An arm wraps tightly around my shoulders, squeezing in a way that would hurt if it were anyone else. 

My Aunt Angie kneels to my height, grinning wide. “Fiona,” she says softly, her bright green eyes, the one quality we share, sparkling.

“Auntie!” I squealed. I wrap my arms around her and look up fondly. “Auntie, I want to be you when I’m older.”

She chuckles and shakes her head, winking at my mom, who’s smiling.

I giggle and climb up onto a stool, wanting to be closer to their heights. I’m in my Aunt Angie’s Spanish-style villa on Laguna Beach, California. It’s three days past my ninth birthday and it’s our first time visiting since Aunt Angie and Uncle Brent moved across the country from southern Maine to the California coast. To remember her, she had given me a glimmering green necklace, which she said matched our eyes and would always connect us. She had one too, saying she would wear it all the time and think of me always.  They used to live right down the street and I would see Aunt Angie almost every day, seeing her delighted face waiting for me at the bus stop after school let out. My mom worked long shifts at the hospital, so it was usually just me and Aunt Angie. Sometimes she would even stay over, if it was okay with Uncle Brent. He never joined us, though, which I found weird, but I never remembered to ask about it.

A loud honk jolts me back into the present. I jump, startled, and resituate myself in the bright cafe. I’m sitting at a bar in front of a wide window viewing the icy sidewalk in need of a salting. I’d come here after school in my new used car, hoping to finish my homework before the weekend. Deciding to take a break, as I’d already been unfocused, I take my chance to look up Laguna Beach, California, wanting to be comforted by pictures of my Aunt’s beautiful community when I am instead bombarded with links to various news sites. I click on one, curious what the buzz is in the more glamorous part of the country. Except I don’t see pictures of galas, beach parties, and mansions for sale. I freeze. The color escapes from my face. My heart beats slow, the fear infecting my body. The article’s headline reads: “Local Community Woman Presumed Dead, More Information to Come.” Below that, is an enlarged picture of my smiling Aunt Angie. 

I scroll rapidly through the article, unbelieving. I try to take deep breaths, attempting to escape from the hyperventilation creeping up on me. I scan anxiously through the scarce article, finding no more information except for her contributions to her community. It talks about all the community service hours she put in at the soup kitchen and Toys for Tots, but I don’t need to be told what I already know. 

Suddenly, surprising myself, I slam my computer shut. This can’t be real. I quickly pack up my backpack, and soon enough I’m running down the sidewalk at full speed, dodging bikes and pedestrians alike. I pass my street and keep running, away from this news, away from my mom, away from the truth. 

After a while, my adrenaline wears off and I turn around, trudging home. I know I have to face this and it’s better to do it now than later. When I open the door to our dark green Victorian home, I am met by my mom's face, wrinkled in concern. 

“Honey, why don’t you sit down?” She says as she gestures toward the stools in the kitchen. “I have something we need to tell you.”

I close my eyes. This is really happening. “I already know, Mom,” I sigh. “I saw the article.”

Without a moment’s passing, she lets a silent tear slip and tightly shuts her eyes. “I couldn’t believe it,” Her voice breaks. “And then I got a call from the sheriff in her town. This wasn’t an accident, sweetheart.”

My heart drops. This wasn’t an accident. My mom must notice the horror resting on my face as she grabs hold of my sides and pulls me into a sturdy hug. I cry quietly, still processing the whole thing, but her body shakes, burdened with immense grief. I know that whatever I’m feeling, she is feeling on a much larger scale. She feels everything immensely, logic usually is an afterthought. Her sister, her only sibling, is dead, and there’s nothing I can do to make it better. 

Later, when we’ve both stopped outwardly sobbing, we’re sitting side by side, occasionally sniffing, and staring blankly at the television. It plays a noisy kids’ cartoon that I remember watching when I was little. I can’t pay attention to any of the plot, though. I turn to look at my mom, who has begun to bite the skin around her nails, something I’ve only seen her do once, after Aunt Angie and Uncle Brent moved away. Uncle Brent. I can’t believe I’d forgotten about him.

“Mom,” I whisper as she takes her gaze off the TV, turning it off. 

“What?” She asks quietly in return.

“Uncle Brent. Have you spoken to him?”

“Oh…” She trails off. “We aren’t exactly…on speaking terms. Never really have been. I don’t-- didn’t like the way he treated Angie so I sort of just… tolerated him.” She says nervously.

I pause, taken aback. “What…what do you mean?”

“We didn’t get along very well, sweetie.” She seems to have regained control of herself. “But for the sake of Angie, I let him be.”

I didn’t have a chance to ask for elaboration because before I knew it, she was heading upstairs, still with the remote in her hand.

I consider going after her, but find myself reaching for my cell phone, and dialing a number I’ve only texted on birthdays and Christmas. The call rings out three times before the line connects.

“Hello?” The man answers groggily.

“Uncle Brent! I didn’t think you’d pick up. How… um…how are you?”

“Oh, you know, my wife is dead and the police won’t tell me a thing except that it was a murder.”

“I heard that too. They called Alexa.”

“Oh. I wasn’t aware they let you both know.”

“Yes, um…this is very hard for both of us. And you, I’m sure.”

“Yes, yes, it is.” 

There was shuffling on his end. I heard a knock on the door through the phone.

“I can let you go if you need to get that,” I prompted, wishing I hadn’t called.

“No,” he declined. “Let me just put you on mute, I’ll be right back.”

I wait, glancing at the clock. Why would someone be knocking on his door at 11:30? I hear Uncle Brent walk to his door. He must’ve missed the mute button. The sound isn’t muffled, so he must be holding the phone. He opens the door swiftly and lets out an audible yelp-like gasp. He clears his throat before greeting the mysterious visitor.

“Evening, Officer, what can I do for ya?”

I cover my mouth with my hand.

“Hello, Mr. Yates. My name is Officer Grant. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, officer. I deeply appreciate it.” He dragged out his words unnecessarily, almost feigning grief.

“I know you’re wondering why I’ve come here so I’ll get right to it: You have been deemed one of our Persons of Interest and we have quite a few questions to ask you. So, for the time being you’ll have to remain in custody until further notice.”

My jaw hangs open. Did I just hear that correctly?

“Excuse me, sir, are you assuming that I would kill my own wife!?”

His voice is rising, and I flinch, although Uncle Brent’s never given me any reason to be afraid of him. 

“Mr. Yates, if you would please come with me so I don’t have to resort to more forceful strategies.” The officer said tiredly.

I knew my Uncle would not respond well to this.

“I haven’t done a thing! I have an alibi and there are people who can verify it!” Although commanding, his voice had begun to float a couple octaves higher.

“Please, sir. Just come with me.”

I could imagine Uncle Brent staring him down. A minute passed, and finally he harrumphed. 

“Oh, and sir?” said the officer kindly. “Your phone is on.”

“Auntie Angie?” I ask curiously.

“Yes, Fiona?” Aunt Angie responds.

“Don’t you miss Uncle Brent when you have to watch me?”

“Oh, sweetie,” she laughs. “Uncle Brent likes to be alone. I’m doing him a favor. And, I would never miss a chance to see you.”

TIME JUMP: Fiona and her mom traveled to California for the funeral although there is no body. They find out that during her daily trail hike, she had been “pushed” off of a cliff into a big body of water. The reason this was believed is because there were signs of struggle/blood by the edge. Uncle Brent is now being prosecuted for the murder of his wife, Angela Yates. 

Seated in the gallery next to my mom, I shiver.  Even in my black dress pants and my white and black polka-dotted blouse, I feel as if I’m in the Arctic. It’s not just the cold, though. Fear crawls up my spine, jumbling my thoughts. Worse than knowing Aunt Angela is dead is knowing that it was Brent who caused it. It was Brent who caused her to bleed the way that resulted in a pool of blood before her life came to an abrupt end when she hit the concrete-like water, 315 feet below the cliff. I imagine Brent stood watching eagerly, the corners of his mouth turning upward as he watched his problem die. Angie had never seemed very attracted to Brent, always looking for excuses to not be near him, or leave him at home. I had always sensed this, and wondered why she didn’t just divorce him. Maybe Brent wouldn’t let her.

My mom taps my shoulder, the ghost of a smile on her lips, shaking me from my thoughts. “It’s starting, honey.”

I turn towards the front of the courtroom, focusing all of my attention on the man who killed my favorite person.

The counsel identified themselves for the record, one by one as prompted by the judge. I block out most of what is said until Brent begins to recount what he believes happened on the morning of Angie’s death.

“Mr. Brent Yates can you confirm the date of Angela Yates’ death, please?” the prosecutor asked, bored.

“The morning of September 6th, 2022.” Brent responded, trying to hold it together.

“Thank you, Mr. Yates. Now can you recount the events of the morning in your own words, please?”

“Yes. U…I woke up at around four in the morning, because I have Insomnia. I remember because the power had gone out so I had to check the time on my wristwatch. Angie was still sleeping, which is normal, she normally gets up at around five. 

“I went downstairs, still in my pajamas, and made myself a cup of coffee. I had brought my wristwatch downstairs, and used it to reset the clocks to their normal hour. Soon enough it was four-thirty and I began to make breakfast. I started preparing some bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast, when Angie appeared in the kitchen, already dressed, looking sort of frantic. I took note of the time, four fifty-one, because it was abnormal for Angie to be up and ready that early. 

“I remember asking her why she was geared up so much earlier than normal for her hike. She just said she’d decided to get up earlier. She had said she wasn’t hungry as she had ‘eaten enough dinner for a village’ the night before. She claimed she’d eat when she got back. Then, she hurriedly gathered her things and left though the garage, saying she would be back in a couple hours. That’s how long her hikes would usually take. It was a little odd that she already had her water packed, though. Normally it took her a little while to get ready to leave. But um…yeah, after two and a half hours, I called her. But she didn’t answer. Then, I called the police, and here we are.”

I take his words in slowly, making sure to let every detail marinate in my head. Alarms went off in my brain, alerting me that maybe I was thinking about this all wrong. Maybe Uncle Brent was telling the truth. Maybe I had been blind. 

As I started to mull over these truths in my mind, I kept coming back to one thing: the evidence. The only thing the authorities had placing Uncle Brent at the scene of the murder were fingerprints, which could be easily explained. Uncle Brent’s story seemed plausible, and his emotions were definitely genuine. 

A memory threatens to consume me, and I let it. I’m done fighting.

The front door to our house shakes with intensity as someone raps repeatedly on the other side. I grab nervously onto Aunt Angie’s skirt, tugging it as if to warn her. Without looking at me she puts a hand on my head.

“It’s okay, Fiona.” she says softly. “It’s gonna be alright. Why don’t you go up to your room so I can handle this?”

I take one last look at her somber face and trot up the steps reluctantly, perching myself at the top of the loft stairs to watch as Aunt Angie opens the door. Her fists clench as the creaking door reveals Uncle Brent standing before her. His brows are furrowed and he’s red in the face. 

“What do you want?” Aunt Angie breathes through gritted teeth. “You know you can’t be here. I don’t want Fiona to hear this.”

He lets out a scoff. “Hear what? That you married me for my money? That you tell your sister I hit you? That you flip a switch the moment we’re alone? That no one should feel safe around you? That yo--” Aunt Angie’s hand clamps Uncle Brent’s mouth tightly, cutting off his rapid rant. 

“Don’t say another word. You know your faults are larger than mine. I want you out.” She pauses and points to the front door.

Uncle Brent doesn’t move. She still has her hand on his mouth. She tentatively removes it but he still doesn’t move. She points again, this time revealing a tiny, but razor-sharp pocket knife.

“Now.”

He nods, a tear rolling down his pale check, walking out without another word. 

I am brought back to reality by the sudden slam of the judge’s gavel. I look around, frantically searching for Uncle Brent. The memory sends my brain spiraling. Never would I have  believed this perspective of Aunt Angie if it hadn’t come from my own memory archive. The memory seems like something out of a story she might’ve read to me back when she lived in Maine. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to this new knowledge. I turn towards my mom, and she’s gone. This isn’t surprising, as she probably couldn’t hold in her sobs anymore. I get up myself, leaving the courtroom holding their breath in anticipation for the jury to return. I know what the verdict will be, and I know it will be wrong. After all, no body was found. 

TIME JUMP: Uncle Brent is declared guilty, although Fiona and her mom find this out later via the news. Fiona is crushed, but she knows there is something wrong with the verdict. No body was ever found, so why isn’t Aunt Angie missing, presumed dead? How did the investigation turn into a court case this quickly? And what was up with her memory of Aunt Angie’s personality switch-up? Fiona is on her way to the jail now, needing to talk to Uncle Brent. Fiona’s mom drives her, although Fiona could drive. This means a lot to Fiona as her mother is taking it very hard.

Fiona practically jumps out of her mom’s car as they arrive at the jail, barely giving her mom time to put it in park. She is determined and desperate to find out the truth. She can’t stand knowing she has been deceived, unsure of what the lies really are. 

Angela Yates

I come down the steps to the kitchen, water bottle filled, hiking clothes on, backpack packed, and lies at the ready. I can smell the bacon and eggs cooking, but unfortunately there’s no room in my plan for a sit-down breakfast.

“Hey Brent, I’m just heading out.”

“Oh, ‘morning Angie, I didn’t know you were up yet.” He says, taken aback.

“Yeah, I decided to hit the trails a little earlier today.” I respond calmly.

“Oh, okay. Do you want some breakfast before you go? Even just some toast or a banana?”

“I’m all set, thanks. I ate enough for a whole village last night! I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” 

Brent gives me a weird look but accepts the fact that I’m leaving and returns his attention to his breakfast. I turn away as well and grin, unable to hide my excitement. I grab my things quickly and leave through the garage, starting my morning journey.

I begin at a jogging pace, and slowly increase until I’m practically sprinting. I make the mile distance to the base of the trail in five and a quarter minutes flat. Then I change into my climbing shoes. Next, as I make my way up the path, I go over my plan in my head. Do I have everything I need? I list the items out. 

Climbing chalk? Check. 

Phone? Check. 

Fingerprint kit? Check. 

Hand-held shovel? Check.

Bandages? Check.

Pocket knife? Check. 

Gloves? Check.

  Once I make it to the top of the trail, which includes a scenic view of a cliff overlooking the water, I know what I have to do.

First, I carefully unpack my backpack and lay out all of my supplies. I take a few big gulps from my water for show, but I’m also very thirsty from the hike. Usually this area is very buggy this time of year, so only tourists can be found on these trails. I made sure to come earlier than any tourist would be awake on their vacation. The sun hasn’t risen fully yet, and I use it to my advantage. I put my gloves on carefully, then pull out the knife. Its blade is razor-sharp. I cautiously bring it to my arm near my shoulder, and with one fluid motion, I cut into my flesh, bringing it back out just as fast. I gasp and bite my lip, focusing all of my energy on staying quiet. I watch the blood pour out my arm steadily, and then I remember my plan. I take a couple steps towards the cliff’s edge, and run around frantically in circles, fighting an imaginary force. I then grab the shovel and start stabbing the very edge of the cliff. I make sure not to use all of my force, as it can’t look unnatural. When I’m satisfied with how the scene appears, I grab the bandages eagerly. Wrapping as tightly as possible, I apply multiple layers of bandaging. I take my water bottle and throw it on the ground, my backpack following. I keep the fingerprint kit in my hand though, using my previously taken fingerprints of Brent and adding them around the scene strategically. I take a step back to admire my work, and then drop my phone in a puddle of blood, making sure to miss the splash. With my climbing shoes already on, I take my hands out of my gloves, making sure they’re inside out. I place them in my zipper pocket in my shorts and begin my descent down the cliff and into my new life. 

Fiona

I’m scared out of my skin as a deafening gunshot rings out clearly. I whip around, terrified. Standing just a mere twenty feet away from me is my aunt Angie. I’m speechless. I search for words, anything, but I can’t find anything to say. What. The. Heck. 

“Fiona, Alexa, how I’ve missed you both.”

I turn towards my mom only to wish I hadn’t. She was the bullet’s target. Her eyes are bulging out of her face as she hyperventilates, gasping endlessly in fear.

“Mom!” I scream. I swivel my head to face Angie. “Get away from us!”

She starts to laugh. “You just didn’t see it, Fiona. Fiona, your uncle Brent and your precious momma were cheaters. They lied to you, they lied to me, they lied to everyone they knew.”

I blink, dumbfounded.

“Brent was having an affair with Alexa,” she clarifies. “You need to see that I was doing this to get justice! They needed to be stopped! I needed to get them back!”

Sirens wail in the distance, but Angie makes no move to run.

I finally find my voice. “Brent was cheating on you. Alexa was lying to you. I didn’t do a thing. In fact, I idolized you. You were my favorite person. But now we both have nothing. Now I don’t have a mom, I’d rather have a mom that’s a liar than not have one at all. My hero decided to play the part of ruining my life. You decided to do that. At least I know that when I’m older, I don’t want to be a murderer.”