Chapter 3

Amelia Rosalés is dead.

Two hours in, I still had difficulty processing those four words. I tried to bring up my last memory of her. It was the day before, right before our soccer game. She had come to wish Don good luck before heading out to do some grocery shopping. The last thing she said to me was, “Hi, Ash. Where’s Don?” 

She was the only one that called me ‘Ash.’ Sam tried to get into it once but gave up eventually. It was a cool name, but I guess it just didn’t suit me. Well, it didn’t to anyone else but her. No...those weren’t her last words to me. 

“Okay, thanks. See you tomorrow. Get em good!”

She said this when leaving the stadium, encouraging us to win the game. I could imagine her exasperation when Don told her of our embarrassing defeat. She’d encourage him anyway. I tried to relive those last few moments with her. Locking into that point in time, I tried to carve the image into my memory. She was smiling as always. Her long hair flowed in liberated waves, as usual, bouncing along with her as she trotted out of the locker room. I rewound the mental clip, zoning in on her eyes. The sleek doe-shaped eyes. Her eye whites were yellowing a little, but not do much that you would consider it.

Yes. I pay attention to very unnecessary bits of detail.

Her skin. Even light tan. Confident radiation enshrouded in well-fit clothes that made her look like the beautiful goddess she was. I reckon if I weren’t neck-deep in a swamp of emotions about her very boyfriend, I’d have developed some feelings for her.

Not like she’d have ever known.

Right now, just as it is when you hear of the death of someone you’re close to, all I could think about was her. I wanted to see her one more time. I needed to ask her some questions about the last assignment Professor Yang gave us to research. I wanted her to laugh at a mistake I made and correct me tenderly. I wanted to see her hand move, producing those unique cursives. I wanted her eyes on me as she sincerely offered me a slice of her sandwich, and I’d decline with a blush. I couldn’t help the eventual tears that streamed down my cheek.

Amelia Rosalés was dead.

Sam was still with me in the cafeteria, where I had been for more time than I could keep track of. She, too, was grief-stricken. She knew Amelia more than I did because they were in the same study group. Amelia was more like their tutor than an actual coursemate, and she usually referred to her as ‘Amelia-chan,’ not really inferring her age but her mature knowledge of whatever subject was taught. She always seemed to be a step ahead, earning her the responsibility of an older sister to the other younglings.

Alas, now, at this present moment, none of it mattered because we would not hear from her anymore. No more smiles, no more kind gestures, no more delicious Alicanté-styled sandwiches, no more soft laughter. Nothing. Nothing from Amelia.

School activities were suspended for a full day and the day after, so I didn’t have any classes, leaving me in the cafeteria with Sam and some other members of her study group to continue moping.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Darren, a boy from the group, sighed. His voice broke as he talked, “Amelia was kind. Too kind. She doesn’t deserve to go like this.”

Another person chipped in. “I can literally still hear her voice. Amelia-chan...” 

Frega burst into sobs and melted back into Darren’s big, comfy shoulder while he gently shook himself to massage his weeping friend.

“Guys,” Sam alerted. Apart from me, who was silent as a mime clown, Sam also kept shut the entire time, except for now. 

“It’s on the news,” she said and nodded towards the big screen behind me. I had to turn my chair around to get a better view.

“St. Avenston Community College student, Amelia Rosalés, was found dead this morning at the foot of her three-storey apartment complex in Santa Barbara. The body of the deceased was discovered by a co-inhabitant of the complex—Jeremy Ritch—when he claimed to be going for his morning run.”

The clip switched to the muscular Jeremy. He seemed disoriented as he gave his testimony. Apparently, he had heard a heavy thud by around 1 am early morning and assumed all but a person was falling to their death. It was only when he got out of his apartment for his routine run that the gloomy realisation hit him that it was the only thing he crossed out of his mental list that lay on the floor just outside his apartment. A dead girl. The news switched back to the caster.

“Following evidence pointing to the deceased’s boyfriend, Donovan Miner has been arrested for the death of his college love. It was reported that the couple had a heated argument that resulted in physical assault. It was only about an hour and a half after the heat had seemingly calmed that Amelia Rosalés fell an approximated distance of fifty-three feet from her living room window, down to rock solid death. The defendant claims to have left the apartment immediately after the fight, but with no traceable evidence to him being in his own apartment at the time of his girlfriend’s death, the DA has annulled this claim ruling it as false. More details will remain classified as it is crucial to further investigation. Now let’s go into the inflation of flour prices as...” The broadcaster switched to another topic with such mechanical blandness that I wondered if she felt any pang of emotion reading the news about Amelia’s death.

Sam cleared her throat, “That bastard.” 

That one word was enough to change the atmosphere from one of grief to one of seething hatred.

“I hope he dies screaming. Just like he made Amelia!” Frega cursed. Darren only had a look in his eyes. He didn’t say anything.

“He’s going to rot in prison. Somehow, I feel these life sentences don’t do justice. Murder? Freaking murder!? And all he gets is to live out the rest of his days in relative coze!” as Sam rambled, my dulled senses slowly nursed themselves back to working condition. I relived the night before. Don’s argument with Amelia, the fight, his storm off, his sulk in the lake...

My pupils dilated.

“It wasn’t Donovan!” I breathed. It was barely a mumble, but it got their attention, mainly because I didn’t usually say much. The pause was grueling, grating on my spine to see all three people staring at me, waiting for me to talk. People usually waited for me to run and tackle, not talk.

‘Deep breath, Asher.’

“It wasn’t him,” I stated with a sigh and braced myself for the reaction.

“Are you kidding!?” Frega all but exploded. One second, she was a sloppy mess of tears and sweat; the next, I had to make sure she didn’t have a weapon in hand to avoid another murder. “You’re going to defend him after the whole thing? Because what? Because he’s your teammate? Because you have a lost puppy love for him!?”

“Frega!” Sam warned.

“No!” She wasn’t having any of it. “Donovan is a murderer! And he deserves an even worse punishment than is being metted out!” She was breathing heavily by the time she was through. Darren held her hand to try to pull her back into the seat, but she shrugged his hand away vigorously, pushed her chair aside, and stormed off. He watched her leave the cafeteria before turning to me.

“Well?”

I returned his question with a raise of my eyebrows. Another question, technically meaning “Well?” too in this case. I couldn’t bring myself to speak. Not after the humiliation I felt when Frega stormed off, leaving gossip-hungry people latching their eyes on our table.

“Well, you messed up, bro,” he answered the question he asked. I just kept quiet and said nothing, but inside me was a fire. A fire burning for justice. 

The fact that one person got unlucky doesn’t mean others should follow in her wake. Donovan didn’t kill Amelia. If the sound of Amelia’s drop could be rightfully traced to the time they say it happened, then it could never have been Donovan. He was at the pier at that exact time. I was around there too.

“There were bruises all over her, Asher. Especially her face,” he continued.

“Explains the fight but not the killing,” I yelled at him, mentally, though.

“They had a physical fight, bro. What man on earth would hit a lady!?” He appealed.

“What if she attacked first...with a dangerous weapon?” I retorted mentally again. 

He must have seen the obstinate look on my face because he kept going. 

“Something in his story didn’t add up. He claimed to have left the apartment and gone home. But he never left. Maybe briefly as you’d do to go get something at a 24/7 store, but he was there all night.”

“He wasn’t! He was at the pier, Darren, I was there!”

I have never wished more in my life to have better control over my social anxiety. I just looked up at him and mouthed the words, “It wasn’t him,” with a shaky exhale, making him sigh in frustration.

“Just know, Asher Barcliff, that if you ever try any funny false testimony business to try and save your buddy, I’ll be there to give a counter one.” With that, he stood and left, maybe to go after Frega. I wasn’t sure. As soon as he was gone, I almost jumped on the table to get as close to Sam’s face as possible.

“Sam, you’ve got to believe me. Donovan is innocent. He wasn’t the person that killed Amelia.” I tried to hold her face, but she swatted my hands away and looked at me with a disgruntled observation. She had half of a cream-coated cookie in her mouth. The other half was in the hand that she used to swat mine away, staining my hands with the delicious, barely visible particles of creamed cookies.

“Listen, Asher, I know you...like...Don and all, but... there’s no denying this one. He killed that poor girl.”

“But that’s what I’m trying to say! He—”

“Really? You kinda sounded like you thought he was innocent.”

“No!” I almost tore out the skin of my face with my palm.

“Exactly! I knew you just couldn’t express yourself properly. We need to work on these things,” she summarized with her mouth full of a cookie. It was literally a miracle she wasn’t fat yet. Not even a single extra layer. I took a deep frustrated breath at her misunderstanding and looked at her pointedly.

“Donovan didn’t kill Amelia Rosalés.” I felt the need to mention her last name in case there was another dead Amelia she knew of.

“Okay, you lost me again.”

“Just shut up and listen, Sam!” I pressed.

“Okay, fine,” she resigned. She opened her fourth pack of cookies and took a slab out.

“Unless Amelia’s murder took place later on. If it happened around 1 am to 2 am, it wasn’t Donovan. And...” I had to raise my voice because she was opening her mouth to interrupt me, “I know, because...I was there...with him,” my voice was a whisper now.

“Wait. I thought you said you were at a club or someth—” Her eyes widened in realization. “You and Don went to the club!?”

“What? No!” I replied, “I mean...I had been following him...like...around... everywhere.”

“Ohhh,” was the only sound she made. Short and simple, showing she understood. “So technically, you were stalking him.”

I put my head down to try to hide the heat that crept up my face. 

“Yes, but not really stalking. I call it mere following,” I explained.

“Huh.”

Looking at her, I could tell something had changed. She no longer had a judgemental look. Her face was just plain as she shoved another cookie into her mouth, full this time. She lay backwards in her seat, obviously to process the information. Her study group leader was dead, and her roommate was a stalker. What a day it must have been for her.

“So... this stalking...”

“Following.”

“Following, pardonéz moi. This following thing. How long has it been going on?” 

I knew she’d ask that. I raised my fingers to give her a figure. I showed one initially and watched her eyes widen as I unveiled more fingers, stopping at seven.

“Multiply that by...like 10.”

“Oh my God!” She collapsed further into her seat.

“Yeah,” I chuckled nervously, “No big deal, really. I make sure to stay far away.”

“Asher!” She groaned my name. On her face was etched the most pitiful expression I had seen from her this year, at least making me feel more like the pathetic, miserable sod I imagined myself to be after a day’s stalk.

“You really don’t have to go that far! He’s not even worth it. He’s rude, has a mean temper, and he’s very cocky, too.” She tried to make me see reason, and frankly, she had a point.

“Heh. At least it has paid off for something, hasn’t it? Because of my witness, Don won’t go to prison for something he didn’t do.”

She sighed. “Well, I guess you do have a point. But it’s not going to be easy trying to prove that Don’s innocent.”

“Yeah, I know.” I slumped back into my chair.

“It’s gonna be your word against a hundred others.” She wasn’t even looking at me, and I tore my gaze away from her and focused on the ceiling.

“U-hun...”

“Asher?” She called me out after a few minutes of relative silence. And she said when I answered, “Can we go home? My tummy doesn’t feel so good.”

“Foodie,” I joked and stood up to help her up as well.

“You drive. I don’t think I can.” 

I laughed when I saw her inflated stomach, looking like she was a python that swallowed a goat.

“You’ll never learn, will ya?” I chuckled as I led my swollen friend out of the cafeteria.