A Master's in Murder Page 2

  “That’s the face I need to see right now,” he said tenderly as he made his way around the couch and sunk into the cushion next to her.

  “Hard day in the life of Mr. Artimer?” Brielle had asked sympathetically as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into her embrace.

  Brielle felt him softly sigh against her hair, making the few loose strands dance against her cheek. “Nothing that you need to worry about. Just the usual ups and downs of life,” he answered as he released her, leaning back against the couch and rubbing his hands deeply against his eyes before running his fingers through his curls.

  Brielle had come to recognize that as a sign of stress, usually appearing in the final stages of studying before exams. “Anything you want to talk about?” she asked, leaning her arm against the couch behind her and turning to face Eric fully.

  “It’s really nothing. It’s just… ” He paused for several seconds. “…It’s hard when you find out people aren’t everything they were in your mind. You think everything is black and white, but it’s really just a ton of gray. It’s hard to hold on to hope for good when everything is so clouded,” Eric reflected, almost to himself more than to Brielle. He glanced up to see her eyes, now full of concern, trained on his face, waiting for him to continue. He smiled again, reaching out to grasp her hand. “As long as I have you, though, I know I’ve found a little piece of good in this world.”

  Brielle smiled warmly back to him. “I hope I’ll always be as wonderful in your mind as you make me out to be,” she responded, and he had pulled her in gently for a long, tender kiss. Even now, after months of dating, a kiss from his warm lips seemed to send rays of warm, blissful energy shining throughout her whole self.

  Shaking her head back to reality, Brielle looked down at her wrist as the moments slipped by. 1:24. Then 1:56. Maybe Eric had been kept long by Professor Lemmon, she thought. I’m surprised he didn’t let me know, though. Sometimes they each had reasons to miss their lunches together, but they both were usually careful to text or call the other. She gasped and clapped herself on the forehead. Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out her phone. She held down the power button until the lights glowed to show it powering up. She had been so focused on the food and test and Brielle had forgotten that she had turned her phone off for the test. He must have tried to let her know, but she wasn’t available. Laughing quietly at herself, she waited as the phone logo flashed white against the black screen and rebooted to display her home screen. She smiled tenderly at the picture displaying in the background. It was from the day she and Eric had gone hiking and had ended up covered in mud. He had been trying to surprise her with a romantic nature scene. She had ruined her favorite white sweatshirt that day, but they had laughed until their sides ached at how it had turned out. In the picture, both of them were caked in dry, cracking mud, and Brielle was perched on Eric’s shoulders, looking playfully pouty, while he looked up at her, clearly roaring with laughter.

  Suddenly, the phone began buzzing as texts and notifications displayed. One, two, three, four, five texts from her mother. Three missed calls. One missed called and voicemail from “Rebecca Artimer”. Slightly alarmed by the sudden explosion of alerts, Brielle was shocked to see that Eric’s mother had called. Rebecca Artimer was, in general, a cold woman who looked down on just about everyone. Haughtily beautiful, she turned up her nose at practically everyone. Everyone, that is, except Eric. With Eric, she crooned over him, always insisting that he was the miracle that heaven had sent to save her from the dreadful adversities she was called to bear as the “social elite” she was. Eric’s name seemed to echo behind her at social gatherings as she bragged to every other middle-aged rich woman in the group about him. Brielle remembered once having to stifle her laughter as Mrs. Artimer gloated to her annoying friend, Mrs. Cornwall, “My dear Eric has become quite invaluable to his college basketball team. He’s leading them to undefeated wins, you know. His talent really is quite astounding.” Mrs. Artimer had conveniently left out that she was referring to Eric’s intramural team, one which was part of the lower skill-level tournament. Eric had rolled his eyes and winked at Brielle, but Brielle was glad to see someone else adoring Eric as much as she did.

  That adoration did not extend to Brielle, however. If her Eric was as wonderful as he was in her eyes, no young woman would ever quite measure up. While his father, Mr. John Artimer, was always quite cordial with Brielle, Mrs. Artimer remained cold and aloof, regardless of Eric’s attempts to encourage kindness from her. When in the company of her son and his girlfriend, Mrs. Artimer would usually speak only to Eric, addressing Brielle minimally and appearing less than satisfied at all of her answers. Eric loved his parents, but he wasn’t blind to the treatment his mother dealt to Brielle. In times of differing opinions or preferences, he almost always took Brielle’s side, which Mrs. Artimer quietly accepted but clearly disliked. For Eric’s mother to be calling Brielle, she knew, meant that something highly unusual had occurred, although Brielle couldn’t imagine what.

  First, though, Brielle pulled up the texts from her mother and quickly skimmed the words in each text bubble.

  Good luck on your test! xoxo Mom 8:05 AM

  Please call me back ASAP Mom 8:46 AM

  Are you still in your test? Call me back Mom 9:59 AM

  Brielle there’s been an accident. Call me back RIGHT AWAY. Mom 11:36 AM

  Brielle felt the blood start to leave her face. Had something happened to Dad? He had a minor heart attack the year before, but everything seemed to be going fine since. He had begun a new, heart-healthy diet, and seemed to be keeping up with his exercises. Hands fumbling, Brielle clicked on the voicemail from Eric’s mother, and felt cold sweat start to form on the edges of her forehead as she listened to the shaky, sniffling voice at the other end of the phone:

  “Brielle, your mother is trying to reach you as well, but you need to go to the UNC Medical Center Ambulatory Care Center as soon as you can. Eric has—“ Brielle was shocked to hear Mrs. Artimer break off as a sob escaped—“has been in an accident. There was a car accident on the edge of the UNC campus, and Eric had been crossing the street when a texting driver sped through a stoplight and—and hit him. We aren’t completely sure what state he’s in, he hasn’t woken up yet, but—but we’re on our way there on the next flight. Hopefully everything will be alright.” Brielle heard another sob before the message ended with a click.

  Brielle frantically pulled up the time of the message: 8:45 AM. It had been four hours. Almost without knowing what she was doing, Brielle stuffed her books and laptop back into her bag and went walking as quickly as she could short of running down the hallway. This couldn’t be real. He must be okay. Eric was careful and cautious. Brielle had never heard so much pure emotion in Mrs. Artimer’s voice before. She had lost her cold edge, was entirely vulnerable. This was her Eric. This was their Eric. This wouldn’t happen to him.

  Brielle didn’t feel herself bumping against people walking the opposite way, nor did she hear irritated “Watch where you’re going”s from those being elbowed painfully. She hurried past a large newsstand where the university’s paper was on prominent display. Her eyes subconsciously took in the headline “Fraud at UNC—Is Your Information Safe?” before they darted back forward. She heard the words echo again in her head: “We aren’t completely sure what state he’s in….” and with a jolt of terror she broke into a run back down the hill from where she had come earlier that morning. Every step seemed to be a mile long as she rushed past others trudging up and down the hill, until at last, after minutes that felt like years, she was back at her apartment and climbing into her black 2003 Toyota Camry.

  Eric has to be okay, she thought desperately as she sped down the street. He has to be okay. I just saw him last night. He held me last night. I’ll get there and he’ll be okay and he’ll hold me and say that everything’s okay. God in Heaven, please let him be okay. Every red light she stopped at felt like a burning rope, tying her tighter an
d tighter in its painful grip until finally, mercifully, it would turn green and set her free. Five minutes left. Three minutes left. Two minutes. One minute.

  Without even really noticing where she parked or if it even was a parking space, Brielle jumped out of the front seat, nearly leaving the door open before rushing through the doors. The hospital lobby was bright white with white and speckled-gray linoleum floors. The walls were bare except for the occasional poster advertising flu shots, contraceptive methods, and other health-related services. Down the hall, Brielle could see two wide closed doors with the word “EMERGENCY” blazing in red above them. To the left sat a dark wooden desk with a white sign that read “Check in Here.” Brielle stumbled wildly over.

  An attractive woman, probably in her early-thirties, sat at the receptionist’s desk. She brushed her long blonde hair behind her ear and smiled up at Brielle. “How can I help you?” she asked. Her smile faltered at seeing Brielle’s slightly haggard appearance.

  Brielle opened her mouth only to discover that she could not bring herself to form words. She could feel herself going into shock, could feel her muscles starting to cramp. Brielle hurriedly took a few deep gulps of air and gasped, “Eric Artimer. Car crash victim. Where?”

  The receptionist’s face changed from polite concern to an emotion Brielle couldn’t clearly identify. Was that pity? The receptionist hesitated, and whispered, “Oh. Of course, just down the hall. Room 42. His parents are waiting for you.” She pointed toward the closed doors. As Brielle pushed through the swinging doors, something started to clunk into place in the back of her mind. His parents are waiting for you…. Waiting for me, she realized. Not waiting for Eric to wake up. Not waiting for the doctor to tell them how he was. Brielle hoped her mind was jumping to conclusions as she started running down the long hall of rooms until she turned a corner and saw ROOM 42 printed in small block letters next to a closed door. Her hand shaking, she reached out, clasped the knob, and turned.

  Brielle stood, frozen, staring at the scene in front of her. Mr. and Mrs. Artimer stood facing away from the bed, blocking Brielle’s view. Mrs. Artimer was shaking with sobs, clutching Mr. Artimer’s body as if that were the only thing tying her to life. Mr. Artimer grasped her firmly, whispering comfortingly to her, but Brielle could see tears overflowing in his eyes and spilling silently down his cheeks. In the corner of the room sat Eric’s younger brother, Jared. Jared differed from his brother with fair skin and dark red curls which he kept short and tight. Sitting slumped over in his chair, his face looked completely devoid of blood.

  As the door creaked, both of Eric’s parents turned to face Brielle. She met eyes with Eric’s father, John, pleading for her unspoken question to be answered. He stared silently for what felt like a millennium. Then, almost in slow motion, he shook his head. Brielle felt her knees buckle beneath her, and she felt as if she had just been hiking for dozens of miles. To everyone’s surprise, and before a word could be spoken, Rebecca Artimer stepped towards Brielle and flung her arms around her shoulders. Brielle stared, surprised, over Mrs. Artimer’s head to the bed now in her view.

  The room began swimming and blackness danced around the edges of her vision as she caught a glimpse of him. There, drenched in blood and unmoving, was her Eric. His dark hair was plastered to the side of his bloody jaw, and streaks of road rash dashed across his face, completely skinning his nose to reveal the raw red tissue beneath. Eric’s mouth hung slightly open, and Brielle could see multiple teeth missing from his once flawless smile. She could not even recognize his right ear in the bloody mess of skin and burns. Patches of black and blue underneath the drips of red offset the deathly pale white tone of his untouched skin. Eric’s arm stuck out at an odd angle from underneath the blanket, and his hand bent out to the side, clearly snapped cleanly at the wrist. Trying to swallow the bile that was rising in her throat, Brielle’s eyes strayed to the EKG machine that stood next to the bed. A flat line.

  She was drowning.

  The light shimmering around her seemed too bright and yet muted at the same time. It was as if the light was burning her skin while simultaneously sucking away any life within her. This couldn’t be happening, no, it couldn’t. It must be a terrible nightmare. The walls of her lungs seemed to cling together like wet tissue, unable to separate without tearing into shreds. She was sure that with a single breath, they would rip apart, banishing her to nothingness.

  And that was what she wanted.

  4

  “Obviously, we are going to look into every detail, but right now it seems to clearly be an accident,” said Officer Ray Corey. Brielle and the Artimer family were gathered outside of Room 42, huddled tightly together as if frightened that they might lose someone else. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. From what we have found so far, your son was cutting across the street and didn’t see the car coming. It appears that the driver, Mr. Trent, was looking down at his phone at the moment and didn’t see Eric in the street. We assure you we will hold him accountable for his actions.” The young officer scratched his short black hair, and continued, “He’s in the room down the hall. He’s asking to see you, if you would oblige him. That is up to you, but he wanted to apologize himself.” He gave a small smile, more of a grimace, and walked down the hall into a room just beyond. Mr. Artimer nodded to his wife and started down the hall after the officer.

  As Brielle stood up with the rest of the group, she was conflicted. Did she really want to look into the eyes of the man that had killed Eric? If he had just kept his eyes on the road…. Brielle silently filed into the room behind Jared. Sitting on the bed sat a man nursing a large cut across his forehead. Brielle guessed was in his mid-thirties. He was slightly thinning on top under his light blonde hair but was very fit. His eyes, Brielle noticed, were a shocking green with abnormally large pupils that did not seem to shrink, regardless of the brightly lit hospital room. Brielle shivered, and realized that she was slightly frightened by his ominous gaze.

  However, as his eyes rested on the family, his face was overcome with guilt and remorse. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Artimer. My name is Kevin Trent,” he said, hesitating as if unsure what to say next. “I can’t express how sorry I am. I never, ever thought that I would ever be the person to make this mistake,” he cried. “I never should have been looking at my phone in the first place, and to know that I—I—” He broke off, looking tortured. Tears had started to pool in his eyes. “I called 911 as soon as it happened, but… it clearly wasn’t enough. I’ll never be able to express how terrible I feel, and I’ll never be able to make it up to you. I am so sorry.” He dropped his face into his hands, his shoulders racked with sobs.

  Mr. Artimer glanced at his wife, and he stepped forward and set a gentle hand on Kevin’s back. Numbly, Brielle felt herself turn and walk out of the room, unable to face the scene for another second. She dropped into a chair in the hall, feeling as though a single gust of wind would break her.

  “Are you the girlfriend, then?” said a voice gently. Brielle lifted her head to see that Officer Corey had followed her outside. Silently, she nodded, unable to speak.

  “I’m sure you’re sick of people asking if you’re okay, because you’re not. But you will be. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not for a long time, but someday. Someday you’ll find that the sting isn’t so sharp,” he said gently. Brielle remained silent, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her.

  Hesitating, Officer Corey squatted down next to her. “I’m not sure if this is really what you want, but…” he stopped, and then started again. “We have camera footage from the college security tapes that shows what happened. I could understand if that were too much for you, but”—he paused again—“when I lost my wife in a freak accident, it was almost impossible for me to accept, to believe. Seeing it with my own eyes gave me… closure, I guess. Helped me progress towards acceptance.”

  When she didn’t respond, he glanced at her, clearly nervous that he was crossing a line, and he stood back up straight again. S
lowly, he pulled out a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “If you ever want to see it, just give me a call. I’ll be issuing the same invitation to the family.” Without another word, he stepped back into the room, leaving Brielle alone.

  Brielle twiddled the card between her fingers, staring blankly at the wall in front of her as tears continued to dribble down her cheeks. Flashes of Eric appeared before her. Him laughing at her trying and failing miserably to juggle hard boiled eggs. His skinned nose. Him tenderly tucking a hair behind her ear at a picnic on the beach. His bloodstained shirt. Him taking her face between his hands and pressing his lips passionate against hers. His puffy, bruised eyelids.

  In great, heaving gasps, Brielle’s tears turned to waterfalls as she clutched the roots of her hair and rocked back and forth in her chair. This morning, it seemed like everything was falling into place. Now, as her world came crashing down around her, she knew that she would never be whole again.

  A little piece of her soul had died on that hospital bed with Eric.

  5

  Brielle gave one last glance in the mirror as she adjusted her collar. Her chalk-white pallor against her black dress gave her an ethereal, ghostly appearance. Dark blue shadows were painted under each eye, evidence of the past three sleepless nights. She had dabbed on a little bit of blush and mascara to help her appear healthier, but no makeup could hide the emptiness within her that was spilling out onto the surface.

  As Brielle stepped out into the hallway, she saw her mother waiting for her, smiling encouragingly at her. Her mother had flown out to spend a couple days with her daughter in preparation for the funeral. They had checked into a hotel room close to the airport as soon as Brielle had picked her up.