Crystalized Venom - 1

Kyra GilpinBlock four

February 27, 2012

Crystalized Venom

My family was a calm, laid back yet hardworking family. We lived in a decent home, in first

class mind you, at the end of Skyview. On a clear night, you could see the sky well from our roof

facing up and north. South of here—our backyard practically—was a wooded area. It was deep; the tree

line went far. At night, it was pitch black. Our home held about seven people but “in a small space,” as

my father put it. I often thought our home was too big considering our small family of five. My mother,

Csilla, is a Hebrew translator. My father Alpheus, a lawyer, has absolutely no idea how to solve a crime

unless the crime itself has been solved and written in black and white. My sister Elaine, the middle

child, is about thirteen. And of course, there’s me. My name is Ephraïm. I am sixteen years, and am the

next in line to run the household when my father passes on. I am home-schooled, and I plan to go into

law-enforcement; to be more specific, a private detective. My father, I feel, knows less than I do. It's

unfortunate. When I'm not studying, I can often be found in the kitchen with the chefs. For me, cooking

is a great stress reliever, and often enough it helps me think more clearly.

I was in the study, in fact, when my sister came in. Elaine rarely comes to me distressed. In fact,

now she didn't exactly portray an emotion to me, but there was an edge in her voice as she whispered,

“brother...” to me, which clearly said something was wrong. She lowered her eyes and nodded toward

the window behind me, to the south. I slowly looked behind me. I hadn't noticed it before, but there

was a wall of black smoke piling into the sky.

Occasionally, in the summer time there would be small brush fires that would ignite by

themselves mostly due to the plants drying out and releasing a gas (I later learned that the gas was

called ethylene) that would ignite at a certain temperature. But this fire was different. For one, the

smoke was black; the smoke we usually see is like a cloud-like color. And two, the most obvious one:

the fire itself was larger. I quickly thanked God that our home was far enough away that we were not


February 27, 2012

likely going to be affected. I took my sister's hand and we ran to our back door, where my father was

just arriving. A couple of maids were pacing and rambling to each other in the mother tongue. My

mother was visibly panicked.

I told her, careful to not skip over any words, “Not to worry, Mother. Allaster always comes

back before sundown. It is still as bright as day. He will turn up soon enough.” She just stared at me.

Her hand instantly went to her mouth and I could tell she was chewing off her beautiful nails. Mother

used to have amazing nails—rather her hands, in general, were flawless.

Starting around the time Allaster was born, she had started gnawing her nails off. We could not

figure out why she had begun doing this. My father hired a team of doctors to come and examine her.

“We will not tolerate any bodily issues in this household, whether it is of nature or not,” my father had

exclaimed to the psychologist. I remember cowering behind my bedroom door because he was so loud.

I briefly recalled the psychologist calmly telling my father that Mother is suffering from anxiety

disorder. He had described my mother would likely always be stressed out, have high tension, and will

constantly be worried, even if about nothing. Father was not thrilled with the news. The psychologist

said there wasn't anything to worry about—no pun intended—and that she would maybe be all right

after some time.

I snapped back to the situation at hand. Mother had started to pace around. She was shaking her

head and whimpering to herself. I tried to comfort her again.

“Perhaps he and his friends went to get an up-close view of the fire? You know boys—always

adventurous.” I gave her my best reassuring smile. She paid no attention to me. I sighed and turned

back to face the burning trees. I took my sisters hand and led her away from the scene to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, the chefs were cooking for the night's meal. Every so often they would pause and

look out the small windows they had available. Honestly, I could not blame them for being curious. I


February 27, 2012

was as curious as ever, too. It was an interesting sight, as far as fires go.

That night was the first of many we ate in silence. Father showed little or no emotion. Mother

clearly was distressed, even more so now because Allaster had still not shown himself. By this point,

even I was getting worried. Elaine seemed to be the only one not affected. Perhaps she doesn't

understand? Elaine takes after our father when it comes to expressing emotions. Or, what emotion she

even has. Personally I think she has spent way too much time around our Father. I never did spend too

much time with him, come to think of it, I never spent much time with either of my parents. A

housemaid raised me in my early years. She had died when I was six.

It was almost midnight when the house was finally quiet. Elaine had fallen asleep shortly after

dinner was cleaned up. Allaster would have followed soon after her. There was no doubt in my mind

that something has happened to my brother. It is only a matter of time before we figure something out.

I slept a fretful sleep that night. It was hard to sleep, I kept thinking of Allaster. I was awakened

with a loud crash downstairs followed by a horrified scream. I leaped from my bed and rushed

downstairs to find my mother covering her distraught face, and a skittish man frantically bowing and

standing awkwardly, apologizing or what I assumed was apologizing. He seemed to mimic my mother

with his hands. Her hands were over her face; his hands were over his face at the same time, doing the

same movements as she. My father was at her side, trying to calm her down by attempting a shoulder

rub. She shrieked at him, “That vase has been in my family for several generations! It cannot be

replaced!” I felt like I could have dropped to the floor in utter embarrassment.

“Originally, I had no plans to come and destroy precious family memorabilia,” he started after

he had calmed himself. My mother had come back into her mind, her face a composed mask now. I

could tell she was still suffering.

“Of course, you know of the fire from last night. I had no intentions of ever coming here in the


February 27, 2012

first place, actually, until early this morning.” As he spoke, he reached into his pocket to retrieve a

plastic bag. From inside, he pulled out a small black, folded and burned, wallet. I recognized it

immediately. I inhaled quietly, quickly. I turned to face my mother to watch for any expression change.

Would she recognize it? I couldn’t tell if she did or didn’t. Her eyes were fixed on the black, mingled

thing, however. Inside the wallet there should be a photo of my family, my brother with a great grin on

his face. The investigator opened the wallet and pulled out, carefully, a sandy-colored piece of paper.

He held it up to show us. I grabbed onto my sister’s shoulder tightly. She didn’t bother to look at it as

something else was entertaining her on the ground.

“This is your family, isn’t it? And this boy? I don’t see him here.” With that, he took out a much

cleaner image. The image it contained was a badly burned body. I expected the worst. I turned my face

away to look at something completely different to get my mind off that. I cringed when I heard my

mother drop and wail, “My baby! My baby!”

It had been almost two weeks since we had lost Allaster. The detective had told us he was

investigating the fire only when Allaster’s body turned up. He moved the case from arson to arson plus

a possibly murder. We also learned that the detective, Alec Wilson, was one of the top private detectives

in the nation. He happened to be in town on holiday when the fire happened. He had informed us that

the fire is still being managed and will soon be able to scrape for evidence. Little has been done now, in

other words.

Mother has locked herself in her room since about a week ago. At least, I believe it was about a

week ago. I can’t recall the last time I saw her, really. The maids bring her food, as far as I know.

Sometimes we will notice the food go untouched for a whole day, and the next day it will magically be

gone, as if the entire plate had been licked clean. I can’t help but to feel that she feels guilty for this.


February 27, 2012

“Maybe if I had paid more attention to him!” I heard her scream in her room once. That was the last

time I heard from her.

My father left home one day; we assumed it was because of a court date. He hadn’t forgotten his

job. I have been taking the most care of Elaine, with a little help of the maids. I have had to abandon

some of my learning in order to teach her. Honestly, she doesn’t seem interested in learning, but at least

she puts up with it for my sake.

At the time, I believed I was teaching her how to use the area of a trapezoid. I remember it

because she had blurted out the answer before I had even finishing giving her instructions on how to

use it. After that, she had gotten up and stood at the door to the study. “Why is everyone panicking?”

she had asked me. It must have just started because I didn’t hear anything before I opened the door.

The servants were in my face in an instant.

“Your mother! Your mother! No breathing! Doctor with her!”

I ran past her and flew up the stairs to my parents’ room. The doctor was covering my mother

with a blanket.

That evening I was in the main room with Elaine when my father finally arrived home. At his

side he had the detective, Alec. Father already knew what had happened. Information makes its way

around exceptionally quick these days, especially when it is about my family, considering the

circumstances. Alec carefully sat down in Father’s favorite sofa recliner—my father stared at him, but

politely sat down besides Elaine—and appeared to be mumbling to himself. We watched with wary

intensity for his next card.

“First, I would like to say that I am deeply sorry for your losses, and I empathize for you.

Second, I am going to need everyone here to cooperate with questioning.” He faced me first; his gaze


February 27, 2012

engulfed me entirely. I felt as if I was trapped and I couldn’t escape. I gave him a small nod, allowing

him to continue. A series of simple questions soon followed and were asked repeatedly to different

people. The questions were easy questions, such as what we was doing during the time of my mother’s

death, and how we thought Mother was acting during the time before she passed and after Allaster’s

death.

“Come to think of it, ever since Allaster was found, Mother’s anxiety has been practically been

going through the roof. I cannot help but think that she was depressed about losing him. Maybe she

committed suicide out of depression?” Alec cocked an eyebrow at me. I could tell he had already

thought of that.

“And if she did?” he questioned. He looked away from me; he genuinely seemed uninterested in

my response.

“Well, I am going to have investigators come in and gather any remaining evidence possible

while I finish working on your son’s case. If you will give me one week more, at the minimum.” My

father seemed to have slipped into some sort of daze. I sighed and nodded. It was what we all had

wanted. Anything that would give us answers, we would take.

Alec Wilson POV

The father looked like he was about to shoot himself. I feel it was a good call to give the older

boy my number in case something should come up while I am not there. The boy didn’t seem to give

off the normal “disturbed” feeling. In fact, he seemed quite the opposite: calm and quiet; perhaps he

was too calm, and the same applied to his sisters as well. Did she even understand what was going on?

Ah, yes… she must. Perhaps she has Asperger’s. Why am I assuming? That is none of my business.

Generally I do not feel for people but considering what this family has gone through the past week and


February 27, 2012

a half, I can’t imagine what more grief these folks could take.

I returned to my temporary crime lab and immediately before sitting down something caught

my eye. Inside a box there was a book wrapped in plastic. I took the bagged book and removed the

contents. Upon further inspection this book turned out to be a journal. It was leather-bound. Expensive,

from Italy, I thought. I opened the front cover, to the first page. It was a mix of English and Hebrew, I

believe. I noted that I would need a Hebrew-English translator. I continued to turn pages, halfway

noting each page and how many used pages there were. The entire journal from the front cover to the

back cover was used. The last entry was dated for yesterday. I held the paper up to the light as I noticed

something. “Strange,” I spoke. “The date for yesterday has been written with another pen than the entry

itself.” Unfortunately, I was plagued with the fact that I couldn’t read Hebrew. I knew I should have

taken classes in high school when they were offered. I was going to need that translator sooner.

I had gotten word that the boy’s body had just been finished in autopsy. I entered the room just

before the doctor pushed them well-done body into its freezer. He pointed to the report on the table. It

said there was an immense amount of pure cocaine in the boy’s stomach. I had to re-read that again. He

was a little boy, correct? There were no crystals found in the boy’s nose, the “normal” way to take in

cocaine. There were also large amounts of sugar found alongside the cocaine. “Is this suggesting he ate

it with candy?” It was a rhetorical question.

“What that paper there says is all the information I can provide you with. It is pretty clear to me

that he ingested crack as well as little high-in-sugar candies. The question you should be asking: How

did this boy obtain this?”

I nodded in agreement. “Yes, how did he obtain it? Did you find anything in his mouth? Any

traces of the candy? The cocaine?”

“Yes, there was one uneaten drop of the crystal ball. He died of cardiac arrest before he could


February 27, 2012

finish his last bite.”

“Thank you.”

I took the autopsy report and myself back with me to the lab. Upon further inspection, I noted that the

boy’s clothes had pure fuel imbedded into them. In fact as soon as I opened the evidence bag I obtained

an excruciating whiff of fuel and burned flesh, with traces of fired cotton. It was a lovely combination

in my opinion. Forget opinions, this led me to a startling discovery—but I knew this already, mind you.

The boy was murdered before being set on fire. Who in their right mind would do this? Ah, that’s why I

am here.

The following day I had the translator come in and help me understand the woman’s diary. It

basically started out with an introductory entry. It basically introduced who she was, what her age (at

the time) was. Her name is Csilla Sagal, maiden name Klein. She was twenty-eight when she started

writing. She seemed to have skipped many, many years in writing in this journal. It only dates two of

her children’s births, Ephraïm and Elaine. Allaster was briefly mentioned on a torn-out piece of paper.

It reads, “I love my dear Allaster a lot, I really do.” After that, I found no other indications of him being

written anywhere. The last entry, the one that intrigued me the most, was interesting. It sat in it’s own

category… that category is unnamed.

Dearest Diary,

It’s a fortunate vacation for me. I made my way into my own mind. They have found sanctum. I,

no matter which testament I read I will not. An unfortunate occurrence has come abruptly.

Therefore good-bye.

A colleague startled me slightly by dropping a paper in front of me. I assumed it was Csilla’s report.

“Unnamed illness, internal organs shut down. A fish filet in her stomach. What joy.” I dropped the

paper report and stood up, exasperating a sigh. Suddenly, I remembered something. I raced and grabbed


February 27, 2012

my coat and made my way out of the building in haste, shortly returning to the crime scene. When I

arrived, I made my way to Allaster’s location, and stopped. I took a moment to calm my heart rate,

since my blood pressure was rising. I looked at the ground, to my left and sure enough, there she was. A

small, burnt little stick with a stricken head. A match. It was a single match. The scents of gas overrode

my senses however and I quickly had to cover my nose and mouth. I picked up the little match and

thanked the Heaven’s it wasn’t completely destroyed. Suddenly it made sense. She must have killed

herself over the guilt. Guilt of what? Her own son. I also uncovered a scrap that was hidden briefly in

the ground. The corner was charred over, but the writing was not. I read out loud, “I did it.”

Pause.

“I killed my youngest son.”

I started walking back to the Sagal’s home. They welcomed me in, especially on such short notice. The

remaining family gathered around me.

Ephraïm Sagal POV

•Elaine was in her room, Mother’s room, last time I saw her. She was looking for things that our

mother would have wanted her to have as a keepsake of her memory. My father was in the main hall

lost deep in thought. He hadn’t been keeping himself spic and span. I figured he had sank deep into a

silent depression. You would likely think I would be the one who did, or Elaine even. My mother and I

didn’t have a good relationship, as you know.

I heard the doorbell ring and I went halfway down the stairs before turning around again and grabbing

Elaine from her stash of jewels. We made our way downstairs. He was waiting on both of us. As soon

as we made ourselves comfortable, he read:

“I did it. I killed my youngest son. He looked far too much like his biological father—not your father,

Ephraïm and Elaine. I killed him because I couldn’t kill his father. His father is already dead. Cancer


February 27, 2012

took his life. I killed myself, too. I couldn’t hold back.”

I about dropped to the floor. Elaine held me up. Mother killed Allaster. The man who died of cancer?

My father’s brother: my uncle. Mother killed herself. I… I knew it. Just as he looked at me, I

remembered. “That package Mother got… that is what killed her?” I asked.

“It is not the package itself, merely what the contents of the package were. Snake venom, simply. She

slipped it into her food and ate it. As for where she obtained it, I can’t inform you. There was no

address. When she ate, she was dead in a matter of minutes.”

It took me a few moments to let this sink in.

• “I was away… out for business. She would never talk to me since Allaster was killed. I would never

know what she was thinking. We hardly talked anymore. And to think she slept with my brother. Dear

God.” I heard my father faintly speak to himself. He groaned and dropped to his knees. That was the

last time he had spoken in a long time.

“We also had found traces of cocaine in her, as well as Allaster. We assume—no… we know that she

had lured him into the forest by the use of candy-filled crack and fed him. Any child loves candy and

will eat it when they are offered it. He was dead before he even realized it—a heart attack. And of

course the addict took a price for herself, too. She then dumped gasoline around him, stained herself,

stood back and lit a match.” In which he held a plastic bag, a burnt stick in it. “You have never seen

your mother that anxious before, have you?” I recalled back to that night. She had not said a word, she

was panicked and beyond anxious. She was covering her hands with her mouth… why should she? But

wait, her dress didn’t smell of gas. “Her dress, though?”

“We found it discarded in the creek. We found the exact same dress in her hamper. She had two of the

same dresses.”

This enraged me, although it did make me feel a little better to have a closing for Allaster. My mother is


February 27, 2012

a heartless, cold… she deserved this… no, I cannot bid ill will. It will be cost my life.

•Twenty years ago today marks the death date of my sibling, my little brother, Allaster. My

father moved on into the next life about five years ago. We, Elaine and I, assumed it was of heartbreak.

A doctor concluded it was a heart attack. It ached him. He had fallen into a deep, deep depression after

learning about what my mother had done to us. She harmed us; we were a so-called “perfect” family, as

friends would say. I despise that word, “perfect.” No one thing is perfect in this world. Ever since the

incident occurred, I have grown fond of helping others piece together unsolved mysteries. Alec, that

odd detective, and I have worked together the past few years. I decided I still wanted to push myself

into the “force,” but privately. It is easier this way, to keep a low profile. Elaine followed our father

ironically enough, and pushed herself way past our father—at least, she is right now. Recently she

graduated from Harvard. My little sister! Very often, we share messages between each other. She is still

the same old Elaine, however. Quiet as ever, but smart. As far as our family goes, it is going smoothly.

My son, Allaster, may be less than a year old, but I can tell stories will be passed through generations of

our family. Goodbye.

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Crystalized Venom - 1