As I put my phone down on the nightstand, I sat up in my bed and took a second to clear my head. I had just received a call from the police, informing me of my father's death. My name is Andrew Rozz, and this call was how I started the final week of my life.
After I lifted myself off the bed, I walked into the bathroom and turned on the small, rickety shower. My hand twisted the knob to make the water as hot as possible, as if I were trying to burn out all the nervous thoughts running through my head. After I had showered and dressed myself in my usual jeans and white T-shirt, I sat down at the table. I looked around my small apartment and recounted what happened on that fateful morning.
I woke up to the ringing of my phone. I checked the time and saw it was 5 A.M. "Who the hell is calling me right now?" I thought to myself. Too tired to even check the number, I groggily answered the phone.
"Hello?" I said.
"Hello, is this the number of a Mr. Andrew Rozz?" I heard a tired voice ask on the other end of the line.
"This is he," I responded quickly. I don't know much about police operations, but I do know that usually when *they* call you, it's nothing good. I was frankly getting nervous.
"I regret to inform you that your father has been murdered as of last night," he said in a somber tone that still sounded exhausted.
I couldn't find my words. I couldn't identify any of the emotions I was experiencing; it was just blunt and simple shock hitting me like a thousand sledgehammers. After a few seconds of silence, the man continued, "We've opened up an investigation for his murder and need you to come down here to answer some questions. There are some...things here you may want to see." I attempted to keep my composure and end the call calmly and cordially.
"Of course, I'll be down there by the end of the day," I said as I hung up. I realize now it may have seemed rude, but I had just lost my last remaining family member and didn't much care.
'Why would anyone even want to kill my father?' I wondered to myself. By this time, I'd taken it upon myself to deal with emotions later and think purely using my own logic to avoid clouding my judgment.
As I sat at the table in my apartment, I recalled my father and anything he could have done to anger anyone to the point of murder. He was my only parent; my mother had left right after I was born. After she left, he became incredibly religious and quit his old job as a lawyer at a large firm, becoming a devout Catholic priest. He, of course, attempted to push me into Catholicism as well. I was never much for religion; I never really rejected it, I just didn't ever think of it. He was a priest at St. Patrick's Cathedral, meaning I practically grew up there. We were always there and were pretty well known in the community, with nobody really disliking us, at least to my knowledge. I simply didn't get who would want to hurt a pacifist with a heart of gold like that. For a split second, I thought to myself, 'Or maybe that's just a façade he put up; maybe he wasn't as great a man as I thought he was.' Though I quickly pushed the thought out of my head, not wanting to damage his memory.
As I grew older, we would argue more and more, with me usually being the source of the issue. I wanted to get a literature degree, while he wanted me to be a priest. I eventually ran away at 16 and went to Virginia to pursue my goal. I had just graduated a few months ago and I'm now 20 years old. I hadn't contacted him since I ran away. He would have been 44 by now. I still loved him, of course, but he never gave me the chance to pursue my goals. I think he understood that, and that's why he never bothered going after me.
I jolted myself out of my thoughts as I realized I had to book a flight to get to New York. I looked at the grandfather clock on the shadowed white wall; it read 6:15 A.M. I opened up my phone and scanned airline websites for the soonest flight possible. I found one for U.S. Airlines at 12:00 P.M.
'That'll do,' I thought to myself as I got up from the table to pack my bag and drive to the airport.