Sixty- One

Daniel Addas







That conniving bitch.
The police have finally told me: there was never a Wendy.
Yes. Clara Kamaliyah is a fucking bitch. Maybe I shouldn't be so angry but she manipulated me. Made me believe I've Killed a woman. That my father was dead. I know why she did it.
I'm a terrible liar. Even worse as an actor. Wouldn't have performed to her preferred standard. Can't lie to save my life. So in order for me to respond to the investigation the way she wanted, I had to be fed certain information. Believe she had killed Papa. Really mourn him the only way I knew how.
I should've known. Should've seen it coming.
I've always known Clara was a bit... Unusual.
There has to be a name for people like her.
Psychopath.
Clara has been lying, manipulating and getting away with things ever since she escaped her mother's womb. Look at our baby pictures. You're bound to see. There's something offish about her. Yes she was like all the other newborns. Chubby. Pink. Cute. But there was something that warned people, that made them keep a distance. It's her eyes. No. It's more than that. She gives off this vibe. Something that makes you sure evil lurks in there. Have you ever met someone and immediately thought this is the most horrible person I've ever met?
That's Clara in a nutshell.
Clara Kadre Addas is actually Clara Kamaliyah Addas. She renamed herself Kadre, which is really the name Drake. She's obsessed. Thank God she'd never meet him. She's evil. Pure evil. And I will prove it. She renamed herself Kadre so that she'd cut all her ties to Islam.
Clara developed this immediate, strong, deep hate for Islam. For religion. For Papa. For Mama. Especially Mama. It's not easy to watch your mother get beaten. It was especially worse for Clara because she was extremely close to Mama. She'd beg Mama to call the police (in those ignorant years of pre-adolescence. Way before she knew nor cared what money is).
When we were about thirteen, she just completely gave up. Lost faith in everything and everyone. Dangerous thing for a girl to lose. For anyone to lose. It's one of those things that keep the human grounded. A moral ground.
For every night Mama bled at the hands of her husband, Clara would kill an animal. Bury it in the backyard. It was her way of dealing with things. She'd torture those things until they died. She'd just stare at them. Emotionless. Blank. Like she was some sort of a robot. She turned off her feelings. Doubt she feels pain anymore.
I'm fake. I'm no one. I'm Clara's shadow.
Clara has connections in all the right places. I don't know how she does it but ever since she turned thirteen she went from below average to ninety-seven overall percentage. She never gets grades below ninety-five percent. Clara receives letters (seven total), one for each subject. Telling her what to study. About the first term probable tests. Come June she gets mail containing memorandums for each of her subjects.
I'm excused from the interrogation room. When I break outside, the first thing I notice is the car Clara bought me. My sister is insane. Inside my head, I scream every sibling's mantra; I fucken hate my sister. I feel a chill tingle my spine. Unlike the rest of the population, I really do hate my sister.
I try to tune out what the reporters are asking me. I don't want to hear any of them because, they are the same questions I still have, but some slip though.
How'd you feel about your father coming home? / Why did you confess to a murder you didn't commit?/ Where's Clara? Who poisoned your sister?/ Do you think it was your father?/ Daniel, Daniel. To the left Daniel. To the right Daniel.
The Paparazzi shouts questions and commands. I still don't know what's happening here. My only certainty is that whatever it is (whether I'm right about Clara setting Papa up) she will get away with it.
I would know, I've lived with Clara for years. When she does something she thinks of every possible angle. Has all the people involved in mind. Sometimes she sits on that couch, talking to herself, muttering. Jotting notes. Nothing pretty ever comes out of that.
When Clara watches TV it isn't stupid shows like Days of our lives, (the only reason she knows about days is because Mama would drill her with the details of Kate, Will, Clyde). Clara watches shows like How to get away with murder. Unusual Suspects. Movies like The Law Abiding Citizen. She even once said Clyde Shelton didn't sit long enough on his plan. Why didn't he have Nick Rice's phone bugged? Why didn't he have camera's in his warehouse? In his prison cell?
She loves it though. Thinks it's one of the most thought provoking movies in today's market. It requires a lot of determination. A lot of precision. A lot of planning. A lot of discipline. A lot of courage. To actually do what Clara has done.
I need to get out of here. Been sitting here for an hour. An hour taking pictures. An hour shouting the same thing over and over and over again: No comment. I've been saying that so often lately that it's the first thing that comes to mind whenever someone asks me a question. They've blocked my way to the car. A few police have been dispatched out side. They pave the way for me.
I feel like a celebrity.
They surround me.
They must protect me.
When I arrive at the house all the lights are off. I beeline for the lounge. Clara is watching the news. The headlines : Millionaire dad not dead after all. She's watching. Concentrating. The cameras show an angry Papa. A camera shy Samantha. If Clara wanted to embarrass them, she's succeeded. A fifty-five year old having sex with a teenager that's his son's girlfriend. It discredits him as a businessman, as an honorable man. He's just a pedophile. A struggling man that faked his death.
Hey little bro. Clara greets me. Like old times. She smiles. The cunt actually smiles at me so broad I can practically count her teeth. Twenty-eight sparkling whites. What happened to her other teeth?
I close my eyes and shake my head. I imagine Clara sitting Indian style at her bed, taking her teeth out. A mirror sitting at her knees. A plies at her mouth. Because Clara is the kind of girl that cuts herself months ahead of schedule so that I wouldn't suspect her when all the evidence point at me. She wanted the police to find her blood at the murder scene. She wanted to be a suspect too. But she also created a way out. The troubled teen that self harms. She's even seeing a therapist for it. Fucking bitch.
"What have you done?"