Pittie, Who You Are Shouldn't Define Your Worth

Updated on May 23, 2019

Dark Thoughts And Vengeful Dreams

Once back to the closet, I burrowed down as deeply as possible into the sleeping bag. Thoughts of what I had seen kept looping inside my head. Was I the only person to know about this? The good news, I haven't seen her. I don't think she's here. I ran to the bathroom and back so quickly, she didn't stand a chance if she was. After tossing and turning and jumping at every sound, I gave up on falling asleep.

Instead, I pulled out my laptop and linked into the coffee shop wifi next door. (That was part of my reason for finding this house. I've been hanging out at that coffee shop quite a bit.) With a quick search, I found an article about her murder.

Found And Forgotten

So few words summed up this poor woman's life. She didn't have her kids, and she was a prostitute. Why would you include that in an article about her death? Had she been a lawyer with a drug problem, three trips to rehab, and an illegitimate kid would that have been in the article? "Lawyer, known drug addict and adulterer, found murdered"... I doubted it would have been.

Something about the wording, made me feel the writer was dismissing her death right away, and that infuriated me. We all take wrong turns in life. Who knows what this poor woman's story was. This reporter sure didn't take the time to find out. In fact, I couldn't find anything else about her death on the internet. Not even an obituary. Had her family just written her off too?

Don't Forget About Ashley

I was able to find other things about her online. She was a cheerleader in high school. It looked like she had several friends and was very popular at one time. Then she had some posts about a guy named Gerald. Her pictures became fewer and fewer. Her appearance had changed to a darker and unkempt look. In one or two you could tell she was messed up on something. Then, there were no more posts at all.

Funny how just scrolling through someone's social media you can see a snapshot into their life. You can connect the dots and imagine where things started to go wrong. A recording of all of our ups and downs, and I don't think we even realize it. Each person's page, if maintained long enough, can sp0ell out a biography for complete strangers to explore.

Had Ashley just been forgotten? Was her mother or this Officer Greene still looking to find the person who killed her? Had she been written off as a drug-addicted prostitute who got herself in that situation? I didn't know and the internet wasn't telling me.

I turned off my laptop and stared into the complete darkness until my eyes finally got too heavy for my fear to keep open.

Light began to stream beneath the closet door. I opened my eyes and stared at the carpet fibers now lit, and I thought about Ashley. I imagined my family's reaction to her death. Dad might have prayed for her soul, and Mama would have quoted Evil Bitch, "Trash attracts trash."

No matter what she had done, she never deserved what I saw last night. I knew his face. I had seen what he did. If they never found him, am I the only person left who can? I just couldn't leave her behind. A forgotten flash that scared me, and I ran away from it. If I do that, I'm just as bad as that writer. I can't forget about Ashley.

Pulling myself out of the sleeping bag, I opened the closet door. Looking around the room in the daylight gave me shivers. Out front of the house was a for rent sign. I bet the next person to sleep in this room will have no idea what happened. I knew now the room was completely different from my vision. With new carpeting and a fresh coat of paint, they had erased what happened to Ashley. I took a deep breath and set out to do the one thing I have been trying to avoid for months. I wanted to see the bad things.

I walked from the bedroom into the hallway. Removing my glove, I touched the wall. There was nothing. Continuing down the hallway I kept searching. Nothing from the light switch or the door frame leading into the kitchen. Looking around the kitchen, it had obviously been freshened up as well. I went to the faucet. I braced myself as I touched the knob.

Suddenly, I saw him again. He left the bedroom and washed the blood from his hands in the sink. Reaching for a towel he dried his hands then wiped the faucet. He then took the towel and began wiping things around the living room then disappeared back down the hallway. He was getting rid of prints. Within moments, he reappeared with the towel still in hand. He picked up a jacket from the back of a chair and put it on. Pausing for a moment, he looked around the room. Then with the towel, he opened the front door and left.

I went to the bathroom and reached for the faucet there. I saw a flash of him wiping a speck of blood off his face, and smoothing his hair. Then with a couple more swipes, he felt he had erased all evidence of being there. (Guess what, asshole, you didn't wipe away all of it.)

One more trip to the bedroom, I began feeling around. I touched the doorknob again, but nothing. (I guess you get one instant replay. Better not waste it.) I walked around the room running my naked hand along every area I felt might have not been covered. It seemed fresh paint and carpet erased the flashes. (Nice to know for future reference.) Then I touched the blinds on the window.

Suddenly beneath my hand were blood droplets. I fought my reaction to let go and looked around the room instead. The guy was standing next to me putting money inside his wallet. For a brief second, I saw "Jeremy Wa...6240 Idle S...Jacks...Commercial Driv" on his driver's license but his thumb blocked everything else.

Letting go of the blind, I ran to my backpack and grabbed a notebook. Quickly, I jotted down everything I could remember about him.

I Know What You Did Jeremy

Looking at my notes, I realized it wasn't much to go with. The guy was named Jeremy. So, he was a truck driver (Damn, I didn't even see the state on that license.) for probably Casper Trucking. I had a partial address. That was a start. Now what?

I snuck out of the house and went next door to the coffee shop. Sitting on a small sofa in the front that was angled in just the right way, I sat obscured from the patrons' view and stared at my notebook. Looking back at the story, I realized she was killed in 2003. I was just a baby. Plus, this guy had a 16-year head start. He could be anywhere now. So I contemplated where to begin. I'm not going to forget you, Ashley.

Thanks for reading, and if you are enjoying follow me for notifications of future pages to the story. Share with a friend (or an enemy, whatever). The story is about to get good. You will want to come back for more.

Thanks again,


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    © 2019 Faron Asher


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