It was somewhere around midnight. It was also the anniversary of Jenny's death. March 17th.
Jenny was the person I held most dear. She was the best sister I ever could have asked for and the only person who knew me inside and out. Our parents were divorced, both of them too selfish to care about one another, much less their three children.
I stared out the enormous reflective windows of the little cafe, trying my hardest to see past my mirror image and gaze into the rain. It created a quiet rushing sound as it pounded against the glass, like frail fingers making an attempt to attract attention despite the fact that it was already too late.
I often found myself making comparisons to scenes in horror movies. I bitterly enjoyed the stark contrast between the fakeness of carefully planned and choreographed murder scenes with the cold, harsh reality of death off the set. Death that couldn’t be reversed with just a bit of movie magic. My morbid fascination with dying had always caused questions in the back of my head when I was younger; questions I shoved back in the darkest corners of the deepest reaches of my mind. I wanted to be normal.
But since Jenny’s death in a fatal car accident, I had let the questions flow freely from my lips, directing them at whoever might be the victim of my general proximity. People avoided me. I’d been called “creep” and “psycho” more times than I could count on all my digits. Seeing Jenny die was the worst and most intriguing experience of my life. She lay there bleeding on the seat with unfocused eyes and I was helpless to stop her.
It happened on my 21st birthday. Being five years my elder, Jenny was obliged to take me out drinking when I came of age. I didn’t have many friends, but she tried to make up for that by being there to make special occasions into happy memories.
Conveniently, one of my sister’s friends was having a big party that night. Jenny decided it would be the perfect place for me to get drunk and maybe even socialize like a normal person. That was all she wanted; she just wanted me to be normal so I could live a fulfilling life. Her boyfriend at the time had been a really nice guy, but a heavy drinker. He was passed out a few hours into the party. Jenny laid him down on a couch upstairs with a well-situated bucket next to him. Then we got trashed. We were going to stay the night and leave in the morning, so it didn’t matter.
But, completely unreasonable drunk man that I was, I wanted to go back to my dorm at the local university and crash there. Jenny tried so hard to sway me, but I wouldn’t have it. She finally decided that if I was going to leave, I wasn’t leaving alone. Even with a job and a steady relationship, I was Jenny’s main responsibility. She wasn’t going to let me end up in a ditch somewhere.
We laughed and talked on the way home, our slurred speech comparable to the blurs of headlights speeding past a slow camera lens. And when I was so close, at the last light before I turned onto the main road towards my dorm on the college campus, I decided to step on the gas even though the light had just turned red. My impaired state told me I could make it through just fine. I was wrong. The force of another car smashed the passenger side where Jenny was sitting. She tried to warn me.
And I had killed her.
The man that hit me was never found. But I remember his face. He opened the door with a screaming of metal, it was mutilated by the crash. He didn’t have a crowbar, just his bare hands. When he got out of the car, he stood there and stared at me for just long enough to make an impression before he walked away unharmed.
I will never forget what he looked like because he terrified me. He had no irises, no pupils, just black orbs for eyes, dark as night.