The Girl Who Never Forgot by Tikiri Herath

Author:Tikiri Herath [Herath, Tikiri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781989232460
Publisher: Nefertiti Press
Published: 2020-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Three

A screeching howl made me jump.

I whipped around and peeked out the back window.

It was three men in werewolf costumes, stumbling along the street. I did a double take. They must be the same men Katy and I had encountered earlier, probably on their way to a late night party.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

“Know them?” asked David.

“They’re trouble. I told them off before.”

David started the car and pulled out to the road.

One of the men spotted Tetyana watching and made a rude gesture. With a click, she brought her window up.

The man stepped closer to say something but swayed, too drunk to stand his ground. One of his pals grabbed his arm to steady him. Clutching each other and snickering, they careened on the road, almost hitting the car. David swerved to avoid them.

Seeing us leave, they howled. I wondered if they’d seen Rosalie run out and had accosted her. I hoped to goodness she was okay.

“Caught these three catcalling Rosalie the other day,” I explained. “Katy and I stopped them. I don’t think they enjoyed having two girls yell at them.”

“Any idea what this Rosalie was doing in the kitchen in the middle of the night?” asked Tetyana.

“Nope. She’s not very social. Doesn’t talk much, and she’s always jumpy, scared like a rabbit. A little quirky.”

“Mentally unwell?”

I remembered seeing intelligence in those haunted eyes. She had so much potential, but something or someone was holding her down.

“I don’t think so. Katy thinks she’s been traumatized by something. She looks anorexic too,” I said, remembering how her collarbones stuck out from that threadbare dress. “She’s a lonely orphan from the swamps who gets picked on by everybody.”

“Lonely orphan or not, that was a fishy thing to do,” said Tetyana. “Think she did it on her own or someone made her?”

“She’s hiding something,” said David. “I’d say she was getting rid of evidence.”

We drove silently after that.

It was well past supper time when family-friendly parades were wrapping up and the adult raves were starting. Party souls in various stages of dress strolled through the streets, beer cups in hand, singing, laughing, dancing. Rowdy banter came from all directions.

It would be hard to spot young Rosalie among this crowd, even though she’d stand out among the revelers.

A handful of police cruisers passed by us. One stopped next to a man who’d decided to pull his pants down and urinate against a building wall. The police lights turned on and he hurriedly zipped up, while his friends hooted with laughter.

Local news channels had been buzzing that day about a serial killer on the loose.

Because the media, like everyone else, had little information to go by, they started profiling past murder stories, making wild speculations. This only made worried people more nervous and bold people more brazen. This latter crowd had taken to the streets, determined to show the world their party would not be stopped by a killer.

Though the mayor had canceled large private functions, he’d allowed the public parades to continue.

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