Circles of Return Frances Koziar

with her for the rest of the night.

Rushing out of the car, they sprinted through the heavy snow and into the complex’s lobby. Derrick stopped in front of his rusted mail slot, then shuffled through his bills as they made their way up to his fifth-floor apartment.

“Wi-Fi, electric, water, and another hospital bill,” he said. “I’m about to be broke as Fyre Festival.”

Already stripping as he opened the apartment’s front door, Derrick started his after-work routine by jogging straight toward the shower. Alexa entered the dark apartment, which was covered in a layer of dust that made her eyes itch no matter how many times she tried to vacuum. It was a cramped, single-bedroom apartment with a small living room and kitchen that Derrick had furnished with junk he’d found dumpster diving. Two steps inside, Alexa turned on the kitchen light and froze.

“D-Derrick,” she called, her voice cracking. “Derrick, what the hell is this?”

“What the hell is what?”

Derrick sprinted out of the bathroom, wearing only a red towel.

“What the—”

He followed Alexa’s stunned gaze to the wobbly kitchen table, where a pyramid of $100 bills was stacked so high it grazed the ceiling fan.

“Holy shit!”

Dropping his towel, Derrick rushed over to the table and started jumping up and down like a kid who’d won a carnival game’s top prize.

“Are you seeing this right now? There has to be over a 100k here.”

“Don’t touch it!” Alexa cried.

The shock had frightened her so badly she was struggling to catch her breath.

Giggleing like a hyena, Derrick skipped back over to Alexa and tried to dance with her. She pushed him away.

“It’s a miracle, a miracle, I say,” Derrick cried to the heavens.

“I … Do you not know where this came from? It’s not from one of your dealer friends?”

Derrick scratched his eyebrow.

“Yeah, my weed connection, Erik, the college RA, has mountains of cash he likes to store at my place.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Alexa replied. “This is crazy.”

“Crazy awesome,” retorted Derrick. “Think of all I can do with this money: no more medical debt, no more slumlords who won’t fix the washing machine, no more scrubbing the rotisserie!”

He was vibrating with a manic energy that reminded Alexa of Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight. Alexa felt infected by his enthusiasm: she could buy her own Peloton instead of using the family one, take a gap year in Paris, or upgrade her entire wardrobe. But her moment of elation was deflated when Derrick started counting the stacks of cash. He stood on the table and lifted a panel in the kitchen ceiling, stashing a rubber-banded handful of money in the ceiling each time he counted up to $5,000.

“We’ll keep this shit hidden and spend a chunk at a time,” he said.

Derrick’s naïve joy jolted Alexa to her senses. Only two months ago, he’d tried to buy a quarantine puppy after waking up with a runny nose. How could she trust him to handle something this delicate?

“Can you please put some clothes on? Then we can talk about this,” she gently suggested.

He looked at her like she’d taken his favorite Xbox game and cracked it over her knee. She knew he sensed a trap, but he reluctantly agreed. Waiting, Alexa held her breath until Derrick returned in boxers and a torn, white tee shirt.

“Listen,” she cautiously began, “for all we know, this could be mafia money. Maybe, someone hired a hitman and dropped the cash in the wrong spot. We have to call the police and turn this in. It’s the law.”

Derrick squinted at her like she was a deadly bacterium he’d seen for the first time under a microscope.

“You sound ridiculous,” he vehemently spat.

He didn’t yell, but the disdain in his tone brought Alexa to a darker place than any fight they’d ever had. Her stomach dropped like she was riding a rollercoaster at Six Flags; she could taste his anger like it was a toxic gas leaking out of his pores.

“You want me to give this money to the pigs?” he asked. “This is some typical rich girl bullshit. You have no idea what this money would do to change my life. This isn’t your money; it showed up at my apartment, understood?”

Alexa thought he was painfully unfair. Of course, it was a lot of money, but no money was worth risking their lives. She could feel the hot sting of tears ready to burst out of her eyes and down her cheeks, but she fought to hold them back. No matter how

scared she felt, she couldn’t show emotion: Derrick needed to see she was making a logical argument about what was best for both of them. She wasn’t sure what the law was, but she’d seen enough shows about money laundering to know it was too much to spend safely.

“Okay, let’s say no one is looking for it, and you could get away with keeping the money. How are you going to spend all of this without the IRS finding out you have a bunch of untaxed cash? It’s not like you can put any of this in a bank.”

One step ahead of her, Derrick pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking up how much I can deposit before the IRS is alerted.”

Alexa lunged forward, trying to knock the phone out of Derrick’s hand. He grabbed her wrist and started to twist until it hurt.

“Derrick, stop it! You can’t look that up on your phone; that’ll leave a record of the

Shoving Alexa back, Derrick let go of her red wrist. He had a crazed look in his eye like a boar hunting a rattlesnake.

“You can’t leave a record of the crime,” he repeated, mocking Alexa’s high, panicked voice. “Don’t mess with me on this, you understand? This is about survival.”

He flipped her off as he continued to type his question into Google.

“It isn’t like Siri isn’t already reporting everything we say to the highest bidder,” he added. “You go sit on the couch while I think up a plan.”

For the first time in her two-year relationship, Alexa felt unsafe. Still, she loved Derrick, she knew Derrick, and she wasn’t about to let him make such a huge mistake. Derrick turned his back on her and resumed counting his new fortune. He kissed each stack before he tossed it into the ceiling.

“Talk about the American Dream,” he shouted, maniacally laughing as he swayed back and forth on a wobbly chair.

Alexa slowly crept back toward the front door, pulling her phone out to call the police. If she told them it was Derrick’s idea to report it, there was no way they’d arrest him; he’d probably get a reward for being such a Good Samaritan. Her eyes still on Derrick. She reached for the doorknob, but her arm accidentally bumped the switch for the ceiling fan. The fan’s gust of wind blew a money tornado across the kitchen floor.

“Where are you going?” Derrick shouted, turning around as Alexa stumbled against the front door.

Tripping over her nervous feet, half of her body fell out onto the complex’s stairs before Derrick dragged her back into the apartment. She tried to scream, but he stuffed a wad of cash down her throat. Shutting the door with his elbow, he held her down with his knees.

“I can’t go back to Walmart,” he tried to explain, tears and sweat rolling off his face and into Alexa’s eyes.

He wrapped his hands around her throat and started to squeeze. Alexa tried to kick free, but he was too strong. She wanted to take it back, tried to promise she wouldn’t say a word to anyone, but she couldn’t speak. Still, even as her vision started to fade, she believed he’d stop.

The money filled the air like the snow pelting the kids in the parking lot.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” Derrick whispered.

He squeezed harder and harder until Alexa moved no more. ***

r/FindingDerrickEilis Pinned by Moderator: Posted by u/AlexaJustice2021

This Reddit is dedicated to finding Alexa Carter’s suspected murderer, Derrick Eilis. Here is what we know so far: on January 12th, 2021, the day Alexa’s father, Thomas Carter, reported her missing, and three days after her last known sighting, police reported their first big break in the ongoing investigation. Upon his second search of the apartment being rented by Derrick Eilis, Alexa’s boyfriend, a crooked ceiling panel caught Officer Allen Meadow’s attention. Movement of the panel caused the collapse of a deceased female body. Though the corpse’s face was too disfigured for the Carter family to identify, dental records were a match for Alexa Carter.

According to the Chicago Police Department (abbreviated CPD in posts below), Derrick Eilis continues to be missing to this day. Several Reddit detectives have reported sightings of Derrick in the jungles of Costa Rica, but CPD has refused to comment on these reports.

Please, do not use this thread to speculate on a motive for Derrick Eilis’ actions or to spread ongoing conspiracy theories regarding Thomas Carter and the rest of the Carter family. In honor of Alexa’s memory, we encourage you all to continue to post any updates on Derrick’s location. Together, we will find Derrick Eilis and receive justice for Alexa.

By the Beach in Vietnam in November 2019

Stuti Pachisia

I am not yet twenty three. By the sea, the water turns In expected ways, in unexpected colors. My mother is rooted to the sand, Predicting which wave will foam by her feet. She is never right; she laughs each time. There is rain. This is not a day for the beach, But we planned today long before we knew All that would come.

My father hates the rain, insisting we move. I put an umbrella over us, and rest my head On his shoulder.

For a few weeks now, we have barely spoken, He is confused: he remembers me Much younger. We have slowly been quieter, our conversations Growing awkward limbs in all directions: Spiders, webbing in rooms whose walls we cannot identify. I watch the sea turn green and white and rising. I look for dragons of curling breath, white tails And drawn claws. We are in perpetual battle. The dragon recedes and resurfaces. I imagine a younger Me, the Version who fought, scratching, wrestling Out of my father's arms, into the water. He never could watch. I wonder if this is what my father Remembers, whether the prediction A stranger once made, that we Are at Great Risk of the ocean

Washes over his mind before the ocean. Whether he Thinks of my younger self, uncontrollable, slipping like A lemon drop sunset, disappearing into water. I hold his hand quietly. We avoid conversation about the Minor cataclysms that the sea augers, The foaming in the ebb and flow, the shallow sleet That follows us as we go. My grip tightens. I forget my age often. I say I am twenty three, As if by anachronism, a year forward, This is exactly how things will be.

Title

Author

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Jim Ross Author

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Title Wedding Crashers

Author Kayla Branstetter

We walked slowly, admiring the faces staring back at us. They were images of youth, age, passion, devotion, beauty, and wisdom. As if for a moment, we had somehow come to know them. The streets were alive with a mixture of faiths, languages, and people. Visitors who had traveled thousands of miles, like us, to be in Jerusalem. Each time we stepped, we entered deeper into the ancient sun, we walked around—a blended mixture of spices, perfume, and hookah in the air—and liked it more and more. All along the streets, artisans advertised their products. As I glanced inside, I believed the ancients continued to practice their crafts. As we devoured pizza at the Armenian restaurant, we observed people walking the narrow streets--where Jesus might have carried the cross. The afternoon sun changed the streets to gold, sienna, umber. In places, the rugged stone exposed a long and tumultuous past.

Exhausted from the afternoon’s outing, I wanted to rest, so I opened the glass sliding doors from our hotel room and sat on a chair overlooking the hotel courtyard. It was late afternoon and the sun strivedits last burst of energy before fading into the evening. I rested my hand on my stomach and smiled. There was a breath of silence before I heard voices coming from the courtyard. It was as if the voices suddenly lifted the courtyard from stillness and gave it a soul. Everything seemed in flawless focus. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. My heart pounded. I refused to move a muscle, hoping to blend in as the uninvited guest.

I sat quietly, fascinated by the perfect moment. An ancient breeze entered the stage and all the leaves fluttered like clapping hands. Even now I can feel the slight breeze grazing against my arms as I observed the individuals below. White chairs stood in perfect rows and in the distance, a wedding canopy, a chuppahI later discovered, perched in the distance. The faint smell of something cooking directed my attention to the edge of the courtyard. Individuals dressed in crisp white chef’s attire prepared the meal.

I watched the courtyard fill with guests arriving for what appeared to be a wedding. Shortly after, the ceremony began. The groom, chatan, along with his parents, walked to the chuppah followed by the bride, kallah, and her parents. I stole a glance at her vibrant white dress--the wedding was coming together wonderfully. The courtyard was grand--a symbol of life, commitment, and love. Twilight arrived making the lights twinkle and illuminate the ceremony.

The kallah’spath to the chuppahfelt like a familiar friend--my own wedding. I walked slowly down the church’s aisle staring at my soon-to-be husband. Everything seemed in perfect focus. My dad kissed my forehead as I handed my matron-of-honor my fuchsia Calla Lily bouquet. Locked eyes with my groom as he nervously caressed my hands. A breath of quiet before the rabbi announced, “let’s pray.” The kallaharrived to her chatan--later circling him seven times--standing