The Mystery Girl

Brett walked down the autumn leafed path. Currently it was the middle of November. The leaves have begun to fall from the towering trees of the forest. However, there was a special isolated part of the kingdom of trees. Brett was headed to this isolated area to get some peace while he read and wrote.
He had to admit the little area was absolutely stunning. It was like stepping into a whole new world, for the small area never changed seasons. The area always had big, tall, luscious trees and vines ran up their trunks. On these vines grew orchids and lilies of all colors. There were no annoying pests to bite the leaves of the trees. Then, there were the rose bushes, which separated the land of beauty from the browning forest. The roses were violet, a deep red, hot pink, black, white and blue. These roses were in big blooms and were gorgeous.
However, there was another reason why he went to the heaven-like place. It was because of a girl. She was pale and thin, her complexion way too close to the color of her dress that was nine inches from her ankles. Her hair was wavy and went to the middle of her back, its shade like a spade in a deck of cards. Hiding behind her right ear was a violet colored lily. The mystery girl’s feet were petite and bare, neither shoes nor socks upon them. From the looks of it, her entire body was small; her height Brett assumed was five feet and two inches.
Brett thought about her every time he decided to visit this wonderland. She seemed really nice and sweet. However he could never speak to her, for every time he tried she ran off. He attempted to follow her once but his efforts were fruitless, having lost sight of her shortly.
A breeze blew by him and he shivered, his brown bangs falling into his violet orbs. Brett pulled his striped, grey and black jacket over his Pierce the Veil t-shirt. He hoped his jacket, black jeans, skull beanie and Cutting Jades would protect him from the November chill. Brett ducked under a few stray tree branches, his height being five foot and seven inches.
Suddenly he spotted hot pink roses and walked a little faster. All Brett could hear were the breaking of leaves his Cutting Jades made and his breathing. Soon Brett spots violet and white roses, now going into a jog.
As he got closer to his destination, an angelic voice caught his ears. Brett slowed his pace to hear the voice. It was a woman’s voice, not too hig or too low. Brett thought it was the most beautiful thing he ever heard in his fifteen year life time.
Before Brett knew it, he was standing in front of black roses. He silently crept between the rose bushes and walked into the fantasy garden. He hoped that the mystery girl wouldn’t run off. If she did, he was determined to follow her.
Brett quietly adventured deeper into the magical garden, praying that the girl doesn’t notice him. Her voice was like an angel, if not better.
Once he got to the middle of the area, Brett hid behind one of the mountainous trees. He silently listened to the harmony of the girl’s voice. As he listened more carefully, he realized it was not a song, but a small poem. He assumed she added the beat, tempo and notes herself. Brett took out his mini pocket notepad and began to write her poem as she sang.
“Sing me to slumber,
So that my misery can end.
Father Time, sing me a lullaby.
Mother Earth, embrace me in your arms.
Lover Death, serenade me tonight.”
The mystery girl sang this over and over again. She sat on a flat stone, playing with the grass using her toes. From where she sat, sunlight shined through the humongous trees. Brett thought she was the most beautiful girl his violet eyes had ever seen.
Brett peeped out from behind the giant trunk. Deep brown met deep violet. The mystery girl had stopped singing and all was silent but Brett’s breathing.
Like a deer in fright, she froze as Brett trudged slowly toward her. She then ran off deeper into the greenery, Brett right at her heels. She might have been fast but he was speedy and was getting closer. Brett managed to get a few short glances at his surroundings. They were still inside the never changing garden, for there were still trees of green and the ground was grass. However, he began to see large crosses and angel statues every once in a while.
In a few moments that was all he could see. There were tombstones, crosses, statues and even a few mausoleums too. Brett couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing. Why had she run into a cemetery, of all places? The mystery girl was still running though, and he was almost able to grasp her wrist.
Out of nowhere, he stopped abruptly in front of a flower patterned tombstone. Brett looked around and saw the mystery girl had vanished into thin air. He frowned in disappointment but soon his face showed a curious look. The flowers on the headstone were the same as the one in the girl’s hair.
Brett bent down to get a better look at the grave. He read to himself what the stone read.
“Delia Guinness, a very mysterious girl. Born on November 19, 1987. Death on November 19, 2002.”
Brett was surprised. So he finally found out what her name was. He knew for sure it was Irish. However, he started to doubt Delia was the girl he’d seen, but then he noticed a square frame propped up on the stone. Brett wiped the dust off of it and got a good look at the picture shown.
Inside the frame was a girl. Her skin was lightly tanned like his. The girl was sitting on a flat stone, smiling shyly up at the camera with brown orbs. Her hair was a raven black with waves that ended in the middle of her back. Her feet were small and had neither shoes nor socks. The girl’s attire consisted of a white dress and behind her right ear laid a violet lily.
Brett was quite astounded, for the girl in the picture fit the one he was chasing perfectly. He took a look at the tombstone and decided to write all of it down. Delia died at the age of fifteen. Brett hoped to search for the cause of her death. For now, he could only take his notepad and the picture and start on his way home. Before he left, he kissed the gravestone and gave it a light pat.
“I’ll be back, Delia. Wait for me,” he said and turned to go home.
“I will…,” a whisper spoke near his ear.
Brett turned his head to look at the stone, nodding back at it with a humble smile. He then began to leave for the journey home, and prayed to find out more on the now named mystery girl, Delia Guinness.

At home Brett sat up in his room. On the forest green walls were posters of the bands Pierce the Veil and Sleeping with Sirens. Along his wooden closet doors were pictures he had drawn and writing plots that he conjured up over time. His brown rugged floor consisted of miss matched socks and a sandal or two. His dresser in the far corner was very neat and everything inside of it was organized, which seems quite surprising of a teenager. Brett’s desk contained paintbrushes of all sizes, water cups and paints on one side. In the middle was a desk lamp of copper with an elegant base decorated with flowers and a chain to turn on the light bulb. On the other side laid pencils and paper. His desk was tidy as well. Also, Brett had a sliding table under the desk that had his black Dell laptop upon it, the technical device plugged into the wall socket behind the desk. The teen’s bed and night stand were clean as well, not a single drawer open or a single pillow out of place.
Brett kicked his Cutting Jades in the corner of his room, almost knocking down the tall lamp standing there. He sat in his swirly chair, spinning in a circle because of his momentum. Once he stopped, Brett took out his notepad and the picture. He placed the photo next to the lamp. Brett smiled at the picture with adoration. Delia looked so enchanting when she was alive. He couldn't imagine what caused her death. Quickly, he rolled out a bit and pulled his laptop out from the sliding table and onto his desk. Brett typed his password and opened up a Google Chrome window.
“Delia Guinness. Birth 1987- Death 2002,” he mumbled to himself. He had a habit of talking when he typed but he assumed he got it from his mother, who did it as well. He clicked “search” and the first headline was “Delia Guinness Found Dead in Forest”. He clicked on the link and when it finished loading his violet eyes widened to the size of his mother’s china bowls. A photograph of a gore covered forest ground and tarp-veiled corpse was the first thing he saw. Brett’s face turned a greenish hue at the macabre. As he read on through the article, he saw a picture of the murder weapons, which were a machete and katana. These weapons were coated in Delia Guinness’ blood. The teenager was horrified. Who would do such a gruesome deed to a fifteen year old girl? As Brett read on he discovered that her murderer was not found, yet they had a sketch of the suspect. He began to examine the sketch. An eerie feeling sank into his stomach. The sketch looked oddly familiar to him. Brett let out a shaky sigh and stood from the desk. With closed eyes he stood in the view of his body mirror behind his white door. He opened his eyes and he gasped. He looked very similar to the killer. However, there were some features that kept the sketch of the man and him apart. His eyes were a dark violet, but in the sketch they looked like a baby blue. Their faces were different as well. Brett’s face was smooth while the sketch’s had stubble growing along his jaw and chin. The man looked to be 40 years of age and had black hair from the looks of the sketch.
Brett’s stomach churned when he sat and looked at the picture again. He did look similar to him. However, he couldn't have murdered Delia because he wasn't born until 1997. He was only five in the year 2002 and certainly could not lift a katana or machete high enough to harm a person, let alone kill anyone. Brett found it very puzzling that he looked like the suspect. His mother called out for him, telling him supper was on the table. He sighed and rose from his desk area, heading out to the dining room for dinner.
Upon looking at the food his mouth watered. His mother had prepared sweet and sour pork and chicken, macaroni and cheese and sushi. He chuckled at the food. His mother was the most interesting woman anyone could meet. Her eyes were a deep violet like his and she had the same complexion as well. Her figure was an hourglass-like shape. She had fiery red hair that came down in waves; it ending in the small of her back. Brett’s mother wore slacks, an old T-shirt and a smock most of the time since she painted. She also had to use stools or stepping ladders when painting big things, her height being five feet exactly. Often times Brett had to assist her in cleaning, which he didn't mind since he was a well-behaved and obedient child. His mother was a kind soul who helped anyone or anything in dire need of assistance. Brett described her as an angel to his teachers and friends and they certainly believed him once they met his mother. Her name was even enchanting and unique like the rest of her. It was Bindi O’Keefe, since she took on his father’s last name the day they were wedded. Had she not changed it, it would have been Bindi Kelly. Brett heard a beautiful melody of laughter behind him as his mother approached.
“Brett, are you hungry,” she questioned him. Drool began to trickle down his jaw. Brett blushed and swallowed his drool, swiping his mouth with his striped jacket. The mother and son began to laugh at his foolishness. They then sat down and began to eat.
As they ate the front door slammed closed and the sound of jingling keys were heard. It must have been Brett’s father,who finally returned after six long months of working with the government. The eating duo dropped everything, and with childish gleams in their violet eyes, Brett and Bindi raced to meet Mr. O’Keefe.
Bindi beat her son to her husband (though Brett most likely let her win) and squealed with childish excitement in the man’s arms.
“Bruce, you’re home! I missed you!” The woman said to her husband. Bruce bellowed a deep laugh and kissed her cheek, squeezing her tight. He waddled with her in his arms to the dining room, making penguin voices along the way.
“Aye me bonnie lass, I missed ye too…” Bruce said resting his head in the crook of his wife’s neck.
Meanwhile, Brett was utterly disgusted at the mushiness going on between his parents. He could hear them waddling and laughing as they came nearer. The teen never saw his father often since he was part of the C.I.A. His mother never really talked much about him either, nor did the family of three have photos of him around the house. He shivered and tried to stuff his face with sushi, though he felt uneasy and queasy the moment the 50 year old walked through the door.
Finally the two came into the dining room. His father was in a suit and tie, the suit a raven black like his hair and the tie a light blue with white stripes. His shoes were polished and they shined in the light. Bruce was a tall man at the height of six feet and he had some muscle. Brett examined his father’s face and spit out his sushi, it shooting all the way to the red carpeted floor. His father had the same image as the sketch, except he was clean shaven and had a few grey hairs here and there. The lad coughed into his napkin, for he began to choke on a rice ball.
His mother unwrapped herself from his father’s arms and Bruce gave him the hind lick maneuver. Brett coughed up the Japanese dish and gasped for air for a few moments. When his breathing was in order he looked up at his mountainous man of a father. Baby blue gazed into violet.
“Are ye alright, laddie? I didn't make ye cough your brain out, did I?” Bruce asked his son. Brett shook his head and was then tackled into a hug, him mother joining in as well. The fifteen year old stood there in an awkward sandwich between his mother and father. Once he was released, Brett asked the question he dreaded to ask his father.
“Hey Dad, did you ever have stubble when you were 40, and a katana; as well as a machete?”
The elder stiffened a bit but tried not to show, which Brett noticed right away.
“Aye lad, I did. What makes ye ask a question like that to your old man?”
Brett stayed calm as possible. If he panicked in any way his father would know. After all, his training in the C.I.A. wasn't for nothing.
“No reason, Dad. I just wanted to confirm a theory I had…”
“What theory, lad?”
Bruce was getting suspicious of his son. Why would he ask him such strange questions? He didn't dwell on the thought much though, for all three of them were strange and "interesting" people. It really shouldn't have surprised him.
“My theory is that you would own such things back in the days of your youth.”
Bruce looked his son in the eyes and seeing that they didn't dilate, he let Brett off the hook. For now, that is.
“You may be excused-, “
However, before he could finish the sentence Brett was half way to his room. When he entered his room he swiftly locked it and crawled under his bed sheets. His breathing and heart beat came faster and harder. His father had killed Delia; he was 100 percent positive about it. However, the reason was why. Why did his father kill such a sweet girl? Did she know too much? How knows? He’d have to ask Delia tomorrow. For now, Brett had to try and sleep.
“Sing me to slumber,
So that my misery can end.
Father Time, sing me a lullaby.
Mother Earth, embrace me in your arms,
Lover Death, serenade me tonight.”
The little poem was all he could hear beside him in his bed as he fell into slumber. It was an angelic voice singing. Brett turned in his sleep and with half lidded eyes saw Delia singing and lying beside him. He smiled and his eyes closed, the temptress of sleep wooing him over at last.
Delia smiles fondly at her new friend and soon hero. Her death was a story needed to be told, for not everything was not what they seemed to be…