I tell this story from beyond the grave. I did not find heaven or hell when I died. I simply was. I think the door was not opened to me because it was not my time to go. I was not called Home as most are; I was murdered in the prime of my young life. I was murdered because of something that never should have happened.
My name was Vanessa Mason, Star to nearly everyone who knew me. My friends used to tease me, telling me that I was destined for stardom; they said I was the best comedian they ever heard, but I never tried to be funny. I was just being me. I was sixteen; my midnight hair brushed my thighs, my eyes reflected the deep wells of a bottomless universe. I had a playful personality, though there were times when my mood became dark and mysterious. I was full of love to give, and yet I could hold a grudge forever. I grew up in London; however when I was fourteen my parents moved me to the States, Florida to be exact. I hated it there. I wasn’t used to the heat or the humidity.
My story begins two weeks before Valentine’s Day, my birthday. I had just gotten home from school. I was in my room doing homework when my mother called up to me. “Star, you got some mail.” I bounded down the stairs and into the den. She handed me a envelope the color of dark red roses. I opened the card with a slight smile on my face, my first Valentine of the year. I couldn’t wait to see who sent it. I pulled the card out of the envelope and froze. There was a picture of me lying in a pool of blood with my throat slashed from ear to ear on the front. In disbelief I opened the card. I formed the words slowly with my mouth, though no sound followed.
“Hatred in a heart
Already on the mend
Valentine’s Day
Reveals your end.”
My mind did not process the words. I read the card again and again, until I dropped it as I screamed while shock gripped every part of me. Panic swept through my parents as they ran into the den. I didn’t see them; I didn’t hear them. I saw the words on the card, heard them over and over again in my mind. I tried to think of it as a joke, but somehow I knew it wasn’t. I can’t explain it exactly, it’s like intuition with a dash of epiphany thrown in; I just knew it wasn’t a joke, and I knew the person who wrote it was serious. I was afraid; ok, that’s an understatement, I was terrified. My brain would not function properly. My mind was racing to guess who could have sent me something like this. No one hated me as far as I knew. So who would want me dead?
My father saw the card at my feet and picked it up. His face became pale when he read it, when he saw the front cover of it. He put his arm around me, trying to comfort me. He kept telling me over and over again that it was alright, nothing was going to happen. He comforted me more than I can say with his soothing voice.
My mother called the police as my father tried to sooth my panic and fear. The next conscious memory I have is of a cop standing over me, holding the card. His voice was deep and gravely, “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I have a few questions for Miss Mason.”
“Ok” my father said.
“Do you have any enemies, Miss Mason?” the cop asked me.
“What kind of question is that?” my father asked him. “Everyone loves my daughter.”
“It is a routine question we would ask anyone.” The cop said. “We call them procedural questions.”
My mind flared up at the word procedural. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to tell him “Fuck procedure! Someone sends me something like this and you want to bleat on about ‘procedure’! Go find the sawed off sorry fucker!” But, I didn’t. I kept my head about me and tried to answer the man’s never ending stream of questions. It seemed the man thought of six more questions for every one question I tried to answer.
“Do you have any enemies?”
“Not that I know of” I said.
“Do you have any idea who might have sent this to you?”
“No.”
“Can you think of any reason why someone would send you something like this?”
“No. I have no clue. How many times do I have to say it?” I said to the cop in complete frustration.
“I’m sorry Ma’am. As I said, these are routine questions.”
“Well, I have no answers for you, Officer.”
“I’m sorry Ma’am. If you think of anything more, please give us a call.”
“Thank you. I will.”
The cops finally left, taking the card with them to examine. My mother ran me a hot bath and soon after put me to bed. The following morning I met my boyfriend, Will Brennan, outside of school before the bell rang. Will was six foot even with dark brown hair and the eyes to match; he was a hundred and seventy-five pounds of rock hard muscle, and a temper that would scare the Devil himself. I threw my arms around him and started to cry. He lifted my head as he asked me what was wrong. I told him about the card I had gotten in the mail. His face was a mixture of emotions as I recited the poem to him. His face showed confusion, then anger, then a brief glimpse of hatred. His face said everything, without saying a word.
When he finally got himself under control, he was a record of the cop. “Who would send you something like that? Do you have any idea?”
“No. How could I?” I snapped at him.
“I’m sorry.” He said to me, as he put his arm around me. “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably a sick practical joke anyway. Don’t think about it. It will go away. And just think, if it doesn’t I will be always be here to protect you.” He said to me with a laugh in his voice.
We both laughed. The thought of Will protecting anyone was simply hilarious. The boy just didn’t have a mean or violent bone in his body. The idea of him being violent was just ridiculous, and we both knew it.
Will walked me to class. He kissed my forehead and told me to forget about the card as we prepared to go our separate ways for the day. Will and I did not share a single class together, nor did we even share the same lunch period. We wouldn’t see each other the rest of the day.
My best friend, Scott Kei came up to me that afternoon during lunch. Scott was six-two with short blonde hair, baby blue eyes and two hundred forty pounds of solid muscle. He was the school quarterback. I was sitting in a quiet corner of the commons area outside doing my English homework.
“Hiya, sweetness.” Came Scott’s customary greeting.
“Hi, Scott.” I said absentmindedly.
“What’s this I hear; you’re in a state of panic?” he said with an overly melodramatic flare to his voice… “You look fine to me.” He said with his normal voice.
I stopped working on my homework and looked at Scott.
“And, just who exactly said I was in panic?”
“Oh, you know, your dearly beloved, beloved.”
“Scott, haven’t you figured out by now that Will is prone to blow things completely out of proportion?”
“Well… yea. But, he sounded so sure about it that he made me worry.”
“Trust me, Scott… You would be the first to know if I was panicked or frightened about anything.”
“So why would Will think you were so upset?” He asked me.
“Oh, that. I got someone’s sick idea of a Valentine in the mail yesterday. It was disgusting.”
“Explain.” He said in a demanding voice.
“I got a card in the mail yesterday. It said ‘Hatred in a heart, Already on the mend, Valentine’s Day, Reveals your end.’ The cops checked it for finger prints, but didn’t find any. They said they were going to check the envelope for DNA, but I don’t know who they plan to compare it to.”
“That’s sick. Are you taking it seriously?”
“That’s the thing, Scott… I just have this feeling that the person who sent it is serious. Don’t ask me why I feel that way; I just know that he is.”
Scott put his arm around me and I lay my head down on his shoulder; he lay his head against mine and said, “Don’t worry, baby cakes, we will figure it out. No one is gonna hurt you while I’m around. No body would dare lay a hand on you in my presence.”
“You might be right about that, Scott, but even you can’t be with me all of the time. Anyway, don’t worry about it. My birthday is still two weeks away.”
“Yea, which means two more weeks to find out who the fucker is that sent you that so I can play pinball with his face.”
“Can I watch?”
Scott laughed and said, “Sure, anything you want.”
“Good. I think I will enjoy watching you beat on him.”
“You, noooo…. Not your style, sweetness.” Scott said in a mocking slightly sarcastic tone.
“So, got any ideas who might hate me, Scott?” I asked. If anyone could tell me what others thought of me, it was Scott; he had eyes and ears all over the place. He knew everyone.
“The only person I can think of that has a grudge against you is Chris.” Scott said matter of factly.
“Oh, is he ever going to get over that?” I asked, whining just a little. Chris was a sore spot in my life.
“I doubt it, sweetness. The way he sees it, you burned him pretty badly.”
“I did not. I just told him we needed to move on.”
“That’s the thing, though; he just wasn’t ready to move on. I still don’t think he’s ready to move on. You know he’s still hung up on you. He’s never let you go.”
“Yea, but this is different. Do you really think Chris of all people is capable of actually killing me?”
“You never know sweetness. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s so angry over what happened between you two.”
“I know. But, I still don’t think he wants to kill me.”
“Well, just have the cops check him out, anyway… For me?” Scott said in that way of his that I could never refuse.
“Ok. I will talk to the cops about it. I will let them know what happened with Chris, and see if they think it’s worth checking out. Deal?” I said.
“Deal.” Scott said, putting his hand out with that dramatic flare of his. We shook on it.
