Death Of Gregory Isack

The door was locked. I knocked and rattled the

knob, but the only answer I could get was silence. This was just like he used to be. Our relationship and soon to be marriage was not much committed, but it could involve more of basic respect. I moved the grocery bag to my other arm and struggled the key out of the purse and led it into the lock. The door clicked and, with a gentle push, swung Inwards.

The small apartment was dark except for the bright swath of light let in by the door I had left open. It was like a glowing path that beckoned me forward; a yellow brick road bound for hell.

I slowly followed it. The light switch felt loose as I clicked on it. Part of my inner self was busy Screaming, "Don't you dare turn around to look back! Just walk away!" but I didn't listen to it. I arrogantly couldn't. The past couldn't be changed by shouting at it.

I therefore, turned around and a strangled cry escaped my lips.

The man laid on the floor in a heap. A puddle of congealing gore, so dark and looked black, that spread out around him and made the carpet fibers stiff. The flesh of his throat was torn away. Muscles were stripped to reveal the gleam of his spine shining through the gelatinous, clotted blood.

"Gregory!."

My knees gave in as I lost the little energy I had been left with. I immediately fell to the ground. Oh God!, I had to call someone - I thought it was to be the police, or an ambulance, but I literally couldn't even stand-

"Anya?"

A soft voice tore through my thoughts and brought me back to the open "Romeo and Juliet" Novel that I held at the office. I was sitted on a stool in the break area, My elbows were planted on the counter top. A forgotten mug of coffee steamed next to me, that remained untouched.

"Sister!"

I switched my eyes to see Layla standing next to me. She was the kind of a sister who was the picture of an independent feminist; soft brown

curls framed her face and her soft khaki dress clung in just the right places. Though she usually wore a smile, her eyes made it clear that nonsense was not part of her life at all; she always said that she had things to do, places to go and people to see. At the moment, though, those eyes reflected uncertainty.

It was a year since I moved out of my father's place, however, at the office, Layla always threw up surprises as much as she cared much about me than her own life, she would never mind spending much time at my place than at home. Although, in the past few weeks she has been so damn busy that she hadn't made to my place yet.

"Are you all right?"

I shook my head to chase away the tattered

remnants of a nightmare that become a reality. "Yeah, I nodded and answered

"I'm great"

"You don't look great." Layla's lips clamped together as she attempted to scrutinize up on me. Though my blonde hair fell down my back in a tight pony tail, and long bangs carefully framed my pale face, my blue eyes were rimmed with lack of sleep and a month's worth of depression. I had tried to look "okay", but it wasn't enough.

"Are you thinking about Gregory again?" Layla asked softly.

I waved my hand as if I could make Layla's

Concerns drift away like smoke. "No. I'm fine. Do you need anything?

"You have a voice message" Layla sighed and then added softly, "lf you decide that you would want to talk about it!"

"Im fne, I told you. So who's over the voice massage?"

"l don't know" Layla turned teasing. "It's a man" He had mentioned you by name, said it was personal and would love you to make a call back to him"

"Personal?" bet it's just the police again. In the last month they had called more times than I could count. They always asked the same questions that needed the same answers. "-No, I don't know who might have wanted to kill my husband to be. -No, I don't know who he was last with. -No, I wasn't really in bad terms with him; we just had good times together and so many arrangements about the wedding in place"

I made my way through the office, my shoulders slumped, and cautiously approached the secretary's desk.

" I have a message?" I made it look more of a question than a statement. The secretary glanced up, her eyes narrowed and her tone acidic. "Make it fast. You know how our new manager might react when he realizes you are breaching the rules of 'personal calls"

"of course." I almost said that there was no need to be so impatient. I hadn't asked for any of this. But I kept the thoughts to myself and pressed the phone and held it to my ear. Left it to ring for a few seconds before I had someone pick up from the other end.

"Hello?"

"Anya?"

The voice was deep, warm and, with the fact that very few people had my work number, this was unfamiliar. "This is Anya?" I possed and wondered how the person behind the call correctly mentioned my name. "Who is this?"

"I know who killed your husband Meet me tonight just as the sun sets. I'll be at a house on Latina road; I am sure it's the only house, the road is a bare dead and rarely accommodates vehicles. Come alone."

The phone clicked loudly as I tried to keep him, "Wait - Hey.. . " but there was no point anymore as I stammered as well try to have these words come out of my mouth. My only answer was the quiet buzz of a disconnected line. I clutched the receiver to my left ear, as If it would bring him back.

Immediately I was off the line, Layla appeared and stood before me. "Who was it?" At my

expression, the smile died on her lips. "What?"

"I-I surely don't know" I whispered. Layla's shock was replaced by sharp anger.

"Some kind of joke" I slammed the receiver into its cradle and ignored the dirty look from the secretary. "I need to go home."

"It's only a few minutes that we are left with." Layla softened in sympathy.

"I know, but I'll just have to go..."

"Then I'll take you sister."

"No thanks. I didn't feel like tracking, so I brought with me my car today"

" Then you should at least tell me what it was about, I am your sister remember!" Layla followed me and attempted to retrieve my purse. "Who was it?" "I don't know who it was. I just heard him say that he knows who killed Gregory"

Layla's green eyes went wide and her voice came out low and strangled. "They know who did it? Who?"

"He didn't utter to say the name. He demands to meet me tonight." I stuck my badge into my pocket and stopped to run distracted fingers

through my bangs. "Im sure It's a joke." I added.

"A cruel one." Layla's eyes narrowed. "Tell me you ain't going? That's how people get murdered"

"To meet some stranger by myself? Are you kidding? Just give me some rest dear!"

I headed for the door and Layla followed me out

and down the sidewalk to the parking lot.

I stopped to dig through my purse, searching for the familiar whisky bottle, when Layla gently reminded me, "You didn't bring any today."

"Oh, right" I managed a sick smile and resigned myself.

We made our way to my silvery car. It had waited for me under the late autumn sun, dead leaves sticking out from beneath the wipers. I quickly plucked at them absently before

I unlocked the door and climbed into the drlver's seat. I gripped the steering wheel as If I could strangle it.

Layla stood stubbornly next to the car like a guarding sentinel, worry on her face, until I opened my mouth and said, "I'm not going to

meet 'him', so you don't need to worry, though I wouldn't rule out a bottle of Whisky"

"Alcohol won't help, Laya said sagely, eyes were still and locked on me. "Maybe you should see someone. A therapist..

I had to cut her off, tired of the never ending suggestion from her. "I don't need to see anyone. I'm fine" I shook my head and

stuck the key in the ignition. "I'll see you tomorrow. Pass my greetings to papa"

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Layla mumbled an appropriate goodbye as I

started the car and backed out of the parking lot. I glanced back in my rear view to see my sister standing next to the empty parking stall alone. The breeze played with her soft brown hair and whipped the khaki dress around her knees. An eerie feeling crept over on me, but I shook it off and turned the radio on. I let the blaring music drown out my thoughts and memories. Howeve, as I drove off, a second thought popped up in my mind

-Whoever made that phone call deserves nothing but death!-