You Were Never That Important Chapter 11
He brought the rock down.
The first strike cut her scream short.
On the second strike, hot blood splattered across his cheek.
Then came the third, the fourth…
He bludgeoned her again and again until his arm finally gave out.
Cierra lay motionless on the pavement. Her eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. She wasn’t breathing.
Raiden stood over her, chest heaving.
He looked down at the rock in his fist, the blood pooling on the ground, and the sickening angle of Cierra’s face.
He let the rock drop.
Bending down, he rifled through her purse and yanked out her wallet.
He shoved every last bill into his pockets, turned, and bolted.
Three days later.
A middle-aged man pushed open the gate to the mansion property and stepped inside.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a hand protruding from the bushes.
He hesitated, then walked over to take a look.
A terrified scream ripped from his throat.
The police had the scene locked down shortly after.
Security footage painted a clear picture — three afternoons ago, a guy in a gray jacket tailed the victim into the neighborhood, brutally beat her at the entrance, and fled.
Facial recognition pinged the suspect as Raiden in record time.
A nationwide arrest warrant went out immediately.
Another three days went by.
At the airport, Raiden kept his head on a swivel, chin tucked low. Wearing a baseball cap and a medical mask, he navigated the terminal toward his gate.
He had a fake passport in his pocket and a plane ticket paid for with Cierra’s cash.
If he could just make this flight, he’d be out of the country. Gone for good.
The gate was twenty meters away.
He sped up.
“Raiden,” a voice called out from behind him.
He froze.
Glancing back, he saw two plainclothes cops standing three meters away, holding up their badges.
“Don’t move.”
Raiden’s legs simply gave out. He collapsed right there on the terminal floor.
Later, as they shoved him into the back of a squad car, a commercial jet roared directly overhead.
He just stared up at the plane, his face entirely blank, his eyes completely dead.
The court convened a month later.
The judge sentenced Raiden to death for first-degree murder and theft.
***
The day they executed him was the exact same day my new show wrapped production.
Ever since “Fire Within” came out, I’d been drowning in acting offers.
I’d been working back-to-back shoots without a single day off to catch my breath.
I walked into my apartment, collapsed onto the couch, and started mindlessly scrolling through my phone.
A news push notification popped up on the screen: “Web Series Actor Raiden Barnard Executed Today.”
I stared at the headline for a long time.
Clicking the link, I read through the insane spiral his life had taken.
He had murdered Cierra, and now the law had dealt him his punishment.
Two people who used to be so utterly arrogant were now dead.
I leaned back against the cushions, suddenly feeling hollowed out and emotionally drained.
My phone buzzed in my hand.
It was a text from Tyrone: “You home?”
I typed back: “Yeah.”
“Happy wrap.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you free tomorrow?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Let me take you out to dinner. To celebrate finishing the show.”
I stared at the short exchange, unable to fight the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
“Sounds good.”
Outside my window, the city lights glared brightly against the night sky, and the traffic moved below in a steady, unbroken stream.
The sun was going to rise tomorrow, just like always.
I’d go on to shoot new shows.
Life would just keep moving.
But some people were dead, and they’d never get to see it.