C. N. Garraway

This Week’s Prompt Friday Challenge

Write this scene: A news headline flashes across the screen—you’ve killed someone. You have no recollection of what happened. The police have you barricaded in your house. Who did you kill? And why?

My Response to the Prompt

I sat down on the sofa after a satisfying breakfast. Before I could reach for the remote on the coffee table, I felt something poking me. I shifted and pulled out a pink Nintendo 3DS XL wedged in the crease.

I frowned. Whose game was this?

I didn’t have any children—no nieces or nephews. Maybe I had babysat one of my neighbors’ kids and they’d left it behind.

I shrugged and grabbed the remote. I leaned back against the sofa and turned on the TV.

Just as I got comfortable, Breaking News slashed across the screen.

“Pam Gilbert is wanted in the murder of billionaire Blair Carmichael, CEO of Makeup4U, and her driver, Paul Nick. The pair were found dead in her car two weeks ago. Gilbert had been harassing Carmichael about her missing nine-year-old daughter, Melissa Gilbert, who disappeared a year ago. Carmichael had lost her daughter to cancer three years prior.”

I rose from the sofa, my mouth going dry.

My body started shaking. My hands curled into fists. My vision blurred as memories rushed back like the backdraft of a fire. Sweat beaded under my arms and trickled down my face.

***

I was taking my daughter with me to work for Bring Your Child to Work Day.

The wheel jerked—thump, thump.

“Damn it,” I said, pulling over.

“Mom?”

“Sorry, sweetie.”

I grabbed my phone from the cupholder and called roadside assistance. They said thirty to forty-five minutes. I called my manager to let her know I’d be late.

I got out of the car to assess the damage. The front passenger tire was flat.

Melissa stepped out of the car.

“You got a flat?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Aww… does that mean we’re not going? I was looking forward to seeing you blow glass.”

The disappointment on her face made my chest ache. She had talked about it for weeks. She told her friends and even got their parents to agree to let them come. My boss had planned for a group of employees’ children—and a few of their friends—to join. They wanted them to experience the art of glassblowing.

A dark gray BMW i7 pulled in behind my white Mazda CX-50.

A tall, bald Black man stepped out. I immediately pulled my daughter closer to me. He walked around and opened the rear passenger door.

An attractive, mid-height Black woman stepped out. She wore a fitted white dress that fell above her knees. Gold studded earrings decorated her ears, and a long gold necklace rested between her breasts. Gold bracelets of varying sizes lined both of her wrists.

She approached us as sunlight bounced off her bracelets, nearly blinding me.

“Hi, I’m Blair Carmichael. Do you need help?”

“Roadside assistance is on its way,” I said, tightening my hold on my daughter.

“I can have my driver help you.”

“No, thank you.”

“It’s warm out. It wouldn’t be right to leave you stranded.”

Cars sped past, rocking my car slightly. The hair on my arms rose. A chill ran through me.

“Okay, I’ll let you be,” she said, walking back to her car. The driver opened the door.

She didn’t get in.

Instead, she reached into her purse and turned back toward us.

Before I could react—

My body convulsed. A burning sensation surged through me. My eyes rolled back as darkness closed in fast.

***

The banging on the door snapped me out of the memory.

Everything moved in slow motion.

The door gave way. Splinters flew, shattering the quiet. Heavy footsteps rushed in. My living room filled with police, guns pointed straight at me.

“Pam Gilbert, you are under arrest for the murder of Blair Carmichael and Paul Nick.”

My chest heaved.

“That bitch kidnapped my daughter—and you did nothing!”

Join the Conversation

What would you do in this situation? I love to see what you come up with. Leave your response in the comments.