What I'm doing right now might anger my mom.

The breeze scrapes against my face while pulling back my black hair. I take in and let out air from my mouth in a systematic method. Each inhalation is to conserve my energy and assist me in riding this mountain bicycle. My body sways right to left as I push on the pedals with my feet causing the rusted gear to turn and the chain to move.

It has been a few hours for me, trying to find a job in this neighborhood, I did not expect finding a job with only a high-school diploma would be this hard. I may have underestimated the lack of job opportunities in this country, but it still doesn't deter me from finding a job.

However, before I start looking for a job again, I need to do something first. The brake let out a high-pitched squeal as the wheels on the bike stop, my head turns to the left, and my heart starts to throb as I see Daisie's house. My sight downcast at the tarmac beneath me, this spot is where I land after I got hit by that car.

Flashes of what happened that night play out before my eyes, but I still didn't feel any emotions except for my old physical pain resurfacing. I get off my bike and let it fall to the grass patch beside the flat concrete sidewalk. My legs move as I head toward the house with both hands clench.

The house is in an even worse state than I remember, everything looks neglect, almost the same as my house but even worse. However, the condition of the house is not something new because of Daisie's dad's neglect, but it has never been this worse before, it must be because of Daisie's death.

Why is Daisie's dad acting this way? It's because of the heavy baggage in his heart that turns him into someone who needs help. It all happens after Daisie's mom passed away, during his time of grief, he turns to alcohol to seek comfort, but that only worsens his state as it becomes a habit to him.

A habit that affects the loved ones around him especially Daisie because she is the only daughter he had, and the only one, who stays after everyone left him. The memories I have of Daisie, most of them are suffering that she had to endure while taking care of her father, but no matter how hard it becomes, she would never leave her father because she loved him, flaw and all.

Something that I once admired, but now that I lost my emotions, I don't know if I still idolize her, maybe I do, deep inside, but I can't feel it, no matter how hard I try.

Walking up the step, I raise my hand to knock on the door but stop myself.

Do I really want to do this?

Can I handle it? It doesn't matter. I need to know.

My knuckle knocks on the wooden door about two times before pulling back my hand to my side. I aim my left ear to the door and hear the sound of someone groaning on the other side then follow with a noise of glass item drop to the floor, and it clinks as it bounces before rolling away. It's in the middle of the afternoon; he must be drinking again, I take a step back before the door open, as to not startle him.

I can hear the sound of the lock mechanism turns and clicks before the door slowly open. The first thing to hit my nose is the stench of rotten foods and a musty smell that is lock inside of this house for a long time without any way of escape. I ignore the stench and focus on the man that stands before me.

Pierre Brewer.

The man who stands before me has long unkempt black hair, heavy bags under his eyes, a bloated belly from all the drinking, and wearing a dirty cardigan sweater while holding a half-empty alcohol bottle in his left hand. After his wife passed away, he becomes a shell of the man that he used to be, and right now, he is in an even worse state after his daughter died. He looks at me with confusion, and a bit agitate.

"Who are you suppose to be?"

He doesn't recognize me. "It's me. Your daughter friend, Andre Adams."

His eyes widen and both his shoulders relax, "Andre... you're awake? I didn't know it was you because you look so different... Where is your mother and what are you doing here?"

"My mom is working, and I'm here to ask you something."

"Ask me?"

"Yes, something about Daisie."

"Oh..." I can sense sadness emitting from him as I mention her name, "Please come in."

Mr. Pierre navigates through the empty glass bottles and overdue red letters that spread out across the living room. Daisie's father stops when he reaches the recliner in the middle of the room that is facing the TV. I follow his lead and navigate through the messy room and take a seat on the sofa near the recliner.

"What is it that you want to ask?" He gazes at the blackened TV screen while taking a few sips from the bottle that he is holding.

"I want to know—How did Daisie die?"

His right hand reaches the picture of young Daisie with her mom on the end table right next to the recliner, and his eyes keep on staring at it.

"Your mother... Didn't she tell you what happens? Because she is the one who helps me handle Daisie's funeral..."

"I think she wanted to keep it secret to prevent me from getting hurt."

"She is a good parent... Unlike me, I only to know how to hurt my loved one."

"Even if you a bad parent, Daisie always loves you as a father no matter what. I heard her said that once."

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

He let out a sad smile after casting a glance at me, "Thank you... But I fail her as a father and a human being." A tear slides down his cheek and drip on the picture.

"What exactly happens?"

"The police tell me that they find her body in the middle of the forest near route 81. The police also found cuts and bruises on her body that lead to a sign of conflict between her and the kidnapper before she manages to escape by jumping out of the vehicle."

"But she didn't get far, as she slips and dislocates her ankle. The kidnapper manages to catch up, and he tries to bring her back to the vehicle, but she grabs his gun and fire at him, but miss."

Mr. Pierre stops telling the story as a look of pain is clear as day on his face.

"Mr. Pierre?"

He takes a short breath, and with quivering lips, he says: "The kidnapper was anger by her action... so he lifts a medium-size rock and bash her face with it..."

My eyes widen, as my hands clench tightly.

"Bash."

Flashes of Daisie as her face getting bash by a rock keep playing in front of my eyes, blood splattering around her head and stick on the rock.

"And bash!"

My mind imagines what happens to her. Every hit breaks every bone in her head while the rough surface of the rock torn every bit of skin on her face, and pieces of that broken bone stab back into her skull until her face becomes a red mess of blob.

I can hear her scream in the distance and how it slowly turns a muffled choking noise as blood and saliva block her throat.

"And keep bashing her head with that same rock until her face is gone..."

The picture in Mr. Pierre's right handshake as tears slide down both of his cheeks, he took a sip of alcohol into his mouth from the bottle and wipes the tears away.

"Did the police catch them?"

"No, they got away."

"How about the evidence? Surely they can find her killer with it?"

"All the evidence got contaminated on the way to the lab. The police had no way of finding the criminal."

"That can't be... true."

"I can't even get her an open casket funeral!" Mr. Pierre whimper.

My heart pounds like it wants to escape my chest and my brain throb with pain as the thought of the criminal getting away plagues my mind. All my fingers start to dig into my palms, as my clenched hands tremble for an unknown reason. They're something that is trying to claw out of me, something terrible, something ugly, but I manage to drag it back into myself.

"It's all my fault."

"It was all my fault." Mr. Pierre keeps repeating the words.

"It isn't your fault. It's the people that hurt her."

"Andre, I need some privacy. Please."

I stand up from the sofa and head to the stair. When I reach the bottom of the stair, it as if the dam that holds Mr. Pierre's grief break apart then the tears of anguish and anger wash down his face. He starts to cry in the middle of the living room while I walk up the stair toward Daisie's room.

As I got closer to her room, I can smell her scent getting stronger. My feet stop when I reach the door that leads to her room, I turn the knob and push the door. I feel the goosebumps on my arms as my eyes are greets by the sight of her room. The warm light from the sun flood into Daisie's room and particles of dust can be seen floating around in the ray.

It's everything I remember, the single bed with a knitted blanket that she made, the gaming computer stays dormant in the corner of her room alongside her game console and bookcase filled with games and books. The poster of her favorite anime decorates the wall such as Yuri on Ice, Evangelion, Kimi no Todoke, and many others.

I take a seat on her bed as I remember playing games with her on her old game console. It's funny the mundane memories that I have with her are the most I appreciate and hold close to my heart because I know, I won't experience it again with her. A tear slides down my cheek while my heart tightens until it causes pain to my chest, I wipe it away with a finger.

Am I feeling sadness? Is this grief? Why is it so painful than anything I ever felt?

Daisie, I don't know what to do.

Am I suppose to chase your killer? Seek revenge? Seek justice?

Or.

Am I suppose to move on without you? Live another life? Try to forget about you and only remember the fond memories I had with you?

Give me a sign, something to show me what you want me to do. Please show me a sign to tell me that you are here in this room with me. I'm waiting for an answer in this silent room, but who am I kidding? There is no easy answer to what I'm asking because she has moved on. I stand up from the bed and walk to her gaming desk then I press my hand against it.

"I guess, I'll be seeing you later, and don't worry about your dad, I'll try to take care of him in your place."

I leave the house after I said my goodbye to Mr. Pierre, he was a lot better when I came down the stair. Then I ride my bike toward somewhere, somewhere I don't know, my feet keep on pedaling until I reach a sign that said: Route 81. I don't know why I am here maybe I couldn't stay away. As I ride down the lonely road surrounded by thick forest that leads to the city, my eyes darts to a deserted gas station with a sign that says, Help wanted.

My bike stops at the gas station, I park and lean my bicycle against an old ice refrigerator. When I enter the gas station, my eyes glance at the large man with a jolly beard working behind the cashier. The gas station is normal looking by anyone standard; it got an aisle of snacks, refrigerators full of drinks, and other stuff.

I walk to the only person in the gas station and ask for a job. The big guy said yes, and hire me right away after I agree on his condition that I start today. The big guy with a jolly beard introduces himself to me as Mr. Roger, owner of this gas station.

Mr. Roger show me around the gas station and what I should do, and what I need to know before I work. Then he gives me a work shirt for me to use, just like that, I start working there from afternoon till night until my shift end for today. Before I start working, I use my phone to call my mother and deliver her the good news then inform her that I will be late for dinner.

*

The starry sky replaces the bright blue sky as time went by.

I was stacking bags of Doritos on the shelf when Mr. Roger calls out to me from the cashier.

"Before you leave, Andre. Can you take over the cashier? I need to use the toilet, lol."

Mr. Roger has a weird of speaking because he always ends his sentence with an acronym used in text messages.

"On it." I finish my task.

"Thank you very much, Andre. My stomach, GG." Mr. Roger disappears as he rushes to the toilet.

I stand behind the cashier and hold the fort as I wait for Mr. Roger to finish his big business because I can hear the sound of hard groaning coming from the toilet. It isn't that tiring of work that I imagine it would be, I do what Mr. Roger tell me to do, stacks some stuff, move some boxes, and since there barely any customer came in, there are little works to do around here.

My eyes downcast at the baseball bat hiding behind the counter, Mr. Roger said it's for protection, just in case someone tries to rob us.

I wait some more as Mr. Roger takes a ridiculous amount of time to release his waste into the toilet.

A black SUV park in front of the gas station, I look at it, and my mind recalls the same vehicle that hit me. It must be a coincidence, I watch as a muscular man with a full black beard, and black hair steps out of the driver's side while holding a phone near his ear. The man has a subtle Southern European feature on his face, thick eyebrows, and overall body hair.

He enters the store while talking to his phone, "I'm bringing the car now, Malaka!"

The man ends his call and stores the smartphone into his shirt pocket as he walks toward me. After the man reaches the store counter, he places a fifty-dollar bill on it, and my eyes widen when I see the tattoo on his arm.

An upside-down dagger tattoo.

My sight reddens as if dripping blood shower both of my eyeballs.

Bash.

A quiet thumping sound follows that very word.

Bash!

I can hear another thumping noise.

Bash!!!