Murder Mystery Cake
Stories similar to this that you might like too.
“Oh God, no. No, no, no.” I couldn’t believe what he had done.
I looked around the room in confusion and realized that we were standing outside of a cake shop, one where we often bought things because they made the best chocolate cakes on the planet. He was holding me so tightly with his arms wrapped tight to my chest that it hurt, but I still tried to wiggle free, but to no avail.
We’d come into the town as a family for an outing, and I wanted to buy him something special. It took us some time to find this place because we kept getting lost among all the cute little shops along Main Street. But when we came out of the last store—the bookstore—he grabbed my hand and pulled me back onto Main Street.
He dragged me by the hand through the crowd and stopped at the front doors to the little bakery. “What are you doing?” My voice came out shrill, almost hysterical, despite how angry I was with him.
“You need to be able to trust me,” he said softly.
I shook my head violently trying to break away from his grip. His hands tightened around mine even more until I felt like crying. “No, no, no, no!”
But it wasn’t enough that he could have me just about any way he wanted. Oh no, he needed to take something else too. Something I loved. Murder mysteries. The books I devoured in a matter of days; the shows I watched obsessively, over and over again, even though I knew what happened every episode.
The very thing that gave me such joy, that allowed me to escape into another world of make-believe, the same one that I used to use to get away from my life and pretend I had control of things.
He took the book I always bought for myself before Christmas or whenever I finished a novel, the one I’d been saving up since I started reading them two years ago. And he tore it from me with his bare hands, causing my heart to beat wildly inside my chest.
His eyes bored into mine as he ripped my book open with claws. “It’s not like this is the first time, right? This isn’t going to be your only book, is it?” I didn’t answer, but the look in his eye told me it wouldn’t be.
“And now you will never read this one, will you?” He held the ruined book close to my face, the cover is torn in half and missing pages. There wasn’t even enough left to turn the pages.
A sob escaped my lips, and he released my hands to wrap both arms around me in a hug, pressing my body to his so closely that we were nearly touching from shoulders to knees. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”
I tried to pull away. “For what?”
“That we’ll never share it. That you’ll have to wait another year to finish it if we live that long.” He spoke softly, with a hint of regret in his tone. “I know it won’t make things better, but can we at least go somewhere quiet so we don’t cause a scene?”
I nodded. I couldn’t say anything because my throat felt thick and I couldn’t seem to swallow properly. “Let’s go home.”
The drive back to our house would normally have been pleasant, the windows down with music playing loudly while I drove and he slept against the window, but today was different. Instead of being happy that I’d found the perfect gift for him, he took my favorite book and threw it in the trash.
If I wasn’t sure it was true before, there was no doubting it after that. We weren’t just broken, we were shattered.
***
As soon as we got home, he turned off the engine and let the silence stretch between us.
“Where are we going?” He stared blankly ahead as he waited for me to continue. I hated the expression he wore. So serious, and yet filled with worry.
When he opened the passenger door and climbed out, I followed suit. I wanted to be strong enough not to cry. He reached up and wiped a few tears away with the pad of his thumb. He did the same to my cheeks when they threatened to escape. “Come on. We’re going inside. You should eat something.”
I wanted to argue, but it had already been a long day for us, and I was starving. When he led me toward the front door, I saw a piece of paper taped to our mail slot. As I stepped closer to get a better look at it, I realized it was folded and written in familiar handwriting:
I think this may help. I hope it works,
Derek
I took the note from the slot, unfolded the sheet of paper, and gasped. I looked up at Derek. “Is this—”
“Yes.” He nodded. “This was in the mailbox when I came in earlier.”
He must have seen the surprise on my face because he said quietly, “They’ve sent us letters like this before. Usually just pictures, sometimes poetry, but they’ve never sent us an actual letter. Do you remember when they first started writing to us?”
Of course, I remembered. They were still in school then, and I was just beginning my freshman year in college. The letters began innocently enough. But by the second year, it became clear that they knew far more than they should have about Derek and me.
“I thought you might not want to talk about that.” My words came out quickly because I didn’t want him to shut down, to change the subject, to leave me behind and forget all about our friendship. I needed him to tell me everything, no matter how hard it made him look or feel. Because the truth was that I didn’t need anyone else in my life, not anymore. Not ever again.
Derek shook his head. “There isn’t anything to worry about.” His hand wrapped around my own, squeezing tight. “They don’t have any idea where we live, so we’re fine.”
But I couldn’t stop the questions that came spilling out. “Do you know who they are?”
He squeezed his eyes closed. “I don’t.”
“What do they mean when they write about having to protect us?” And why did it seem like they were talking directly to Derek and not me?
“I’ve asked myself the same question, but I don’t know.” He sighed. “Maybe we shouldn’t worry about them now.”
My stomach tightened. It sounded like he was telling me he didn’t want to talk about it. But I didn’t care, because right then I only cared about one thing—the fact that he’d taken the time to pick up a package addressed to me.
So I tugged on his hand and led him through our apartment. Our home was empty. The walls were bare. A new television sat on the living room floor because my mom hadn’t been able to hang it on her wall yet. The kitchen was clean, almost sterile, with nothing to offer other than a plate of stale cookies that she’d given us yesterday.
It wasn’t until we were in the bathroom together that I realized the reason my dad always insisted on showering in private when he was home: There were no towels hung on the rack and none left on the counter.
I sank onto the cold tile and rested my cheek on the cool tiles. I closed my eyes, but all I saw was the darkness behind my eyelids and the image of Derek’s face. I could see it perfectly in my mind. He’d been upset about something and I didn’t understand why. I’d tried asking him if something happened with my dad, but he’d brushed my concern aside and told me he was okay.
His words repeated in my head over and over again. He was fine, not just for him but for me too. But I’d seen a glimpse into a world I hadn’t known existed until that moment. The same dark world he’d come from.
The door cracked open and a soft glow entered the small space. I heard his footsteps as he approached and stood back up to meet his gaze. He smiled sadly, his eyes shining bright against the white porcelain surface, and pulled the seat across from me.
I stared at him for a minute, taking in every detail about the man sitting across from me—from the way his hair fell in messy waves to the slight crookedness of his nose to the lines and wrinkles that appeared on his forehead when he frowned. I studied each line carefully, trying to memorize it because I never wanted to lose sight of those features again.
Then we were smiling at each other and I felt my heart swell. “Thank you for bringing me this,” I whispered.
For a moment he hesitated and then he leaned forward to kiss me gently on the lips. “You’re welcome, baby girl.” Then he stood up and moved toward the sink, turning off the water as he reached beneath the faucet.
“What happened with you and your dad?” I asked because I knew Derek wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t some serious tension between them, especially since they’d never had to worry about being watched in a public place before.
He looked up and then his shoulders slumped a little, but he answered, “Nothing. I just … I wish he’d try harder.”
“That sounds terrible.” I frowned. “Did he say why?”
He shook his head, reaching for the towel rack to dry himself. “Not really. Just that things got too complicated when he came out.”
“He came out?”
He nodded. “To some people. My mom, my friends. That’s not why we stopped talking, though.”
I frowned more deeply and pushed away the hurt he still refused to acknowledge. “Why are you so upset with him?”
A heavy sigh followed by a long pause preceded his response. “Because of you, I guess.”
***
Derek was right about my dad. They hadn’t talked for years because he’d made it clear how he felt about me. It had started the night that my boyfriend had broken up with me. We’d been together three months when he told me he loved me, and after that, he’d said it over and over again whenever we talked.
At first, I thought it was cute and maybe even nice, but after hearing it so often, the meaning behind the word began to change for me.
When I broke up with my ex, I’d been worried about what my dad would think and whether or not he’d be disappointed in me. But the moment I told him everything that had happened and explained all of my feelings about losing my boyfriend, he’d turned on me.
He yelled at me, accusing me of not caring about him or our family and saying that it was my fault we were stuck on the streets. After he was finished yelling, I was shocked to hear his next words.
“I hate that I have to watch you ruin your life. If you can’t do anything right, you shouldn’t get to lead anyone else astray.”
My father had actually used the phrase “do something right”—as if he’d done anything right in any of his decisions, like choosing to leave us alone on the streets with nowhere to go.
I was shaking now. This was the real reason Derek had come into our lives. To take care of me after my dad threw me to the wolves. I’d been too scared to ask, but I could tell from the look on his face that he’d been thinking about this for a while.
The problem was that my dad had thrown a huge wrench in his plans, and I hated that he was going to make him suffer for it. I couldn’t believe that after all these years, someone would finally stand up against my dad and show me the truth about his existence. I should’ve expected it, I supposed. It was always easier for me to trust people who weren’t connected to my father in any way.
Derek sat beside me on the bed and took my hand in his. “We’ll figure this out,” he promised. “You’ll see.”
The rest of the evening passed slowly until the room was bathed in darkness once more and my father’s heavy steps echoed throughout the house. Derek and I waited patiently, listening to my parent’s conversation as their voices grew louder and closer to where we lay.
“What do you want me to do?” my dad growled.
“You’re not doing anything,” my mother answered quietly, but firmly. “Your daughter is gone. You’ve lost her. You won’t ever catch up with her, so you might as well accept the fact that she’s moved on with another man.”
There was silence. It felt like an eternity before my dad responded, but when he spoke it was with such hatred and disdain that I almost jumped at the sound of his voice.
“… She’s lying …”
His words cut through me like knives and for a brief moment, I wondered if Derek would be able to save us from my father—because it sounded like he wanted to tear us apart.
But then there was nothing. The light from outside faded completely and the silence returned as quickly as it had departed. A cold chill crept over me as my body shivered. Something horrible must have happened to cause them both to leave without warning, and now my fate was in Derek’s hands.
The End