The
streets were quiet. No one was out,
walking or in cars. Most of the houses were dark, too, except for the
occasional flickering of a living room TV.
As
I approached the corner of Teal Lane and Birch Avenue, I came to a stop. Beside
me were a small wicker wreath and a white cross leaning up against a stop sign.
I smiled sadly. “Hi Mom, hi Dad,” my voice was barely a whisper, “It’s been a
while, huh? Seven years tonight.”
I
almost had the audacity to hope for a reply, but the dead can’t speak. And they
don’t come back. It was harsh, but it was a truth forced upon me since their death when I was ten.
The
night they died, I was in the car with them, coming home from a school dance.
They were planning on getting a divorce, and were arguing over custody of Josh,
my brother, when we were hit. A series of painful flashbacks rolled through my
mind like a movie.
“Josh needs to stay with his sister!” my mother argued.
“A boy needs a father, Matilda, not a sister. Just
like a girl needs a mother.” Dad retorted. I wanted to insert that any kid
needed both parents.
She narrowed her eyes at him, and I shrank back into
my seat. A warm hand gripped mine, and I looked up from my feet to see my older
brother, Josh, smiling at me. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, “They’ll take
care of us.”
He always knew what to say. He’d always taken care
of me when mom and dad couldn’t. I smiled back.
Just then, bright lights distracted me. There, right
in front of us, was a big truck.
On the wrong side of the road.
And it slammed into us.
People crowded Josh and I, all with cameras and
flashing lights and microphones. They shoved them in our face, trying to get us
to answer what happened the night of the wreck. Josh held my hand. He told the
reporters to leave, but they wouldn’t. They wanted to know exactly what had
happened, and why. Josh tensed as I watched him. He’d been different since the
accident. More… broken.
Our aunt came out of the hospital behind us, shooing
the swarm of bodies away. We were all tired and hurting, but she was still
looking out for us. It was her job, now that mom and dad were gone. Josh let go
of my hand and walked for her car. He hadn’t said a word since Aunt Victoria
told us that mom and dad were gone. He’d barely even looked at me. Was it
because I looked like our mom? Was I some kind of bad reminder of that night?
I sat down at the breakfast table, trying to get
loose of sleep’s hold on me. Aunt Victoria sat a plate down in front of me,
filled with bacon and pancakes and syrup. I smiled at her, and she smiled back.
There it was again: the sad glint in everyone’s eyes lately. Josh had it. Aunt
Victoria had it. Our grandparents had it. Did I?
“I’ll go get your brother,” Aunt Victoria said,
walking upstairs.
Several moments passed when she was gone, then I
heard a piercing scream. I rushed upstairs as fast as my tiny legs would carry
me, only to have Aunt Victoria try to keep me out of my brother’s room. I
couldn’t see much, but what I did get a glimpse of would haunt me for the rest
of my life.
Josh’s room was painted red. Everywhere. Bits of
what I assumed were bones were strewn across the room, along with some gushy
looking pink material. A gun was on the floor, and Josh’s bloody arm was limp
on his bed, hanging off of it a bit. There were three slits on his wrist.
Josh had killed himself.
I was alone.
I
sighed and sat back on my legs, wondering if there was a way I could have
prevented it. The dance was supposed to be a night for me to escape all the
arguing and everything else that comes with divorce. I was supposed to be at a friend’s house after it, but she canceled. They
weren’t supposed to pick me up. They weren’t supposed to be dead. And it was my
fault. My friend had offered to at least get her mom to drive me home, but I
called my parents instead. If I’d waited on her mom, the shipping truck would
have been out of our neighborhood. If I’d waited, my parents would be alive. My
brother would be alive. Everyone would be okay.
Movement
to my right dragged me out of my thoughts. I squinted at it, hoping to see what
it was. And once I could, my eyes went wide. It was a man in black. Even his
face and hands were covered. And he was running at me. With a sword.
As you've hopefully noticed, chapter four is going to be fairly long in comparison to what the others have been. It mainly focuses on Raleigh's past, hence the series of flashbacks.
And again, I'm not sure how much of that will make it past editing. So don't expect it to be in the book. I think it's a decent idea, but others may not, so. Anyways, I'll keep you posted on this.
Don't forget to follow the blog! Makes it easier to stay updated.
Don't forget to follow the blog! Makes it easier to stay updated.
All my best,
Katheryn
