Haunted By The Murder

Present Day

Savannah, Georgia

Max Falcon awoke depressed on the third anniversary of Christopher’s death. Even three years out, the depression, emptiness and tears that started her day were as intense as those the day following his murder. It should have been different, but time and distance hadn’t healed her. And she believed the wound could very well fester forever. Arising from the edge of sleep, she felt too bleak to shower and chose Jack Daniels whiskey instead of dry toast for breakfast.

Now, four hours later, Max was hungry and wondered where the grief-laden morning had gone. She took yet another swig of Jack Daniels. Her unsettled stomach gurgled, and nausea swirled her head. Her hand trembled as she eased a stack of old magazines aside and settled the plastic tumbler on the cluttered coffee table. Apparently killing the heartache would take more whiskey this year than her stomach could handle.

After shoving a long, unruly strand of hair behind her ear, she exhaled a wheezy sigh. Detail after vivid detail from the tragedy three years earlier bombarded her mind, laying waste to all other thoughts. Careful to avoid the exposed spring in the sofa, she leaned back and yielded again to the mental assault.

Three years ago, to the day, she had entered the etched glass doors of a luxurious Boston restaurant with Christopher, her steady boyfriend, looking forward to a delightful birthday dinner with the man she had grown to love completely.

Once they were seated beside each other in the mahogany and red leather booth, Christopher grinned mischievously and handed her a folded piece of velum paper. She opened the note and read, with surprise, his marriage proposal. She hadn’t anticipated anything like that. They were just juniors in college, and each had law school in their plans. But, in a squeaky voice she didn’t recognize, she gladly accepted his proposal. Christopher took her trembling hand, kissed the top of it and slipped a lovely emerald cut diamond ring over her finger. The waiter poured sparkling grape juice in champagne flutes. Christopher raised his glass to her and toasted their future.

It was, by any measure, a perfect evening filled with more happiness than she could have ever imagined.

Firecracker noises erupted. Shrill screams tore the air. Glass shattered. Christopher slumped on her. Why would he cover her in this chaos? Protection? She shook him. He didn’t respond. He was already dead ... and her lap was covered with his blood. She awoke later in the back of an ambulance.

The EMT told her that shock had blacked her out and that she’d be okay. What the hell did he know about okay? A policewoman took her statement and drove Max back to her campus apartment. Once inside and alone, Max buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

The next day, Max had to wash her clothes three times to get the blood out, but nothing would erase her sorrow. If anything, her sense of loss had magnified over time until now there wasn’t enough whiskey to make it go away.

The only way Max could sleep after Christopher’s death was with Ambien. As the days went by, Max didn’t find an answer for why Christopher had been murdered. Plus, the fact that Christopher’s killer had escaped detection had turned everything she believed in upside down and had corroded her faith to the point that she was unable to pray at Christopher’s funeral. Her stomach hurt recalling his funeral, and her mind fumed at her loss of faith.

She wanted to believe. Her upbringing demanded that she believe, but her experience wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t base her life on a God who permitted Christopher to be murdered and tolerated his killer being free. No way at all.

All she could think about during Christopher’s funeral was apprehending his killer. She reasoned that she could switch her major to Criminal Justice, go to law school, and join the FBI. If the police couldn’t solve the case, she would. There would be justice. In the end, she finally realized it was a far-fetched idea, but at the time it made a lot of sense and gave purpose to her pathetic life ... for a few days.

Her college friends mouthed bland condolences after his death, became confused when she didn’t spring back, and then abandoned her. She couldn’t blame them. What did coddled nineteen-year-olds know of death? She spent much of her free time crying alone and discovered the mind-numbing effect of Jack Daniels. She drank until her grades suffered. Then, deciding to dedicate her college degree to Christopher, her mentor and inspiration, she refocused on classes and graduated with honors.