It’s been 13 years. 13 years since I lost the most important thing to me. 13 years since I have had to deal with this grief. 13 years that I have had to carry this weight around in my heart. 13 years since I have been able to feel anything. It’s been a lonely 13 years. But it’s been 13 years.
I was only 7 when the accident happened. How was I supposed to know something like that was going to happen. I was only 7. What I would do to look into her grayish blue eyes again. What I would do to hear her adorable laugh just one more time. What I would do to see her slightly crooked smile that she hated, but I thought was perfect on her. What I would do if I could tell her what she meant to me.
Only four people truly know how Rory died that one August summer night. Everyone else in the community believes it was just a simple and unfortunate accident. It wasn’t. Everything has changed in my life since that night.
My mother and father have not spoken since the night after the accident. Not that they really talked before. It was more screaming than anything else. I had to cover my ears with pillows every night while in bed because I could hear their screams from the basement. Now I barely see my mother since she has run off to be with Patrick Reun, the Republican candidate for the Presidency in the 2032 election. I never got along with Patrick. My mother knew this, and chose him over me. I live with my father in an apartment complex. We have dinner every night, but never go deeper than “The weather was pretty grotty today” in conversation. Can’t say I complain about it though. He doesn’t care about what I do, and neither do I. I sit in my room all day on my computer and forget the real world exists.
Then there’s the drunk homeless man that sleeps on the corner who witnessed what happened that night. I remember he stumbled up out of his trash bag, and tried to walk over to where Rory lied on the ground, breathless. My father got in his way though; pushed him to the ground and started kicking him. The drunk man’s bottle smashed on the ground and pieces shattered everywhere. My father stepped on the pieces of glass and picked up the drunk man by the collar of his shirt. The man spit a mixture of alcohol and blood out of his mouth and stared into my father’s eyes.
“If you ever tell what you saw tonight,” my father hissed into the drunk man’s face, “ I will personally strangle you with my own hands.”
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough killing for one lifetime,” the drunk man weakly whimpered. My father loosened his grip on the man’s shirt before letting him fall back to the ground. One last kick to the groin, and my father retreated back to my mother and me.
“We need to get out of here before someone comes,” my mother timidly said.
“Shut up Kara!” my father ordered.
“No need to snap at me Eric,” my mother said as she put her arms around me, “I’m just trying to protect Wesley.”
“It’s okay mom,” I reassured her, “I’m going to be just fine.” What physically came out of my mouth was total opposite of what was happening on the inside. I was shaking uncontrollably. I had to stop myself from bursting into tears because I knew my father would scold me for being weak.  
“Shut up both of you and go wait in the truck,” my father demanded as he grabbed a shovel and big plastic bag from the bed of the truck.
My mother began to pull my body towards the truck, but I wiggled my way out of her grasp and ran towards Rory. I stopped right before I got to her and examined her body. She laid there so still, so colorless, so helpless, so dead; and all because of me. I could hear my parents yell at me to back up from behind me, so I quickly raided her pockets and stuffed it in my own. I got up to run away again, but something caught my eye. The moon reflected off of Rory’s necklace. I knelt down again and tore the necklace off. A tear fell from my cheek onto her pink bedazzled sweatshirt. “I’m so sorry,” I muttered right before I was forcefully grabbed by my father and tossed aside. I yelped and let the sadness overwhelm me. There was no stopping the tears.
My mother and I watched from the truck as my father forcefully push Rory’s body into the plastic bag and throw her into the stream that flowed next to the city. I unclasped my hand and unraided my pockets to see what I had left of Rory. A pencil, a hair-tie, a used tissue, a peppermint, and her necklace. A sterling silver chain and a werewolf that hung from it. I remember the first time she told me about the necklace. It was the Christmas before the accident.
“If you ever feel sad and need a reminder that he’s always with you and with us, just look up at the moon as a werewolf would, and feel his presence,” her mother told her. I remember her telling me how her father had just died two weeks prior. No one knew the cause of death. I used to hold her as she cried. She was only 7. How was she supposed to live the rest of her life without her father?  Who was going to walk her down the aisle at her wedding?  Who was going to teach her to stick up for herself against bullies?  Who was going to give her the bear hugs she needed when she was having a bad day? I felt so sorry and helpless for her.
“Alright,” my father said as he climbed into the driver’s seat, “the body has been taken care of.  I have washed the blood stain out of the road. There is no evidence that this night ever happened. Let’s keep it that way.”
“What about Mrs. Briley?” I asked innocently.
“Who?” my father asked.
“Mrs. Briley. Rory’s mom. She’s going to notice Rory didn’t come home. She can’t not notice her child is missing.”
“Well then, we’ll tell her Rory is missing. You guys went out to play hide and seek, and she never returned,” my father said as he focused his eyes on the road. “End of discussion. No more comments and no more questions. This is over and we are moving on.”
Silence filled the car in a way that it never had before. Not even the radio could fill the car with sound; silence filled the minds of the three Navarros. “The city is so peaceful at this time of night,” my mother said. Those were the last words that were exchanged that night.
A knock on my bedroom door disrupted my thoughts and brought me back to my room.
“Hey kid, dinner is ready,” my father yelled through the door. My father has never called me by my name since the accident. It doesn’t bother me, just something I noticed.
“What is it?” I said through my yawn, as I finally emerged from my room for the first time all day.
“What is it always?” my father asked, and as he stepped aside from the stove to grab a beer from the refrigerator I saw the pot boiling soup. We always had soup, except on Friday’s when we had pizza delivered. My father grabbed two beers from the refrigerator, opened them, and placed them on the table. I poured his bowl of soup and put it in front of him.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” he asked me, but I didn’t respond. I kept walking away towards the closet that was right beside our door. I obtained my jacket and put it around my shoulders. “Where are you going this late at night?” my father inquired.
“We’re low on beers. I was just going to get you some more. I know there’s a big basketball game on tv tomorrow and you’ll need more to watch it,” I replied while tying my shoes.
“Huh,” my father scuffed as he ate his soup, “good thinking. Do you have your fake I.D. and enough money?”
“Yep, I have everything I need,” I replied to him. Before I stood upright again and turned to go out the door, I tucked my necklace into my shirt. “I’ll see you when I get back.” I got a muffled reply from him. His attention was too focused on the television. 
As I stepped outside, the warm smoggy summer air hit my face harshly. It hugged me in warmth, yet strangled my senses. I could feel the sun’s fading presence in every step I took and was intoxicated by the smell of sewage from the stream that was unbearable during the summer.
I was quietly walking down the street minding my own business when I ran into someone. This mysterious person fell down and hit the ground hard. I heard a bottle smash and as I stepped towards the person the help him up, I stood on glass and it penetrated my flip flop and cut my foot.
“Ouch!” I yelped in pain and fell to the ground myself. It was moments after the pain was there that I smelled something other than the sewage. I smelled the bitter taste of bourbon. I groaned and lifted my head to stare at the man who was now leaning over my body with half a glass bottle that was shattered at the bottom.
“I saw you that night,” he spit in my face and his breath reeked of a mix of alcohol. “I saw you with that girl that night. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of it. You think I don’t remember it because I’m always drunk, or that I won’t tell anyone because your father threatened me. You were both wrong. That night is forever imprinted in my mind. I still see the emotionless expression that the girl had when you took the life out of her. I saw her struggle for her life from your bare hands. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. A killer does create other killers. I will never forget the night your father took my brother’s life away and left my sister-in-law and niece without a man in the house. And I will never forget the night you took my niece’s life away. I watched both of you kill people who meant the world to me. This is for my sister-in-law, my brother, Rory, and myself,” the drunk man spurred his words out with anger. He then lifted the bottle in his right arm and severed it right into my lungs. “Everyone has a secret. You thought you could keep your secret. Oh no you couldn’t. Not from me.”
I gasped for air. I wished to relive the moments when my breathing was not restricted by pieces of glass inserted in my lungs. My breaths became shorter and harder to make. The world started to spin and I saw the drunk man walk back to his corner, pick up his stuff, and walk away into the distance. I felt my blood penetrate the rest of my clothes.
“I’m so sorry, Rory. I didn’t mean it,” I whispered as I took my last breath. The last thing I saw: the moon reflecting off of my necklace. A sterling silver chain with a werewolf hanging off of it.