“Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!” Marcus was jolted back to reality when Luz pranced in saying over and over and over again her least favorite word. When you are in that profession, nothing is a very bad word to have to say.
“What do you mean nothing? There has to be something.” Marcus said turning in his chair.
“Nope! Nada! Zip! Zilch! Z-E-R-O!” Luz said forming a zero with her fingers and holding it up for Marcus to see. “No DNA no fingerprints; nothing! Whoever did this did it well. They covered up every single thing that could lead us to them.” she continued sitting down in a huff.
“Are you sure?” Marcus asked trying to act relaxed, when inside he was tense and anxious.
“Yeah. I need a break, phew. Hey, it’s almost lunch time. Do you want to go get some?” Luz asked taking off her lab coat and revealing her red and black plaid shirt with black skirt. She threw her coat over the chair next to her.
“Sure.” Marcus said. Down in the cafeteria they gathered their lunches and sat down.
“So you never told me about that scar or your eyes.” Luz loved to hear those kinds of stories, that is what she does all day anyway; deal with gruesome deaths or injuries far worse than the scar. She loved them all anyway. His scar throbbed again, but he was ready to tell the story.
“Well, I was young and I was in the car with one of my childhood friend and my mother was driving and we were on the highway I think. Wait, no it was a bridge. Yes a bridge. Some other driver went crazy for a second and it hit us and caused my mother to lose control and she swerved through two lanes of traffic before crashing off the bridge. She died of a heart attack on the way down. My friend was fine, but I got this.” Marcus said running his finger down his throbbing scar. He always got the shiver up and down his spine, the story haunts him. The part of the story he never told anyone was eating him from the inside out. “And my eyes, well I have Heterochromia; hence the one blue eye and one green eye.” Marcus said motioning to his eyes. He looked at his watch.
“We probably should head back and keep going with the investigation.” Marcus said gathering his tray and following Luz to the garbage can. Marcus’s thoughts raced to places where he didn’t want them to go. As much as he tried, he couldn’t expel them from his head. He tried his hardest not to tell. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it.

Marcus rarely took public transportation; it was too crowded. His normal preference was to walk. He would always go home a new way; discovering quiet, dark, unknown alley ways and occasionally the courtyard here or there. Though, after the things that happened during the day, he was too nervous to stand up let alone walk. He stood at the deserted bus stop, stuck his hands in his pockets and waited for the bus to pull up. Victoria Maxwell’s face swirled around in head; the intense conversation, laughing, crying, her scared face, the fall, the blood and the lifeless stare and all. He remembered the feel of her red hair crumpled in her hand, and the feel of her cold flesh in his palm, the smell of sanitizer and disinfectant chilled his nose, reminding him of that night.
“Sir? Are you boarding or can I go to the next stop. I’m behind schedule. Sir?” the bus driver leaned out of the door. Marcus was awoken from his horrid memories.
“Yes, I am very sorry. I am coming. I am stressed; a long, hard day at work.” Marcus said taking hard, long steps up the stairs, swiped his metro card and took a seat. He took deep breaths to regain himself. Marcus tipped his black fedora hat over his one blue and one green eye and closed them, hoping not to see the same terrible images that had stuck to his brain like glue; an endless bond, between the wanted and un-wanted.
“Next stop will be 40th street.” The bus driver said bringing Marcus out of his nightmare. Marcus got up and walked toward the door of the bus. The bus pulled to the stop and Marcus hopped out of the bus and headed toward 44th street. He walked the few blocks to his house; his steps where silent compared to the whistling wind. He hoped the wind would block out the lingering sound of Victoria’s ear splitting scream. It played over and over in his head like a broken record, never to rewind or advance. He was the only person walking down the block, it was so quiet he could hear his steps tip tap tip tap on the cold cement. He watched his breath condense in the air, curl around and disappear. He wished he could disappear. He still remembered her red hair held firmly in his hand and the glint of the metal and then nothing.

Marcus took the elevator to his apartment and found the day’s issue of the New York Times sitting at his door step, Marcus fumbled for his keys and unlocked the door kicking the news paper inside with him and locked the door behind him. He was going to the closet to put his jacket away when a mass of red hair caught his eye as he walked past the news paper. His heart leapt to his throat as he took tentative steps toward the paper and reached down with shaking hands and picked it up. The heading jumped out at his eyes, burning them like fire; “Wealthy Woman Murdered and No Evidence Found.” He put the paper down on the coffee table, took off his coat. He then walked in front of the table, picked up the newspaper and sat down on the couch starting to read the article. Victoria Maxwell, 35, brutally killed in her penthouse apartment last night. She was discovered by her husband, Christopher Maxwell very early in the morning. He was the prime suspect until his alibi proved correct. He said he was working late, and then he went out to a business party that ended early in the morning. Surveillance videos show him exiting his office around the time Victoria was murdered. Sufficient evidence has not been discovered to find suspects for this brutal murder. Marcus’s heart was thumping, his scar throbbing and his muscles tensing. He flipped on the T.V. hoping to catch the Final Jeopardy! he watched the show every night. Tonight, Jeopardy! wasn’t on, a breaking news report was. The first thing he saw was the unmistakable red hair and freckles staring at him. He couldn’t take the pressure so he walked into his room to collect himself. He loosened his gold tie from around his neck as if to relive the pressure. He had his gold ties that he wears everyday neatly pressed in his closet. He saw one facing the wrong way; he rushed over and turned it like the others. Marcus couldn’t deal with abnormalities; he had all one type of black Calvin Klein suit, four black fedora hats, and three of the same long, grey over coats. He would never stray unless completely necessary. He never had two types of a garment of clothing, or anything else for that matter. All of his utensils were the same; he always would wear his black suit with his hat, gold tie and long, grey over coat. He felt his body temperature return to normal so he walked out into the living room just in time to see Christopher Maxwell’s face glaring back at him from the T.V. screen; he froze in his tracks; his blood turning cold again.

“So what first went through your mind when she was found?” the news reporter asked, chasing him trying to get an answer. His breaths came heavy and sad into the microphone.

“Uhm. Uh. Who? Why? When? I-I- still can’t believe it.” He hurried away and left the reporter standing in the howling wind.
“Now back to you in the studio, Rodger. We will be covering this over the next few days as the information comes in.” she gave a perfect, white toothed smile and the camera switched to a man with salt and pepper hair sitting at the desk describing the rest of the murder and interviewing some policemen and the door man on duty at the time. Marcus walked into the kitchen to grab a snack. He opened the fridge immediately greeted with a blast of cold air, the temperature of the air finally caught up with the way he felt, his bones shaking. He grabbed the strawberries sitting on the second shelf. He put them on a cutting board and looked around trying to find one decent knife. It seemed they were all in the dishwasher; he made a large dinner for himself the other night and all of his Cuisinart knives were in the wash. What would he cut with? It hurt him to cut with anything else, his OCD took over his life; he could only use one type of everything. He wouldn’t use another type of sheet, or wear any other suits or buy his groceries from any other super market. With his Cuisinart knives in the wash, he almost put the strawberries back in the fridge when he saw the glint of the two and a half inch knife. He turned around and grasped the one and only two and a half inch Henckels knife in his house. He raised it up admiring it, feeling a surge of unknown and unlimited energy through his freezing bones, warming them, reviving them. A smile crept across his face as he chopped the strawberries the same color as the red hair, the same color as the countless freckles on her face. As he chopped them, since they were a little stale, a little bit of red juice oozed out, like the blood dominating her white sweater. He remembered the night clear as crystal even though it seemed like a big blur the night before, he watched it from a far. Like, walking to her apartment, sneaking past the door man, reaching up to the top button and pressing it. The secret could not escape. The secret can not get out. He stuffed the letters Victoria sent him in his pocket. He could recall the hollow ping the elevator made and the sight of the door. He knew her, he knew her well enough to know she hides things. He knew there was an extra set of keys somewhere. He started with the plant. He rifled his gloved hand through the leaves. No sign of metal. He stuck his hand into the thin soil feeling for the cold metal. Nothing. He checked the door frame and door mat. All that was left was the mirror. He reached behind it and his hand was poked. He wrapped his hands around the item and pulled it out. His jaw clenched; a set of keys. He replaced the mat into a straight position, swept the soil into his pocket extra careful not to leave anything out of place. He touched the letters in his pocket and ran his finger down his scar, reminding himself of why he was there and for what he was there to do. He pushed the first key into the first lock and turned hard. He heard the satisfying click of the lock. He rammed the other key into the second hole. Click. The door opened in front of him. He entered and closed the door behind him. Every light was off, so he knew Victoria had not returned from work early. He walked into the kitchen looking. His eyes stopped on the knives, he walked toward them, he grabbed the biggest one he could find; two and a half inches wide of blade; pure, sharp, shiny blade. He saw his shadowy face in the reflection as he inserted it into his pocket and walked into the living room. She should be back any second he thought. He had his plan. He walked to the foyer and placed the first letter on the cold marble floor so she couldn’t miss it. He sat down in the dark shadow waiting. Everything but his gold tie blended in. the knife seemed to be burning in his pocket when he heard the elevator ping. The same hollow ping he heard coming up. He sat up straight, he heard footsteps coming toward the door and the satisfying click of the first lock and soon after the click of the second lock and the woman wearing a white sweater and jeans walked in, her red hair standing out in the dark. Marcus rubbed the blade in his pocket. Victoria walked in when her foot rubbed over the paper on the floor. She flicked on the over head light and picked it up and read it. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the letter. She walked into the dark shadow.
“Victoria Maxwell.” A gruff low voice came from the shadow. Marcus waited for the response. A shrill scream.
“Oh I wouldn’t do that, you wouldn’t want anyone to know what you’ve been doing now would you, Victoria?”
“Hello? Who are you? What are you doing here? Leave now.” She said backing up. He walked over to the light switch and flipped it on, revealing the two of them.
“I said leave now!” she tried in a firm voice. He did the opposite, he traveled toward her, pulling the notes out of his pocket one by one and dropping them in a circle around her while reading out each dollar amount.
“200, 500, 1000, 2000, 4000. Remember that day, Victoria? The car crash. The ‘heart attack’, but no! It is the secret, the thing only you and I know. You said you wouldn’t tell. I see what it has come down to. Blackmail isn’t cute, you know.” He said petting her red hair. He removed his fedora hat setting it down on the table next to the mirror, revealing his one blue, and one green eye.
“What you did what horrific. The heart attack was a good cover up for the moment, when it became obvious no one was believing it, I felt the truth had to come out. You murdered her, Marcus! You MURDERED her! Caused her to drive the car off the bridge! MURDER!” her voice rose with each word. Marcus clutched her hair and pulled it close to him, her whole body heaved with it. Her eyes met his.
“What I did was sane, Victoria. You didn’t know my mother the way I did! You knew her as the nice, cookie making mother who laughed at even the bad jokes. I knew her as something else, very different, very someone else. A prying, haunting figure; hovered and circled like a vulture. Watched every move as closely as an eagle. Wasn’t afraid to swoop down and RUIN it all! I had to put an end to it. I have to say, the heart attack was a good cover up.” Marcus said.
“It has to come out. You are a MURDERER!” Victoria said, as if trying to wake him up to the acrid smell of reality. She grasped his shoulders staring intently into his eyes.
“Oh, Victoria, I really wish you didn’t just say that.” He got so close to her; so close she could smell the garlic dancing on his breath. He reached his hand into his pocket and curled his bony fingers around the chilled metal, though it made his hand burn with power. He started to pull it out of his pocket. It got caught on the string in his pocket’s seam so he took his hand from her tangled hand and tried to pull it free. Victoria’s eyes widened when she saw the glint of the metal. She made a break to the kitchen. Her eyes rested on the knife block where the one Henckels knife, the block with eight knives and nine slots, the biggest one of all of them, was missing and was in his hands. Her breath got caught in her throat as she felt the gloved hands cover her mouth. She was being dragged into the marble foyer where she saw the first letter. He whipped around and plunged the knife deep into her heart, blood poured out onto her white sweater. He held it there for a few second and slowly removed it, feeling a very creepy satisfaction as the blood dripped from the blade, and landed on the innocent pink pinned on flowers. He took his gloved hand and wiped it down the blade, absorbing it. He chuckled as he put it back in his pocket. He would take it home, and put it amongst his Cuisinart knives. He walked over to the table, straightened his black Calvin Klein suit and dusted off his gold tie. He looked at himself in the mirror.
“Never again, Victoria. May it always be a heart attack.” He smiled as he placed his black fedora hat back on his head. His shaggy dirty blond hair was covered and his one blue and one green eye were safely hidden in the shadow of his hat. With all of this, the hat failed to cover his jagged scar on his face. He took careful steps around Victoria’s lifeless body and took a last look in her blank eyes. He heard the hollow ping one last time going down to the lobby.
“Good night, Sir.” The doorman said as he pulled open the large and heavy doors to the luxury apartment.
“Thank you.” Marcus said as he stepped out into the winter night. His long, grey overcoat flapped in the wind and the glass door silently closed behind him. The secret was sealed. Forever.