Page 1 of Dark Side of the Cloth (The Righteous 1)
Seventeen Years Ago
Yasmine snuck down the stairs and crouched down to peer through the bars of the railing into the living room, never-ending tears rolling down her cheeks. Her parents held onto one another, each one seeming to need the other to remain upright as the Sheriff’s face appeared in front of the microphones on the television. She wasn’t supposed to be out of her room, but she’d heard the whispers when the police came to their door—her sister had been found.
“Thank you all for coming here this afternoon,” the Sheriff began. “It is with great sadness that I announce Raquel Jacobs has been found. The search and rescue mission turned into a recovery mission late last night when a pair of hikers found her remains. The family has been notified, and a complete autopsy will be conducted in the coming days.”
“Was she murdered?” a man asked, and Yasmine knew the answer to that question before the Sheriff spoke.
“We do believe that foul play was involved, but we will know more once our search has concluded.”
“Is this the work of a serial killer?” a woman’s voice asked. “Should the towns in the local area be worried for their children’s safety?”
“We do not have enough evidence at this time to speculate whether there is a connection between this case and the other missing children cases.” Yasmine gripped the wooden bars tighter.
“That is not a no. The citizens in the area have a right to know,” the same voice said.
“Like I said, we cannot conclude that this is the work of a serial murderer at this time. Next question.”
“You said hikers found the body. Where exactly was the body located?” This time a man asked.
“Ms. Jacobs was discovered washed up on the shore of Buck Reservoir.” Yasmine’s mother dropped like a stone to the floor, a wail escaping her lips as her father knelt and tried to console her. Guilt wracked Yasmine’s small body as she recalled the night her sister was stolen from their home. The night played over and over in her mind with horrific clarity, and she could still smell the stench of the man that had snuck into their room.
“Sheriff, can you tell us if the Jacob’s girl had been sexually assaulted?” Yasmine sucked in her lower lip as it quivered, trying hard not to make a sound. The Sheriff paused and looked away from the camera as he cleared his throat.
“Although we believe that a sexual assault did occur, we do not have any further details to disclose at this time.” A number of unseen people fired questions at the Sheriff, and he held up his hand to silence them. “We will have another press conference in a few days to update you when we know more. We ask that you respectfully give the family space in their time of grief. Thank you.”
Yasmine darted up the stairs. She barely got to the top when her tears turned into gasping sobs. She closed the door to the room that she’d shared with her sister and ran to her sister’s bed. It was as it had been the night she was taken, like it had been frozen in time. She jumped on the bright pink comforter covered with flowers and thought how happy it looked—a stark contrast to how she felt. Yasmine buried her face in her sister’s pillow, breathing in the scent of her twin, her best friend. Her small hands balled the comforter up as anger took the place of sadness in her aching chest.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair that she was alive and her sister was gone. Gathering the pillow into her arms, she held it to her chest and let her tears fall. She might only be eight, but she understood death better than anyone else she knew. Living in a funeral home, she had always known death. Sometimes death was the monster under the bed, and sometimes death was a simple flower that could no longer be alive. Either way, death was still death, and it sucked. Soon her eyes became heavy from all the tears, and she snuggled into the pillow deeper.
It was dark when Yasmine woke, and she had no idea of the time. Drained and emotionally spent, she dared to leave the room again and go in search of her parents. She hated to admit it, but she needed to eat. She’d avoided food for days, but the pangs were now too strong to ignore.
Yasmine heard soft whimpers as she stepped into the hallway and turned to follow the sound. The guest bedroom door was open a crack, and she gently pushed on the door. It squeaked loudly in the quiet house. Peering in, she saw her mother sitting on the small settee staring out the window.
“Mommy?” Yasmine stepped closer to her mother, but she didn’t respond. “Mommy?” She tried again and tentatively laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder. Her mother didn’t acknowledge her presence. She was scared for her mother because she had turned into a different person since her sister’s kidnapping. Her mother continued to make strange little whimpering sounds—her eyes transfixed on the darkness outside. “Mommy, did you want me to get you a tea?”
Red puffy eyes turned in her direction. “Why did you leave her alone?” Yasmine’s mother asked, and she took a step back from the anger in her mother’s stare.
“I had to,” she whispered—fresh tears burning in her eyes. Her mother lifted her hand, her finger poking Yasmine painfully in the chest.
“It should have been you. Get out. I can’t even look at her face on your body.” Yasmine stood frozen, eyes wide as she processed her mother’s harsh words. “I said get out!”
Yasmine ran for the door, her heart beating hard in her chest. Her mother’s renewed wails could be heard even as she slammed the door behind her. Yasmine bolted down the stairs passing her father as he jogged his way up.
“Yasmine, where are you going? What happened?” Her father called out.
She was suffocating under the weight of the guilt, the pain of what happened once more crashing down on her. Yasmine whipped open the front door, letting it bang and hang open as she ran down the path to the sidewalk.
“Yasmine, come back!” her father yelled.
She could hear his feet pounding on the sidewalk behind her, but she was faster, and soon her father couldn’t be heard or seen. She didn’t look back. She didn’t care if he followed. She just needed to get as far away from the house as her legs would carry her. Chest burning, Yasmine collapsed on the front step of Mabel’s house. Mabel was the only one that wouldn’t look at her like she caused this, like she was the one that deserved to die. Her mind and her body were systematically wanting to shut down as she laid there, cheek pressed into the rough concrete of the grey steps. She raised her hand, and with the last bit of energy, she smacked her knuckles on the wood of Mabel’s door.
She was alive, and her sister was dead, and it was all her fault. Her mother was right—it should have been her.
“What the? Oh, my poor dear,” Mabel’s voice was warm and sweet, the same as her house, the scent wafting out at her as the door was opened. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” Mabel’s arms slid under her body and picked her up, holding Yasmine to her chest.
That was the last thing she remembered before she passed out.
