When She Screams...

When She Screams…

J. Alexander

WHEN SHE SCREAMS…

Copyright © 2015 J. Alexander.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-7685-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-7684-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015914537

iUniverse rev. date: 09/14/2015

Contents

Prologue

January 1st

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

January 2nd

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

January 3rd

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

January 4th

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

January 5th

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

January 6th

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

January 7th

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

January 8th

Chapter Twenty-Four

Arraignment

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

One Year Later

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Murder Trial

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Murder Trial

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Verdict

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Epilogue

Dedicated to the Survivors

&

To Justus

For always listening; for always understanding

Prologue

Gripping the 9mm Glock stole the fear from her green eyes. It gave her the same protection and solace she once took from her crystal-beaded rosary. With the slivers of sunlight reaching the self-inflicted wounds on her forearms, she brought the cold metal up to her face and rested her nose on top of the weapon as her long, brown hair fell around her pale face. Although her windows were covered with aluminum foil, she could close her eyes and almost see the dark clouds rolling over the sun as she listened to the rain begin to patter on the glass.

She’d lost her faith, but her birthday, New Year’s Day, came with the gift of life … or the gift to take a life. Keeping her eyes closed, she felt the adrenaline run through her body causing her empty stomach to turn.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is thy fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

She whispered the prayer as she felt her breath bounce off the cold metal of the gun. It was time. Her eyes darted open as she lowered the weapon and slammed a full magazine clip into the empty handle. With the strength of her bicep, she cocked the 9mm Glock, pushing the slide back forward placing a bullet into the chamber. She tucked the gun into her jean’s waistband and rolled her black tube dress over it in order to conceal the weapon.

She took a brief moment to gather some of her personal belongings into a black backpack and then walked out of her bedroom. She could feel the cold air hit her face and bare shoulders as she neared the front door, all the while tracing the white walls with her fingertips. With the gun replacing her faith, she walked out of her home for the last time.

January 1st

Chapter One

The cold wind gust brushed hard against her face. She felt water sprinkles stinging her cheeks. Her green eyes looked to the sky to watch the black clouds move over the sunlight. It was gloomy and she began to shiver in the cold. The sound of the car door closing brought her attention back to Jade, her friend. As she stared at Jade, her teeth began to chatter. Whether it was from the adrenaline or the cold, she was not sure, but she silently attempted to will them away.

She followed Jade with her eyes as she walked over to her. They stood together in front of the Estrada Estate. The girl stared at the large, brick home with long, cathedral-type windows, vaulted ceilings, and three chimneys. The lawn was manicured from the front of the home all the way to the arched, concrete driveway where they stood. At their feet lay the yellow flagstone and sage plant’s purple flowers were in bloom. The flowers moved with the wind as they led the way to the grand entrance of the home.

Arina. She felt Jade reach for her hand and they interlocked fingers. She looked into Jade’s glassy eyes and then they began walking toward the home.

Arina was not sure whether she knocked or rang the doorbell, but John Estrada opened the heavy, wooden door. She watched him stagger into the door as he looked directly at her and began to laugh. He stood towering over her and she allowed herself to look into his eyes. They were black, evil.

The smell of alcohol from John’s breath overpowered her senses. Her eyelids started to twitch and her flesh felt like it was peeling, burning off her bones as her heart began knocking on her chest. When she felt Jade squeeze her hand, she knew this was the moment … the point of no return.

She kept her eyes on John. You have been sentenced to death, she said in a low tone of voice.

His laughter ceased and his eyes grew narrow and constricted. Those thin lips began to move when she let her right hand slip from behind her back. Before he could say a word, Arina quickly aimed the 9mm firearm to his forehead and pulled the trigger. The blast of the bullet exiting the chamber was deafening and the kick jerked her hand briefly. She quickly closed her eyes and turned her head as she felt the rush of blood splatter and sharp bone sting her face.

Arina slowly opened her eyes and saw John’s body sprawled out on the floor of the foyer. She could hear air escaping from his body and felt her throat close when she saw his head. Her body hunched over as she grabbed her stomach and began to dry heave, the 9mm dangling from her right hand.

Use this. Jade caught her attention and placed a large amount of vapor rub on the top of her hand.

Arina immediately brought her hand to her nose and allowed herself to breath in the minty aroma. She turned away from the body and felt Jade walk past her into the home. She saw the single brass shell casing lying on the floor near her feet. Arina reached down to pick it up. She held it in her hands a second, then gently tucked it into her jeans pocket.

* * *

Inside the home, Sonny Estrada stood in the recreational area, watching the grand entrance when the blast of the gun went off. She watched in horror as her brother hit the floor and felt her own urine run down her legs. The amount of shock prevented her from running. She recognized Arina and the white girl with long, black hair … the girl who was staring at her now.

Sonny was tuned in to the girl and could feel the hate in her eyes. She was unable to hide her fear when she noticed the girl was slowly coming toward her. She knew that her life was next.

Keeping her eyes on the girl, Sonny slowly started to take steps backwards. The girl then picked up speed and Sonny began to scramble. She felt the wooden coffee table hit the back of her knees and lost her balance as she recklessly grabbed for the five-tier bookshelf as she went down. To her dismay, the bookshelf went down with her and split as soon as it hit the onyx tile floor. Her leg got caught underneath the bookshelf as she lay between the coffee table and the white leather couch. She watched in fear as the girl swooped down and picked up a large piece of the wooden bookshelf. The wood came at her face and she quickly balled her body and placed her hands over her head. It did not help; the bone-shattering pain took over her body and she could not pray. Sonny knew she would die today. The sunlight that came through the windows was suddenly gone.

* * *

Arina quickly reached for the door handle of the blue Honda Civic. Her body was shivering uncontrollably as she plopped herself in the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.

"Hail Mary, full of grace …" she said as she pulled out the shell casing and stared at it.

She then looked out the window and saw Jade swiftly walking toward the car. She picked up the soft pack of cigarettes and carefully slid one out, bringing it to her pink, glossy lips. A stream of blood ran down her forehead as she lit the cigarette, watching the flame dance above the lighter. It wasn’t long before the rain began to fiercely fall from the sky.

Jade had gotten into the driver seat of the car and turned the ignition. Arina noticed there was blood on Jade’s white muscle shirt and face as she exhaled smoke.

Did you kill her?

Who knows? Jade said as she drove out of the estate.

Chapter Two

The smell of stale cigarettes always tickled William’s nose, no matter how often he had tried to become used to it. He walked over to a tan and brown plaid couch built for three and plopped down in the middle of the couch as he always had for the last seven months. He then took his Oakley sunglasses off his blue eyes and placed them atop his shaven and short brown hair. His apparel was disorganized: an over-sized, unbuttoned blue flannel shirt, tattered t-shirt underneath, faded and torn jeans, and black Converse tennis shoes.

William believed that therapy was the most disappointing agenda-pushing he’d ever heard of. It was a ruthless business that got to throw diagnoses and medications his way. After all these months, he was finally finished and decided he would not return. He’d tried to flake out on this appointment, but then the Doc offered to hold the last session on a holiday. It was bullshit he even agreed, but at least he’d be able to talk about the girl.

Happy New Year, William, Dr. Stanley Brach greeted him as he walked over to his black leather chair.

Hey, Doc, he said as he leaned back into the couch, stretching his legs away from his body, and resting his arms on the back ledge of the sofa.

Despite his negative attitudes about therapy, William thought Dr. Brach was a cool dude. The Doc liked to wear tan corduroy suits and goofy-looking red bow ties, and he owned it. He was a distinguished gentleman with silver hair that matched his beard and always sported a large, beige coffee mug. It was unknown when the mutual respect between them had come, but William had begun to talk to him like he talked to the guys.

Last year in May, he dreamt of a girl. She lay in a deep ditch, staring at the sky with no expression on her face. He could feel her pain. There were snapshots of intense violence that made him jerk harder in his sleep. The image would return to the rain hitting the girl’s face as the water filled around her in the ditch. There was more pain, pain so horrid, he awoke in a hospital bed screaming. He’d been found in his own bed bleeding from a stab wound to his lower abdomen. His mother, Lisa, was convinced that he had attempted to commit suicide. At that moment, the nightmare of his torturous past crept up on him into one murderous rage. And that was when the therapy came … fuckin’ hospitals.

So, William, you’ve talked about the girl with brown hair and green eyes for months now. Every so often, there is a story unfolding. So where are we now?

He allowed his mind to wander back to his dreams.

The girl stands on a ledge with her brown hair dancing in the wind. I fear she’ll jump, but she’s smiling and she lifts her hands high into the air and lets herself fall into a giant lake. The lake is familiar, you know. When her face comes above the water, she swims to the bank and lies on the white sand, again staring at the sky. A dark object clouds the sky, then it falls hard into the sand … like she willed it there. It is a gun.

A gun? That’s intense.

He noticed that Dr. Brach was not even taking notes this time. The Doc was just sitting in his leather chair listening to him.

Yeah. She’s staring at the gun and then starts talking to it. I can hear her voice.

Audio? This is new. The Doc now reached for his notepad.

"It’s the first time I heard her voice. It was a silent whisper spoken in sorrow as her words began to flow within my ears, and she said … ‘Kiss the untold story … extend her hand for a price of his life; to insist he feel her fright, a river runs dry … she’ll disappear under the sand where her legacy lies and dignity dies.’" He felt the goose bumps return.

So, what did you do?

When I woke up? I drew her on my wall. But … I drew her with the gun in her hand.

Why did you put the gun in her hand?

I don’t know. It was something I felt I had to do.

Dr. Brach looked up from his notepad. Well, what do you make of it?

All these months, you’ve tried to connect this whole thing to Briseis. This isn’t Briseis. He said her name after all this time.

You took Briseis’ death very hard, William. Let’s see …

Dr. Brach looked into his file. You had your injury on May 31st of 2012. That is, coincidently, Briseis’ three-year death anniversary. What do you make of that?

Maybe you’re right. She has some of the driving force here, but this is different.

Different? How?

When I think of Briseis, it brings me rage. When I dream of this girl, who looks nothing like Briseis, it brings me peace and resolution. William began to feel the heartache in the pit of his stomach. Talking about his past was hard.

Plus … Doc, the symbolism is all wrong, he continued.

Tell me about it.

Water. This is everywhere and Briseis hated it. There are heights and guns; she hated all those things. And to this girl, they play a dominant role.

That makes sense. But you said yourself that she did not pick up the gun. Dr. Brach leaned back into his leather chair and crossed his legs.

But why would I connect a gun to Briseis?

Maybe so you can recreate a world where she would’ve been able to protect herself.

William shook his head and stared at the tacky green carpet. "Extend her hand for a price of his life. Maybe she needed the gun after all." His voice was low and the tears stung the back of his eyes.

Briseis? The girl? Who? Dr. Brach continued.

I’m not sure.

William? Did you think that she could actually shoot him?

William shook his head no. Again, the tears stung the back of his eyes. He looked out the window above the bookcases, his focus on dust dancing in the sun’s rays.

Nope. She hated guns, he finally said.

Well, those words also say … The Doc looked down to his notepad. "…‘A river runs dry.’ Do you think that suggests Briseis’ fear of water? What about that?"

I’m not sure. The water was her fear … if the river runs dry, her fear disappears. If there is no fear, then she could’ve used the gun to save herself. He finally let out the tears.

Dr. Brach leaned over to hand him a box of tissue. When are you going to stop blaming yourself for her death?

I can’t. I knew that guy … he was part of my crew.

Well, here you are. You’ve quit law school and turned your anger on yourself. You first came to me a stubborn boy who openly wanted to commit murder, and now … you’ve subconsciously created Briseis with no fear and a gun in her hands. You can’t change what’s been done. You can only move forward with the hard lessons that have happened to us all.

William sat in silence, listening intently and asking himself all those questions. What future could he have changed? How bad could he wish he could change the past?

Then he heard Dr. Brach continue. William, all your reports, your psychological evaluations, and your IQ scores suggest that you are a very smart young man. Heck! You’re a boy genius! I’m not surprised that you were accepted into law school right out of high school or that you were top of your graduating class. I understand that Briseis’ untimely and unfortunate death left you emotionally disabled. Leaving law school for a break is totally appropriate, but, William … you’ve been gone for three years. What debt are you paying for not continuing your education to slowly spiral down this hole that you yourself call hell?

That dude … he is my hell, burning somewhere in Corpus. He kicked himself off the couch and walked over to the window.

And law enforcement? Dr. Brach started.

You see, Doc, that’s just it. Briseis wanted to press charges, but this fuckin’ cop tells her that because she opened her apartment door for him, she was at fault. Because she was wearing a see-through shirt, it was her fault. This … this fuckin’ Bradley guy. Next thing you know … I find her … hanging in her bathroom. He dropped onto his bottom on the floor. He let his tears fall from his eyes once more.

She opened the door because she thought he was looking for me. He continued to cry.

I’m sorry, William. I never knew this.

I never told anyone. I held this guilt, this rage for so many years. Now … I’m putting it in an envelope and I’m giving it back.

Now you can move forward. You’ve completed your therapy goals.

I guess. He leaned his head back against the wall and looked out of the window to the sky. The clouds moved gracefully above his blue eyes, his tears beginning to dry.

It helped a lot when I joined the band again and reconnected with the guys. I thought about going back to law school, but … if that is our justice system, I don’t want to fuckin’ be part of it.

I’m glad to hear that there is something that can bring you out. Music has always had powerful effects. Are you planning to wear that shirt? Dr. Brach laughed.

William looked down at his tattered t-shirt with the image of a giant fist punching a human face.

Gotta love metal, Doc. He smiled, then jumped up to his feet.

Well, this is the end. Dr. Brach stood with him.

Yeah, Doc. I’m gone and never looking back.

They both laughed. William then took his Oakley sunglasses from his head and placed them back over his eyes. He walked out for the last time.

William took his time as he walked the concrete sidewalk that led him out of the breezeway that housed all the offices. He came out into a large garden and saw the sunlight hitting little purple flowers on large, silver-green bushes. He followed the yellow flagstone deeper into the bushes when he realized … this land should be an empty field. All the months in therapy, there had never been a garden by the Doc’s office.

He spun his head, trying to look back at the office building; however, it was gone. There was now a large mansion home with flagstone steps and those large, silver bushes with purple flowers in bloom. Sage plants bloom after rain … Again, he remembered the rain hitting the girl’s face. He winced in the sun and saw the girl standing right beside him also looking toward the home. Her long, brown hair fell over her bare shoulders and the fear in her eyes was just as fresh as it was when she was in that ditch.

What the hell am I seeing? he thought to himself.

Then a loud, explosive noise rang through his ears. He jolted back and placed his hands over his ears. When he closed his eyes, he saw her pink-glazed lips holding on to a cigarette with the smoke billowing through her nostrils. Her pale face was splattered with blood, and he could see the blood matted in her hair. He listened to the sound of her voice as his vision settled on the gun in her lap.

"To kiss the untold story, story of a woman who sells her glory; the path to take, to see the end, to extend her hand for a price of his life; to insist he feel her fright; a river runs dry, no more to ponder why; the door has closed, as her hand disappears; under the sand where her legacy lies and dignity dies … to extend her hand …"

The noise grew louder and he fell to the ground. He could clearly see it all …

Her yellow, threaded boots walked the yellow flagstones, purple flowers swaying back and forth with the wind. There was a loud knock on the door … his grotesque face opened it. The image was blurry now, as if he was seeing it from underwater. The gun fell hard from the sky …

It’s not Briseis.

Chapter Three

Detective Nicholas Austin awoke at about twelve o’clock with the call from dispatch about the homicide and assault. It was precisely those calls that turned on his adrenal glands and put him into gear. He fought with his iPhone, struggling to get dressed as the phone continued to beep relentlessly with more details about the crime scene. Gripping his phone, he saw another message, this one from his estranged wife, Vivian. He ignored her urgent message to call him back, instead shoving the phone into his jeans pocket, and threw a black t-shirt over his head. After lacing up his athletic tennis shoes, he made his way toward his front door as he ran his fingers through his black hair. He reached his hall table and began to shove his badge, keys, and wallet into his jeans as he listened to his phone continue to beep. This time, he did not look at it. He figured it was probably still Vivian and let out a loud sigh as he reached for his doorknob. Just then, there was a loud pounding on the door. Austin startled and quickly swung the door open to find a sheriff’s deputy in the apartment corridor.

Good morning, Austin. You have been served.

Austin had no choice but to take the packet of paperwork from the deputy, throw it on the hall table, and rush out of his apartment. Divorce papers … always working on holidays, Austin kept thinking on the drive to the Estrada Estate.

As the day neared dusk, Austin stood under the heavy black clouds. He was tall, held his square jaw parallel to the floor, and carried his built chest relaxed underneath his shoulders, with his hands slammed into his jean pockets. No better time to rain than when there is a fresh crime scene, he spoke aloud, but to no one person in particular. The last part of the day’s sunshine had finally broken through the black clouds, but there was still the threat of more rain. Austin walked the yellow flagstones leading up to the Estrada Estate and noticed they caught the rays of the setting sun. Detective Austin continued to make his way to the estate’s grand entrance with the weight of the day on his mind.

After years of service with the Corpus Christi Police Department, Austin was the Senior Investigator in their Major Crimes Division. He reported and worked select cases directly under the Chief of the Police Department. Although regular homicide calls that involved firearms did not receive the amount of investigators to form an entire major incident task force, this was the Estrada family. Austin knew and had no doubt that this would be a very high profile case, such as when the young Mexican-American musician was murdered in Corpus Christi years earlier.

Austin stood at the entrance of the estate, where the sprawled-out body of the young John Estrada, still in the foyer of the home, was clearly visible. Now that the crime scene had been worked and was about completed for the day, Austin’s mind was able to return to the divorce papers he’d been served. All of this on the first day of the New Year, he thought as he took his hands to his face and rubbed at his brown eyes, then swiftly ran his hands over his head.

Detective Eric Mata greeted Austin at the large, wooden front door from inside the home. Austin, we’ve wrapped up the initial crime scene investigation. The house was canvassed; forensics were collected and tagged. I got the crime techs sealing the house. It’ll be down for a couple of days. Wanna take another peek at the body? Carla’s about to remove it.

Austin’s attention was caught by the mist of the rain that was collected in the sunlight above the lawn, making a small rainbow. Just a regular Edgar Allen Poe crime scene.

Mata laughed.

Austin had become very comfortable around Mata, despite the fact that Mata was still in his twenties. Eric Mata had been born into a neighborhood that Corpus Christi called The Cut. Although Mata’s parents were two notorious gang members, two that Austin remembered arresting years ago, Mata turned out to be a bright kid who worked hard at becoming a law enforcement officer.

Austin approached the body of John Estrada. John Estrada. The heir to a major oil enterprise fortune … gone … wasted, Austin said as he stepped around the large bloodstains in the foyer. He examined the body once more.

The body of John Estrada lay atop the onyx tile, his right leg bent and under his body. The boy’s flat and jellied eyes stared lifelessly at the sparkling crystals of the chandelier that danced above him and a bullet hole was obvious above his left brow. The body had brown paper bags placed over each of his hands, just like any victim of a firearm homicide. This reduced contamination so a