The Death of the Mayor

Trigger warning: blood and murder

You could say our family isn't the most well-liked family in the town.

And being the rich mayor's daughter in a poor town isn't the best introductory line to make friends. My family, my mother, my younger brother, and of course, my father, live in the biggest manor within two hundred miles of the town, and don't have the best reputation. Again, it doesn't help that you're rich.

There are mayors for different parts of the country that enforce the Council's rules. My dad is one of them. Although the Council controls everyone, I think they are doing it for the greater good.

This evening, there is a ball at the manor. We are welcoming a newcomer to the town, who seems to be pretty wealthy as well. After all, a new, but smaller manor has been under construction the past year. We have invited people from all over the country to the ball. I stroll down the marble stairs slowly, watching maids, caterers, and others bustle throughout the house. The smell of fresh cut roses reaches my nose from the intricate displays on top of tables. The ball room, the first room you see when you walk in, has a giant crystal chandelier hanging in the center, and large windows where you can see the beach outside. My black flats click slightly against the stone stairs. The maids turn their heads, seeing if it is my mother, or me, and quickly get back to work.

"Evangeline!" someone shouts. "There you are!" my personal assistant, butler if you will, weaves through tables at a jog to get to me. He almost runs straight into a maid, who squeals, and I can't help but laugh.

"How are you doing, Laurent?" I ask with a smile.

"Great, great," he answers with a playful roll of his eyes. "I wanted to make sure you had an outfit picked out for tonight? It is black tie so..."

"Of course. It's laid out on the bed, all ready to go."

"Terrific," he says, his blue eyes bright even for his old age. "I am so lucky to have been assigned one of the kids instead of the mother."

"What did she do now?" I ask playfully.

"Requested to get a new dress only four hours before the party! And there isn't even a decent boutique anywhere in town." We both laugh. My mother is notoriously needy, always asking for impossible tasks to be done. Sharp heels click down the marble steps, and the room falls silent. A woman with dark brown hair and pale skin, and sharp, piercing green eyes walks slowly down the stairs.

"Talking about me?" she practically barks, her gaze falling to me.

"Of course not, Mother." A shiver runs down my spine. Why my mother always goes after me, I don't know. I just try to avoid confrontation at all costs. But this time, I just wasn't careful enough. Before I know it, she stands before me, a scowl scrunching up her face. She is so close I can smell her perfume, sweet and floral, deceiving since she is nowhere near sweet. She tilts her head and grabs my hand. Her nails dig into my skin. I wince.

"I don't appreciate lying, Evangeline." She drops my hand, and I can feel blood trickling down it. Of course, I don't say anything. I just look at her defiantly. "Get your act together before guests arrive." She walks away from me, her short purple dress swaying, and heels clicking. Laurent looks at me with a pained look.

"Would you like to get that cleaned up?" he asks.

"Yes."

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After I get into my dress and put on my makeup, I sit on my bed, waiting for guests to arrive. I stare at the back of my hand, which has four small cuts decorating it. The sound of the orchestra downstairs carries throughout the house, and even upstairs in my room I can hear the violin. Someone cracks open the door.

"Hey, Vangie. Can I come in?"

"Sure," I say. My brother Atticus enters, his brown curly hair done nicely for the party. Like my dad, he has blue eyes, which look thoughtful, and a little sad. He sits next to me on my queen-sized bed.

"I heard Mom was giving you a hard time again," he says.

"Yeah, you could say that." I show him my hand. He looks at me solemnly.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I reply. I quickly try to change the subject. "This is nice," I say, gesturing to his new suit. He wears a black suit, with a white shirt underneath, and a small red rose clipped on his lapel. I can see in his face that he knows I'm trying to change the subject, but he still plays along.

"Yeah, it's new." I get up and brush off my dress. It's white and slim, with a slit running down my right leg.

"I think I'm going to go downstairs now. See you later?" I say.

"Yup," he nods, "See ya."

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After the party has been going for a while, we sit down to eat. At my table are Atticus, Mr. Johnson, some sort of politician, and Mr. Chase, a quite obnoxious local store owner. He talks fast and loud, and Atticus and I eventually tune him out and whisper in between bites of steak to each other.

"Yeah, I heard some singer was here."

"Oh, do you know the name?"

"No, I can't remember." Soon, a glass clinks and the room falls silent. Everyone looks to the table at the center of the room, which has my mother, my father, and the new town person and his wife. The new man has gray eyes that are slightly narrowed, and he is tall and brooding, even when sitting in a chair. His whole presence screams, don't mess with me. His wife is small, and her dress is dainty, with her platinum blonde hair in an up-do. My dad, wearing a black suit similar to my brother's, smiles with his curly hair styled similarly. Especially with matching suits, they look like the same person.

"First, I would like to thank you all for coming," my mother says, as she rises from the table. Her dress is a flowy crimson red, and she looks pretty, even though I wouldn't like to admit it. "I would like to introduce Mr. Hemingway and his wife, the newest members of our town." People clap politely. "Yes, yes. I would like to give a toast to new beginnings and friendships," she says. She looks down at Hemingway with a smile. He gives her a timid smile back. Glasses clink, and the four at the center table get up and make their way up the stairs.

"We will be back! I would like to give Mr. Hemingway a tour of the manor. Continue," my dad says. People continue eating while I have a gut feeling that Mr. Hemingway has more to him than it seems.

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After people finish eating, they mingle, polite chatter filling the ballroom. I turn to Atticus, who serves himself a piece of pie at the dessert table in the corner of the room.

"They've been gone a long while. Where are they?"

"Oh, they came back. See?" Atticus points to a group to our right, a couple of men chatting with my mother, Mr. Hemingway and his wife.

"Where's Dad?" I ask.

"He's around somewhere. We are in a giant ballroom filled with people, after all." He chuckles, but I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. I see my mother rush off from the group and head up the stairs once again. This only makes me more uneasy, and I sit down while Atticus looks at me worriedly.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, I just have this feeling I can't seem to shake." He sits down next to me when I hear a shrill scream come from upstairs. Atticus and I jump up and look at each other. Without a word, we rush towards the stairs. My heart pounds louder and louder as fear courses through my veins. At one point, my heels slide off, so I feel the cool marble under my feet. As we round the corner in the hallway, I hear sobs coming from the library. I look at Atticus.

"Library," I gasp. We slam open the doors, and what we see is something I never would have expected. Atticus' hand covers his mouth, and his eyes go wide. A gasp escapes my throat. My mother's sobs echo through the vast room. I take another step closer to the scene in shock. My father lays on the floor, a knife straight through his chest. His eyes are open, glazed and empty, while blood continues to pool around him. My legs shake to the point they can't support me, and I collapse to my knees. I reach to my father and cup his face. I have only ever felt loved by two people, Atticus and my father. And now, one of them is dead. The doors open once again, and a masculine voice fills the room.

"Is everything o-" he stops. I turn and stand to face him in a blood-soaked dress.

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After the police were called, and everyone left, Atticus and I sit in my room again. Only everything has changed. It seems like years ago we were discussing silly little cuts on my hand, when it was only a couple of hours.

"Who would want to murder Dad?" he paces around the room, while I just sit on the floor. He is a doer when it comes to mourning, and that has already kicked in. All while I would rather just stay in bed forever. "I don't get it."

"It doesn't matter, Atticus!" I practically shout. "There are actual detectives down there. You need to stop." Immediately after yelling at him, I feel guilty. "I'm sorry. I'm really distressed."

"It's okay," he says sincerely. "But I have a feeling this is bigger than just his death."

"Oh, you already created a conspiracy?" I solemnly joke. "C'mon Atticus."

"I'm serious. Didn't you see the note?"

"What?"

"The note on the floor." Atticus' eyes darken. "It said justice for the people from the people." A shiver slides down my spine.

"Dad hasn't done anything, though," I say.

"Besides maybe executing a very famous and well-liked rebellion leader. Is nobody going to say it? People don't like the way this country is run. The Council is obviously very controlling. But the people have had enough." He says. "Now they're coming for our family."