The Murder of June Lowe - part 4

I slipped into the house that night around ten after having hung around with some of my old friends. I'll admit that I was a little intoxicated, but I didn't think it was something my mother or father would notice. After all, they were probably in bed already, along with my siblings.

Once I was in my room, I changed quickly out of my clothes and slid under the covers of my king-sized bed. The silken sheets felt cool against the bare skin of my chest. The comfort of the bed, plus the thoughts of my grandmother getting what she so blatantly deserved sent me into a deep, peaceful slumber.

I dreamt I was walking through a forest, wearing all white like that of an angel. The grass underneath my feet was plush and not a cloud infested the heavens above. I felt at peace. Even the waterfall to my left was a beautiful mass of sparkling blue. Everything was so heavenly; I couldn't imagine anything bad happening here.

Suddenly, though, the waterfall turned to blood and the sky was covered with dark thunderclouds. When I dropped my eyes to my feet, I saw that the grass died.

"What the heck" I frowned.

From the side of me, I heard the feminine whispering of my name, beckoning to me from the waterfall. I turned slowly. When I looked, there was an old woman who very much resembled the evil witch from the old Hansel and Gretel story. Beside her was an oven, the inside enflamed. The woman herself was a fright. Gray curls tumbled down her wrinkly old face with the narrowed eyes, big, warty nose, and practically toothless mouth. She lifted an arm to gesture to me.

Though I didn't want to go near her, my feet moved into the direction of the old woman. They were clammy inside the white tennis shoes. I wanted to turn around, run away, but there was a force not allowing me to do just that. "Go to blazes, Justin Lowe. Go to blazes." She pointed at the inside of the oven.

All of a sudden, wings sprouted from my back. Dark, scaly wings like those Lucifer himself most likely had. I screamed and tried to pull them off, but it only hurt. My skin was also turning red and scaly and my hair turned to a mass of ebony, the blond tresses fading away. What was happening to me? And I found myself falling into the oven. All the while, the old witch was cackling and yelling, "See what you get for being Devil's Issue, Justin Lowe? You go from whence you were spawned!"

I awoke from the dream, drenched in sweat. The very short strands of my hair were plastered to my head. Suddenly I felt guilty about plotting against my grandmother. Maybe there was still time to call Sherry and ask her to get a hold of that Caselli dude so we could cancel the deal. I didn't want to go to the underworld! Oh, I wanted to go to Heaven upon my death!

I heard a sound then that jerked me out of my thoughts. It sounded like a gunshot, only I couldn't be quite sure. Maybe it was one of the Civil War ghosts that haunted this old mansion. We did live near an old battlefield...probably a residual haunting. I swallowed the lump back in my throat, suddenly feeling sick to the point of wanting to puke.

Two' clock, hours since I fell asleep. I decided that I would get up anyway and check out what the sound was. I staggered out of bed and found my robe on the chair near my bed. As I threw it on, I heard my mother lamenting in the corridors, along with my father's incessant cursing.

I burst out into the corridor, my throat aching with fear. Someone had been shot and it was probably that Caselli fellow doing what was asked. Oh, I didn't want that old wench to die! I just wanted her to feel the pain I'd felt for years. The names she had called me resounded in my brain like a Chinese gong: Paramour! Hell's Child! Devil's Issue! Playboy!

"What happened?" I asked my mother, suddenly wide-awake.

"There was a gunshot. Did you hear it?" Her hands were fluttering in front of her face like butterflies. Her blond hair was a mess and her face wasn't covered with make-up. I'd never, ever, in all my life, seen her without her make-up. As the wife of a prominent man in our town, she felt she had to look the part.

Father came out of Grandmother's room, his eyes wild, his beard a tangled mess. "My mother's been shot! She"s dead!" he screamed. "Who the heck would have the gall to do that?" he demanded, shooting glares at all of the servants standing nearby. My little sister, Jamie, pressed up against me and I wrapped an arm around her.

My eyes immediately went to Miss Longworth, the nurse. "Did you have anything to do with this?" I asked, my tongue feeling as thick as a sausage.

"No, Mr. Justin, I had nothing to do with that woman's murder. I was fast asleep myself when I heard that gunshot," she admitted.

"Who could have done such a thing?" Mother moaned, leaning against the wall.

It felt as if everyone's eyes were on me. I'd been the one who she had beaten a few times a week when I was younger. I was the one who she tried to get rid of many a time. Why? I always wondered. What had I done to deserve her hatred? I was going to go to jail when they found out about Archibald Caselli

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