Pure ≫ h.s. (Under Revision)

Chapter 9.

Revised on 04/14/20

Harry

I click on the first article.

At just thirteen (13) years old, Juliet Ainsley Pierce has been found guilty for the murder of her father, Callan Pierce. With no jury appointed in the proceedings for the young teen, Judge Robert Calahan made the decision himself, sentencing her to four years in the Doncaster Rehabilitation Institution to deal with what he decided were underlying psychological problems. When asked to comment, all Judge Calahan had to say was that he believes Pierce was under the impression that by killing her father, her mother would come back after having left the family when Juliet was young.

I click out of the article, moving on to the next, not bothering to read further.

A teenage girl by the name of Juliet Pierce has been taken into custody today after she murdered her father, Callan Pierce.

I don't even give this one a chance. It's apparent in the first sentence that the article is more opinion-based than factual.

Juliet Pierce, a thirteen-year-old living in Doncaster, a small town in Yorkshire, England, was found guilty for the murder of her father, Callan Pierce, a mere four years ago. Today, she's been checked out of Doncaster's Rehabilitation Institution by a woman identified as Marisa Pierce, who gained custody of the — now — young adult. A source confirms this is Pierce's aunt, sister to Pierce's late father. 

The two were spotted returning to the home where the crime was committed, a house Marisa Pierce purchased after her brother's death. Juliet and Marisa Pierce both declined the offer to comment, instead opting to rush into the home, leaving reporters and photographers on the front lawn.

This article was published by channel five news. I do my best to recall a truck parked in front of Juliet's house with the station's logo printed on the side of it. I remember it, but vaguely. I sigh, running my hands over my face before they move to my hair, knotting in the once neatly styled curls. I can't help the feeling that comes over me; sympathy.

For four years, Juliet and her aunt have been judged and ridiculed by the public. Juliet still faces the constant stares and whispers at school, who knows if it's much different for her aunt in her day-to-day life. 

Whoever wrote this article in particular just had to mention that her aunt purchased the house that the crime was committed. I can already hear people asking why she'd bring a girl back to the home she possibly killed her father in. 

The word possibly circles in my head. Every article said Juliet was a murderer. Yet with every time I heard it, I found myself being convinced it was less and less true. I'd only spoken to her once, but I immediately took note of the innocence in her facial expressions and her tone of voice. She'd been only hesitant about answering the question about her parents, giving her answer after just a beat of silence. She had taken a deep breath and sighed, sadly, after telling me her father's name.

I didn't have to know much about a person to pick up on any remorse present in their features. What I did know, was that someone with a motive to kill in cold blood probably wouldn't show any remorse over someone's death.

"Harry!" Gemma exclaims from the other side of the door, banging her fist against the wood. I jump, startled, and move the computer off my lap, getting up to open the door.

"What, Gemma?" I huff.

"About time, I've been calling your name for five minutes," she says. "The pizza's here, mum says to come eat."

Gemma turns away to walk back downstairs, and I turn to check the clock on my nightstand for the time. Three hours had gone by in a flash as I occupied myself by researching Juliet's history. I sigh, walking back over to the bed to exit out of Google on the computer. I shut it down before heading downstairs to the kitchen where my mother, Robin, and Gemma are found waiting for me.

"About time you got down here," Gemma mutters lowly and I roll my eyes.

"Sorry, I was doing something for, um, school," I lie.

I still believe my family needs to know nothing about us living down the street from a former crime scene along with who has been held responsible for the crime.

"That's alright, love." Mom dismisses as I sit. A greasy slice of pepperoni pizza is already on a plate in front of me, and I pick it up to take a bite. 

Why did more grease have to mean more delicious? I ask myself quietly, genuinely curious.

"So, how was your day, Harry?" Robin breaks the silence, wiping his mouth with a napkin. I cover my mouth with my hand, still chewing as I respond.

"It went well, thanks for asking, Robin." I swallow the bite of food and reach for the glass of water in front of me.

"What'd you two girls do today?" Robin continues, the question directed at my sister and mother.

"We unpacked a few things and while Gemma worked on a few assignments, I ran to Tesco for some more groceries. Met the loveliest woman there, too," my mother says.

"Oh, really?"

"Mhm, she was working the check out line I picked. Her name was Marisa."

My eyes widen and I swallow the water too fast, sending it down the wrong pipe. I begin coughing and gasping for air, to which Robin leans over to start patting me on the back in an effort to help. My mother instructs me to raise my hands in the air. The trick works, opening up my airways and leaving an itchy throat for me to deal with. I'm back to normal, breathing steadily in a few short moments. Only then does my mother continue.

"She actually lives two houses down the street from us, she was fetching her mail the same time I was getting ours."

"Does she live alone?" Gemma wonders aloud, curious. 

No, I want to answer but keep my mouth shut.

"No, actually, she lives with her niece, Juliet. She's your age, Harry."

"Maybe she goes to Hall Cross, did you meet anybody by that name today?" Robin's question is directed at me.

"The name doesn't really ring a bell," I lie again. "I'll look out for her, though."

"I was thinking about inviting them over for dinner later this week, if that's alright with you, dear," my mother suggests to her husband. He nods, taking another bite of pizza, swallowing it, and wiping his mouth again before responding.

"Sounds wonderful, Anne. If it's just the two of them, I'm sure they could use some company. And it's good to make friends with the neighbors."

"May I be excused?" I ask, standing from my seat and walking over to the garbage can before I'm given a proper answer.

"Harry, are you alright? You barely ate," my mother comments as I toss the other half of my slice into the disposal bin. I clear my throat and nod, rinsing the plate off in the sink before sticking it in the dishwasher.

"I've just got to, um, work on that thing for school and turn it in tomorrow, that's all. I'm not all that hungry, anyway."

With that, I leave my family in the kitchen to finish their meal and run up the stairs to lock myself back in my room.