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Stephen
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May 08, 2013 10:00PM
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Justin was nineteen and had never seen a dead body before but last summer changed all that.
He never saw it coming and he never understood why, but now it seems as though not everything was as coincidental as he once thought.
Justin couldn't shake the familiar, soulless eyes that stared at him even in death.
Young as he is, Justin thought this horrible scene could just be another crime episode on TV or in the movies.
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Before he left, he turned and looked at the corpse once more; wondering how exactly he had found himself in this situation, a thought that would haunt him for some time yet.
If he didn't know better, Justin could think this had been a dream - a nightmare - but no, it was all too true and now he must go back to the beginning to find out exactly why it'd happened at all.
It had been Malcolm's idea for Justin to go to Venezuela in the first place.
As I watched Rhonda reaming out Malcolm over Justin's unwanted involvement, I knew there was more to the story then she was letting on.
I knew where I had to go to get the answers to my questions, questions which might leave Rhonda and Malcolm permenantly disjointed.
A drop of rain on my cheek tilted my eyes skyward towards the gathering clouds, as if I weren't in enough of a bind already.
Justin's mood must have reflected the weather and finding that body sure didn't help matters any.
I swiped the cover of my phone, changing the drops of rain into a backlit smear. I never wanted to have to call that number again.
My fingers quivered keying in the number, I thought of Justin and those sparking hazel eyes, this call might destroy him, and us.
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How was anyone to know what happened to Justin after he left the body marked by the stone pile?
For that matter, how was Justin to know what his next step would be; no one answered his call, and after looking at the grey and angry skies above him he realised that the rain was soon to turn into one hell of a messy storm - just like those clouds, he too felt full of anger and turmoil.
"Why must you punish me like this, God?!" Cried Justin in despair.
As if I could hear his own thoughts, his own plea for understanding, I felt Justin's pain and resolved to retrace his steps, my steps, our steps, all the way back to Venezuela if I must.
Should I go to the police? No, Justin thought.Rhonda and Malcolm implicitly told him to board the next flight out of here. I'd be implicated, and then locked away into one of their grimy prisons for a lifetime. It was just a one night stand, it meant nothing.
Beside, how would he ever explain her dismantled body beside him the next morning and still hope to be proven innocent? No, he had to leave.
If only he knew ahead of time that it would end up like this. She was so beautiful though and so sexy! He wished the night befor would have lasted a longer time.
Like a dream, I remember Justin's childhood, but I can't remember my own, or how I ended up with Justin's mess on my hands, not his blood, but his nightmare that called upon me to save him, and now it may be our undoing together.
He was barely a toddler when his drug-addict of a mother--whom we never saw or heard from again--left him at my door step.
Yet regardless of all that had happened, still I was compelled to save him yet again!
How would I tell "Mother" that I suspected Mossad had killed a beautiful young KGB agent, to prevent her from recruiting this brilliant abandoned son of an unstable ex CIA agent, and had framed him for her murder?
Rhonda was out on that dreadly night with a friend of hers as they wanted to spend some time together exploring, and enjoying the star studded dark night..
