shower upstairs was still on, so he turned on the TV. He had to something, anything, to keep his mind from thinking. 10

Margaret stepped under the hot steamy water and let it wash away some of her temporary insanity. A shower alone will not completely cure that, she mused to herself. Then realizing she actually found amusement she became disgusted with herself, how could she joke around in such a time? 11

She found him in front of the TV fast asleep, and the food he had prepared sitting cold on the plates. He had been through just as much as she had, he deserved his rest, she told herself. Looking at the plate of food, her stomach tightened, it was a nice thought to make it but she was not going to eat at least not yet. 12

She made her way to the staircase, the smooth wood of the railing felt familiar under her warm hands. Slowly she made her way up the stairs, willing herself not to, screaming inside of her own head to stop but yet her feet kept walking. Up and up the stairs and down the hallway in till she was standing in front of the closed door that once was her daughter’s room. 13

The cool handle seemed to have a pulse as she held on to it, against her better judgment she opened the door and walked in. The walls had been repainted a dark black, posters hung on every wall, and dried flowers hung upside down on the wall above her daughter’s bed. She had always respected her daughter’s privacy, but what she was seeing shocked her. Cds were scattered over the floor near her stereo, her first desk drawer was open and visibly filled with razors and rubber bands. Her lap top sat turn off on top of her black desk, the sight was not as shocking as the razors. “How could I have been this ignorant?” Tears weld up in her eyes; she sat down on her daughter’s bed and looked around once more. Something sticking up between her daughter’s pillows caught her attention.14

Reaching out for it, she wrapped her fingers around the envelope. It was labeled Mother in Sarah’s handwriting. Margaret’s heart sped up as she held the white paper messenger; this was the last message from her daughter, from the dead to the living dead. Her hands starting to shake, the white of her fingers matched the white of the envelope. Opening it, she began to read in a hushed whispered:15

Dear Mother,16

I am sure you have already looked around my room I should explain that. I have many things I have kept from you, things that I should have told you a while ago. I am a witch, not evil like you were raised to believe, but a Wiccan. I follow nature and The Great Goddess. Please do not stop reading this I have much to say. My walls were painted black because I like the color; I am not Goth nor am I any other label. The razors I wish were just a figment in your mind, but their not, its true I have cut before. I am sorry, Mother. I know you think I killed myself, and I even have to admit it looks like I did. But trust me mom, I didn’t. I don’t know who killed me. I know this seems obscured, I know you must not believe me. But I gave up cutting; I was getting back on track. Life finally accepted me I didn’t want to leave. I am writing this assuming that I am dead as you read this. I did a tarot spread and it told me my future would end this way. My cards are always right, mom you have to believe me. I did not kill myself I wouldn’t do that. Believe me. I know there must have been a note, but I did not write it, it was forged mom. I can’t say anything else. Trust your heart you know your daughter is not a suicide victim, but a murder victim. The cards only showed me how my life would end and when. I know your probably wondering why I let it happen. The answer simply is, that destiny has its own reasons. I love you mom, I love dad to. The police wont believe this letter; you know what you must do. I am always with you. Feel my heart beating next to yours forever.17

Love, Sarah 18

Her daughter’s tears stained the paper, they were held in the fibers of the paper. A piece of her daughter was held in the fibers of the paper, the paper will always be with Margaret, she already decided that. 19

She folded the paper and placed it back inside of the envelope. A daze covered her mind, what she had just read had her questioning her daughter’s death. She killed herself, the CSIs proved she did when they processed the crime scene, she told herself. But no matter what she told herself, no matter what anyone else told her she truly felt that someone else had killed her baby girl. Sarah had written this letter, but it sounded like she knew more then she had said she did. And what was all that about being a witch? Was her daughter truly a witch? Had she truly figured out their family heritage? Margaret was sure she had hid the fact that she herself was a witch from her daughter. “She was not supposed to know she was a Witch in till she turn sixteen, she had only one year to go!” It was a tradition in their clan of witches to wait in till the age of sixteen to tell the young witch of their power and their destiny.20

In confusion and frustration she stuffed the letter back between the pillows, just in time. Her husband walked in to find her on their daughter’s bed, his heart started to pound in his rib cage. He hoped she was not having another break down, seeing her like that again would just break him for good. 21

“Dear?”  He approached slowly, one foot slowly moved in front of the other. “Yes?” Covering up anything that might be shown on her face she looked at him. She was not sure why but she just felt like she could not share with him the letter that was another odd thing. Why was the letter just addressed to her? 22

Jonathan gulped in a breath of air that smelled and tasted of his daughter before saying “we have to meet the woman at the funeral home.” She composed herself but did not feel confident enough to speak so instead she nodded. Together they walked out of the room. 23

Closing behind him the door in both his house and his mind, Jonathan walked over to the passenger’s side door of his SUV and waited for Margaret to get situated before heading off to the funeral home. 24

Trees and houses went by, one by one Margaret’s eyes followed them. In till her thoughts took over and they became distorted blurs. All she saw were the words in the letter, each engraved permanently into her mind. There was a reason she found that letter, there was a reason Sarah knew she would be sitting there and see it. She had to follow the road that was starting to clear its way in the forest of her mind. One step in front of the other she reminded herself. 25

She felt a jerk on her left arm and turned to see a worried expression on her husbands face. She must have been to busy thinking to realize they had made it to the funeral home. 26

A woman in a tight black dress, that just screamed authoritive slut, came out to greet them. “I am sorry for your loss Mr. And Mrs. McBeth. My name is Dorothy. Please step into my office” She shook hands in a solemn way with both of them before escorting them into her therapist like office. “Please sit”, she said as she slid her slim body between her desk and chair. She stood like that in till they both had placed themselves comfortably into the cushioned chairs; she then sat down gracefully her straight blonde hair reaching her shoulders bounced as she did. 27

A moment of silence preceded all of this; Margaret started to get annoyed with this cheesy attempt at sympathy, so she spoke up. “ I believe we are here to do the funeral arrangements, such as newspaper obituaries, coffins, things like that. Am I correct?” Again her mind wandered back to that letter and what it contained. 28

Dorothy looked at Margaret through her crystal clear blue eyes, picking up on the fact that she was trying to rush this procedure along, with understanding of course. “Yes, first I was thinking not only to do the obituaries in the news paper, but to have them do an article. I realize this is tough for you two, but she did commit suicide, something like that could be used as an example to other kids. Especially ones who knew her.”29

After that Margaret just tuned out most of what Dorothy said, she agreed on the coffin color, and that there was to be no wake for her, but besides that the conversation was just a blur. The article in the newspaper had been agreed on, even though Margaret knew that Sarah had only one person she considered a friend, a girl named Chelsea Bluff. Sarah had been friends with Chelsea since they were in 6th grade. She knew Sarah would probably detest being made a role model or example out of; at least she was sure she would. She was not even sure how her daughter thought anymore. What was in her daughter’s life that made her so depressed? What caused her to cut? She may never truly find the answers; those answers may be buried along with her daughter on February 18th just two days away. 30

She remembered driving Sarah to Chelsea’s house once or twice in the past, so the house and where it was, was still in her memory. A plan formed in her mind to get to Chelsea’s house within the next hour without her husband finding out. 31

They exited the funeral home, a strange hue hung in the air. Margaret decided now was the time to begin her plan. “Jonathan, I really would like to go to library. Do you think you could drop me off there on your way home? Books will help take my mind off the current situation.” She still was not positive as to why she didn’t just tell him, but at the same time she knew why. He would think she was crazy or just think Sarah had changed her mind and pass it off; she knew she couldn’t tell him. They got into the car; Jonathan pushed a hand through his brown curly hair before reply “I don't see why not, I could come back in an hour or two.”32

“Its one O’clock, so give me in till five thirty. Then come get me.” She gave him a half smile to reassure him that she was not going to have a break down in the middle of the library. “Alright then” 33

He pulled up in front of the library and watched as she walked into the building, she could feel his eyes on her back. After he drove away she exited the library and walked out onto Main Street. That’s when it occurred to her that she should have just gone home and taken the other car out to the library, “I never claimed to be intelligent” she spoke out loud as she walked with the throng of people. 34

She walked past the park where teenagers were making out, probably the age her daughter was, who actually should be in school at the moment, and a young boy with his parents walked a puppy golden retriever through the park. The retreating sun danced off of the hard soil and grass, and the wind whipped off the water from the harbor down the street and through the leafless trees.  She looked at the statue that sat like a guardian that scanned the souls of the people who entered the park.35

Walking further now she denied her urge to go down to the harbor and gaze out as the boats pulled in. She crossed the busy road and stood at the corner, looking at the train station, remembering it before they rebuilt it. Continuing her journey, she walked down by the bus station and took a left, when she saw the cemetery towards the end of the street she knew she was heading in the right direction.36

As she walked by the old headstones, she stopped and paid her respects. Each stone held a persons story, held a person’s memory. But yet so many had been left forgotten, by either families who did not care, or families to busy to come, or even ones who had no families. She always liked to walk through old cemeteries, trying to look into the lives of another, reading the dates of when they died. Some called this type of thing morbid, but she believed in honoring those who went before us. 37

Margaret took a right and walked straight, cars whizzed by her but her mind was on more important matters then the cars around her. She crossed on to Louis Street and walked down to the house numbered twelve. 38

She knocked on the door and stepped back waiting for someone to answer. A woman, who looked around thirty-eight years old, answered the door. “Hello, Mrs. Bluff I am Sarah McBeth’s Mother, I was wondering if I could speak with your daughter Chelsea for a moment.” She hopped that would satisfy Chelsea’s Mother. 39

“Please come in Mrs. McBeth I will call Chelsea down” Mrs. Bluff stepped aside to let her in. 40

Incense drifted lazily throughout the air, the scent was lavender. “Have a seat,” Mrs. Bluff added as she headed up the stairs to get Chelsea. Margaret sat down on the sofa, the whole house just screamed witch. She could sense the good magic pulsated throughout the home. Curtains of lavender shade with beads hanging from the ends of the fabric went well with dark purple walls. In two of the corners of the living room were huge bamboo plants. A glass coffee table with a rusted hue to the metal sat in front of her. She stopped observing the room as Chelsea walked down the stairs and into the living room.41