Parking Lots

The heavy feeling of falling tugs me from my sleep just before I can hit the ground, my body jolting into consciousness. I stiffly lift my head from the hard surface of my desk, a puddle of drool evident below where my mouth had been hanging open. Joints creaking, I turned my head to eye the clock across the room, my gaze only meeting a thin, lanky figure that was hunched over in my chair, glancing up at me from his cell phone.

“Ew, did you drool?” The figure asked, mirth evident in its voice. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to get my contacts to readjust back over my irises. When I opened them again, I was greeted with the familiar sight of my little brother.

After a moment of tired silence, I replied to him grumpily, “I don’t know. Gravity was not on my side…” An ugly snort filled the air after I spoke, and my scowl deepened. “Don’t you have something better to do than torment your older sister? Shouldn’t I get, like, seniority privileges or something?”

“Why don’t go you wipe the spit off of your face?” Aaron snickered, fingers tapping loudly on his phone screen. Little sound effects came from the device - explosions, gunfire, sirens. I wondered, briefly, what game he’d managed to download off of the app store that had so many features. Last time I’d checked, most games that Apple greenlighted were of poor quality.

I let him win that little argument, knowing that I looked like a fool with the dried saliva coating my cheek, and shuffled slowly towards the bathroom to perform my mind-meltingly boring morning routine. It was about fifteen minutes later that I returned to the main room of my studio apartment, face shiny with moisturizer and a fresh pair of contacts stuck into my eye sockets. Aaron wasted no time in getting on my case once more.

“There’s still drool on your desk, Felicia,” He commented off-handedly from where he stood by my cupboards, his greedy hands searching around for something to eat. I shouldn’t have been surprised by his lack of tact and maturity. Expecting anything less from an interaction between siblings was wishful thinking at best.

Grabbing a dishcloth to wipe off my desk, I swatted my brother on the back, earning more snickering from him. I could remember when he was a shrimpy little boy, endlessly trying to wrestle with his older sister, but never managing to beat me in a fight. Around the age of thirteen, however, Aaron shot up like a weed, suddenly towering over my small frame. It wasn’t until a few years later that he was physically balanced enough to jokingly shove me around. He’d been a bit of a beanpole before then, too clumsy to even walk forward, let alone fight someone who was confident in their stance.

A great part of me was proud of the man my younger sibling was becoming, but another part of me wished that I could still pick on him like I used to. Goddamned puberty and its adverse effects on older sisters.

Aaron and I sat down together at the kitchen table, each chewing numbly on our respective breakfasts. I’d chosen a classic - Lucky Charms. He’d actually expended energy to make himself a plate of eggs, bacon, and home fries. I was disgusted and impressed by his diligence.

It wasn’t that I was lazy - not at all. I was a workaholic. All I ever wanted to do was work. If I wasn’t working, I wasn’t happy. Because of this, I didn’t feel that I should waste time on frivolous things like eating healthy and sleeping in a real bed.

“Why aren’t you at home?” I asked him, my question coming out of the blue to crash into the emptiness that had filled the air between us. He stopped chewing momentarily, glancing up at me from his cell phone that he’d glued his sights to once again.

My brother shuffled in discomfort, swallowing his food slowly so as to drag out the silence. He shrugged, suddenly much more detached than before. “... Mom and Dad are arguing again…” Aaron mumbled dejectedly, poking at his scrambled eggs with a motion that made even his fork look sad.

I ground my teeth together, the texture of my molars making my ears hurt. “What did that asshole do this time?”

Aaron shrugged again, biting off a piece of bacon, before he replied, “I don’t know… The usual. Being lazy, not going to work. He has to go the hospital again… We aren’t sure he’ll come back this time.”

My blood roiled beneath my skin, an age-old temper beginning to flare up. It was just like my father to make me feel irrationally angry, even when he wasn’t anywhere near me. He’d never been abusive, not physically, but I could remember several distinct instances where I’d been screamed at for hours on end for not wanting to make him some fucking peanut-butter toast. My father’s old, morbidly obese ass could rot in hell for all I cared.

“Good riddance,” I deadpanned, now too upset to finish my cereal.

My little brother stayed quiet for a few moments while I rinsed out the bowl I’d been using. He knew how much I disliked our paternal figure, and more or less felt the same way, but he’d never been as aggressive in spirit as I had been.

“Mom keeps asking when you’re coming to visit,” Aaron said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I haven’t told them where you live, so you don’t have to worry, but she’s getting really sad about it.”

I looked over my shoulder at him for a brief second, but quickly returned my attention to the dishes I needed to wash from the night before. Chewing the inside of my cheek in anxiety, I grumbled out a reply, “I leave her voice mails every week. I’m not coming to visit until Dad is no longer in the equation.”

Aaron stayed silent for a lengthy few minutes while I began to dry off the kitchen utensils, his unspoken words hanging heavy in the room’s air. It was almost suffocating. My skin was crawling with anticipation. I knew what he was going to say next.

“... Can I come live with you?” He asked quietly, tapping at my cheap table with a pitiful lack of energy.

My words got stuck in my throat. I knew he was going to ask this, but I still couldn’t get the words out of my mouth. Shaking my head minutely, I swallowed my feelings and cast him an empathetic look. “You know you can’t do that.”

I could’ve sworn I’d heard his heart break. He asked me this almost every time he came to visit me. Ever since he turned sixteen and got his license, he started showing up at my apartment more and more often. Sometimes he’d spend the afternoon in my home, other times he’d crash on my couch for days on end. We always knew that he’d have to go home eventually, no matter how much it hurt the both of us.

Fumbling for the right words to ease his pain, I continued, “I can’t get custody of you. They’d probably arrest me for kidnapping if you didn’t showed up at home eventually... “

He still wouldn’t speak. Tears boiled up my sinuses, screaming at me to let the loose, but I choked them back and tried to keep my composure.

“You know you can come here as often as you want, Aaron… You have a key - you can come in even if I’m not home. You know that… Right?” I affirmed in the gentlest way possible, hoping to calm him, hoping to ease some of the grief that I knew he felt day after day. It wasn’t his fault, but he was guilt-tripping me. Aaron hoped beyond hope that if he wore me down, I’d let him stay. Unfortunately, things just didn’t work that way. Instead, all he was doing was making me feel worse and worse every time he asked. It hurt, but I couldn’t condemn him for trying.

My younger brother nodded understandingly, and got up to wash off his own dishes. I stood a few feet away, watching his dreary expression as the noontime sun shone through the window, illuminating his features. The light caught the glow of his hispanic complexion perfectly, and I marveled at how well he’d grown up. It made me both happy and sad to know that Aaron was turning out to be so wonderful. Anyone would be lucky to have him - given that I get to interrogate them first. Nobody is going to fuck with my little brother. Life has already fucked him over enough.

The two of us didn’t speak for about an hour afterwards. I got wrapped up in my research and he got wrapped up in… Whatever it was that he did on his phone. Probably watch porn.

After a while, though, he started to get antsy. Aaron loomed over my shoulder, trying to read what I was writing. I wasn’t exactly trying to hide it, but it made me uncomfortable nonetheless. Glancing up at him from my seat at my desk, I minimized the tab I was looking at the covered my notebook with my hand.

“Can I help you?” I asked jokingly, giving him a rough punch to the gut. He recoiled away from me, shouting in surprise.

“Give me some warning next time! I wasn’t flexing. That
hurt,” Aaron crowed, rubbing at his stomach with dejectedness, “I just wanted to know what you were working on.”

Snickering softly, I opened the tab on my monitor again, eyeing the text on the screen with extreme concentration. “You know those murders that keep happening around the city?” I questioned, the inquiry more rhetorical than anything, but I waited for him to answer, as I knew he would.

“Yeah! There’s been, what, at least four at this point? It’s pretty gnarly,” He exclaimed, his amazement laced with no shortage of disturbance.

Nodding affirmatively, I continued, “I’m trying to see if there’s any correlation between the attacks… Ya’ know? Like, appearance, age, background, location.”

“Have you figured anything out, yet?”

Glumly, I shook my head. I’d made very little progress so far. “The only correlation I can find is that they were all killed in New York, and that was already too obvious…”

Aaron grunted in reply, thinking for a moment. “Have they attacked in Harlem?” He questioned worriedly. Most of my family lived on the East side of Harlem. It was only natural for him to be concerned.

I shook my head. “They’ve come close, but I don’t think this attacker is one to kill in the the same spot twice. It would be too out-of-turn for him to attack Harlem.”

We were both quiet for another few moments, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts and understandings of the situation. Eventually, Aaron spoke up, “Do you have a map of the murders? Like, have you plotted it out?”

I scoffed at him, feigning offence that he thought me so unorganized that I wouldn’t have plotted out all of my evidence. Rising from my seat, I walked across the room to large cork board hanging from the wall. It was decorated with grocery lists, photos, and little sayings - something cute and homey to keep me feeling content, but that was just one side of it. Gently lifting it off it’s hook, I turned it over. The other side was covered with pictures of victims, suspects, maps, and yarn. Almost every picture or newspaper clipping was attached to something else with a piece of yarn, but I still couldn’t find any real linkings between the knowledge I’d gathered.

Aaron observed my hard work, tilting his head this way and that as if it would help him understand the information better. He eyes landed on the map towards the top of the cork board, and he tilted his head at what felt like a ninety degree angle, and he stuck that way for several long moments. I watched him, perturbed by my sibling’s antics.

“Have you taken your adderall today?” I joked, nudging him on the shoulder, but he still didn’t move from his position.

After an uncomfortably lengthy amount of time, he straightened out, crossing his arms with satisfaction. “It’s a star,” He concluded firmly, still staring at the map before him.

“What?” I queried, my voice laced with confusion, “What are you talking about?”

He gestured for me to stand where he’d been standing, and maneuvered my head so it was tilted like his was. “The tacks on the map - where the murders took place - they make a star.”

I peered at the map for what felt like centuries, but I simply didn’t see it. “You’re crazy, man. There’s nothing there.”

Aaron sighed heavily, but went on to explain, “There’s only been four murders, so it isn’t a complete star, and it’s a little wonky. But - if I had to make a bet - I’d say that the next murder will be-” He cut himself off to point at a spot just south of New York City, in the suburbs, “Here!”

I stared at the map. I stared and stared and stared. And he was right. If it really was a star, that would be the next point of attack. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t believe that I’d missed something so simple. I’d completely overthought the killer’s actions. As far as I could tell - so had the police.

“It’s more likely a pentagram, to be honest. You’re probably dealing with a Satanist,” Aaron chortled, taking some yarn to outline the star on the map. We spent the rest of the day in an amicable mood, reading over reports and making suggestions about the killings - choosing the most likely suspect and guessing motives. My thoughts, though, were somewhere entirely different.

I was going to go to the next point of attack. I had to, if only to satiate my curiosity. Maybe I’d be doing New York a favor. Maybe I was just fucking stupid.

Either way, I’d be too stubborn to simply tell authorities. This was my discovery. I wanted credit, I wanted recognition. And I was going to get it.

Even if it killed me.

Notes

Heyo! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm really excited about this story! This is probably the longest single chapter I've ever written - for any of my stories. I have to leave the house in a few minutes, so I didn't have the chance to proofread, and I was too excited to wait. Let me know if you ever see any mistakes, it's very helpful and protects me from future embarrasment when I re-read this and see typos and poor word choice and shit.

Ciao.