Chapter 2: Do not answer the phone

(February 3rd, 1999)

Dear diary… Something weird has happened. I do not know how exactly it is possible, but I think I am in great deal of trouble. And that makes this more than weird – it is terrifying.

Currently, my hand is shaking quite badly, and I am struggling not to stop writing. This calms me down, somewhat. And if something were to happen, at least people can get clues through this. The latter makes this sound like my last will, though.

I wish this will not become it.

Back to the matter at hand. I am not feeling like making this sound simple and easy, for it isn't. To me, at least. To describe how I am feeling, I start by telling that I have a baseball bat next to me. It is all for my own secureness and protection. But, the house is so eerily silent I can't keep on staying here for too long. The heater is also cut off, so the coolness makes me shiver more. I am so scared!

For the past years of my lifetime, there have been many things that have scared me to the bone. I have hidden myself inside a closet, under my bed and its covers, like any other small child. However, I am now starting to recall what it is like to be truly terrified. Though, this time, the threat isn't an imaginary monster peeking through windows. No. It has gotten a hold of someone close to me – it has made my friend stop contacting me and answering my phone calls and messages. This is even more ominous. Edmund is the most careful person I know… so how come he has fallen silent so suddenly?

I have glanced at the clock. It is four minutes past one in the morning.

Let me clarify what has happened. I can't use too much time, so I will have to write this all down quickly. The day started normally in the hospital…

The hospitals are dull. That is what I have always thought. They are thick, hard and sharply shaped buildings that are meant to keep patients in and filth out. Everything smells like rubber with that strange odor that every hospital seems to have. Even when I pass a cafeteria and smell of food fills my nostrils, it is not enough to wash away the nauseous wave from the stomach.

This is probably my fiftieth time visiting this place for the past few months, but I will certainly never get used to the somewhat smooth and chilly atmosphere. The staff is nice, though.

"Good day," one of the nurses greets me with a smile and I return her friendliness. This is the only reason I feel a little reassured to leave mother into this place.

When mother was analyzed with cancer, the same monster that took father away, I thought that there must be a curse upon our family. The days we found out about these illnesses, the sun hadn't shined, and the sky was grey like mouse's fur. It may sound like something out of a novel, too dramatic or silly, but that is how I saw it, two times. The first had happened so fast, but the second became agonizingly slow to this very moment. Though, at least now one of my parents' lives can be saved.

I turn to the left, passing by a familiar vending machine with really cheap coffee in it. The day I tried tasting it was the day I regretted being curious of cheap product. It is not worth it and definitely great waste of small money. My face wrinkles and I swallow, recalling the taste like it was yesterday.

Finally, the room two hundred and thirty-three is within my fingertips and I twist the knob on the door. The handle is warm, indicating that someone else has been holding it before me for a while at least.

"Michael, I am not your servant, you know?" I grumble out, holding a paper bag in the air and staring at the young male sitting in a chair.

"Yeah, yeah," he waves lazily and flicks a page of a magazine.

"Lazy arse," I mutter and then drop the things next to mother's bed with a sweet smile. I bat my eyelashes. "Here you go. They are from your beloved son."

She smiles a little and gives me a nod. "Thank… you."

My smile strains a little from hearing her tired, soft voice. It reminds me of what kinds of treatments she has been through and unconsciously my eyes trail up to her bandaged head. The worst is over, and it is time of recovery for her. Though, I am certain she misses her brown locks of straight hair and running her fingers through them. Honestly, I miss them, too. And I wish that by seeing my hair she will not have a terrible reminder of what has been lost. The hair brushing against the back of my neck starts to itch my skin and I carefully brush all the misplaced strands back.

However, watching mother's tranquil smile makes my stomach turn around. She looks like a thin twig that has large eyes and dark rings under them. The effect from seeing this is worse than what the stench that the hospital can do, and I have to look away into the white bag to see what it contains. Coward.

The first thing I see is a box full of chocolate, which makes the confliction fade and irritation takes over my being. It is not that I don't approve of the chose of a gift, but rather what its due date is. Not only that, but the one who is supposed to eat these isn't allowed to. No matter how delicious and sweet they look.

To stop my silence becoming too obvious, I rummage through the bag and pull some things out. When I find something good enough, I hold it out to mother.

"Well, well. Never thought that Michael would get anyone a book."

The said boy shoots me a look from across the room and I grin back cheekily. Mother, however, simply smiles and looks at her son with a warmth of a sun on her face. Compared to her usual tiredness, I think this is the first time in months I have seen such an expression on her face.

"Thank you… Michael," she says quietly, and her child's posture relaxes quite a lot from these words.

Michael shrugs, but is obviously happy from the smile on his face. "No problem, mother. Happy birthday."

A birthday – the day when we would eat cake, go out to do something fun, maybe to watch a movie, and then open presents. The hospital arrangement has really made lots of changes into this day, not to mention mine and my brother's. When he turned eighteen a month ago, mother couldn't get him anything, not even congratulate him, because she was in a surgery and then slept the whole day through. Her youngest child doesn't show it, but he was very depressed from her absence. At least, when my birthday passed days before his, mother was awake.

He must be so bitter about it. I look away from my family, again. I swallow the lump in my throat and place the book down on the table quietly, like the smallest of sounds could break the soft atmosphere. Though, what I feel is anything, but that kind of air.

"Sis," my brother calls out and closes the magazine in his hands. "Don't you also have something to give to mother?"

His question brings a sort of lightness into my chest and I nod. "Yes. I brought it all the way from Germany, when I visited Edmund last year."

"No need to rub it off," Michael says with a frown. He isn't too happy to be reminded that I am the only one who got to travel.

Mother's expression seems to brighten up even more. "Has… Edmund called?"

I nod and take out a package which is neatly wrapped in a pinkish paper with a bow on it. "Yeah. But around two months ago, actually. He said he is planning to go and further study history."

The sickly woman chuckles. "He still loves reading that?"

"You have no idea. His whole apartment had a big bookshelf filled with that stuff, the last time I visited him," I say and hold my gift for her. "I will unwrap this for you."

"What a pretty color," she mutters quietly, eyes transfixed on the light golden stripes on the surface. They shine slightly in the light of the room.

"Michael helped to pick it up," I glance up at my brother who stiffens visibly from the comment. "He actually insisted-"

"Just open it," he says – more like orders and glares at me lightly through his slightly long bangs.

Ignoring an urge to give him a haircut immediately, I loosen the bow and pull it off from the whole package. Next, the sound of tearing paper fills the room and we all sit and wait for the gift to reveal itself. Although, instead of focusing on the task, my mind is wandering off somewhere else entirely.

I have always been an airhead. One of my teachers in middle-school called me that once, and others probably didn't dare to say it. But nowadays, I find myself drifting off more often. Maybe it is a way of coping for me? When I think deeply, some of my worries can be blocked for a while and I can focus on something other than what causes me anxiety. This deep session of floating inside my mind started way back, when father died. And now it has become worse – so to say. Worrying about things is a trait my mother is good at, but it seems like it has been passed on to me as well. Though, it has become a struggle to fight that trait, for I also have my father's easygoingness. I can either panic or stay completely lax, depending on the situation.

For weeks actually, I have been having an inner conflict. With my work, studies, stress from mother's medical care and Michael's schooling are taking their toll. It all is slow torture, and I have been trying to learn and cope with it. And when Edmund came to the picture, things got worse and, in some ways, better.

The guilt, paranoid thoughts, fear of loosing the luxury, fear of loosing mother and a brother, the scars left by a dead father… the list of the negative thoughts packs up and I switch to those I have left in the present. Luckily, mother and Michael are out of danger zone. So, one very serious conflict avoided.

But there is still one thing bugging me. It-

"Nancy… you shouldn't have," mother's voice brings me back.

I smile and let her watch the unwrapped gift. "Happy birthday!"

Michael lets out a snort of surprise from what he sees me holding but otherwise stays silent…

"Why on earth, did you buy a cuckoo clock?"

…or not.

"It is cute," is the sickly woman's reply and I laugh from hearing how serious she is. For some reason, mother has always wanted a cuckoo clock – she is someone who collects lots of things and gets the whole house cramped because of it.

I send a winning grin towards Michael. "See? She absolutely loves it."

He gives me a withering glance in return but decides to keep his mouth shut after all and simply shakes his head. Unlike the females of his family, he doesn't get the charming nature of a small wooden bird coming out every hour. The moment he knew what mother's present would be, the look on his face couldn't have been more comical. It has been a while – he doesn't really show much emotion nowadays, unless mother is around. The usual, goofy, unbelievable lax boy turned his personality around in such a short amount of time, that it is frightening.

This hospital may be the place that holds mother in its care, but it is also able to bring up bitter thoughts. The moment I think I feel happiness, those kinds of emotions vanish in the air from even smallest of actions and scenes.

"Michael, how are your exam scores?"

That torn expression between mental pain and stiffness of his shoulder makes my own shoulders shake from a giggle. "Yeah, Michael. Tell mommy all about it."

His glare makes my giggling fit worse and mother looks amused. She clearly knows – judging from our reactions – what his answer will be. How I wish we could be like this every day.

"Welcome!" The smile on my face is forcefully painful, but I try to look as natural as possible. The customer on the other side of the counter, looks at me with a nervous smile. "Did you have a reception?"

"Yes. At one o'clock."

I check the information from the computer and click one particular name. "And your name?"

"Angelica Thompson."

"Great. Right this way," I say and direct the customer to the nearest chair and gesture it. "Please, take a seat."

As soon as the sound of sinking leather hits my ears, I take a dark fabric into my hands and wrap it around a waiting neck. The chin length strands brush against my knuckles softly and I look at the reflections in the mirror. This customer's hair certainly has a nice texture to it. However, what bothers me are the layers it has, giving the person somewhat a messy look. Which is not bad, depending on the person's face shape. And that is precisely why I can't approve this kind of style with such soft facial features. Plus, the murky red hair looks a little greasy, adding the clear volume of spikiness it already has.

This is a job that I currently have and what I am determinate on keeping. Though, I curse my shift for being on the day of mother's birthday and making me leave the hospital earlier than necessary. I am frustrated beyond relief, but at least I will get paid today and can deal with the electricity bill soon.

Speaking of paying, Michael should pay his portion soon, as well. Since we can't manage only with my salary and waste all the money I earned in German, my brother got himself a job. The day my pride soared is the day he told me that very fact. But he is currently also busy with his studies, though. So, I understand, if the timing is really bad for him to do such a thing. Still, I have my suspicions of what he is really doing, when his scores are not exactly the highest. I swear, if he lazes around, I will skin that brat! Though, I should expect no less from someone who reminds me of myself in that stage of high school.

I take into consideration the request on what I should do with the hair and nod with a small smile. Great. The customer decides that what the top of the head needs is a wash first.

The water comes out and down to the spiky hair. I watch as it flattens the strands and the customer stiffs a little from the new sensation, before relaxing. However, my eyes take a note of a slight twitch, when my fingers start to rub shampoo against the scalp. This customer must really not like physical contact or is naturally a little bit jumpy.

The music in the salon changes to a softer tune and the bell next to the door rings. A new customer has arrived, and a coworker comes from the back to greet them.

As I run my fingers all across the head and watch the soap foam and cover nearly every dark strand under it, instead going back to my brother, I start to think about Edmund. That very same man who hasn't called me in weeks.

I nearly press my fingers down much harsher than what I intend. Inhaling deeply the sweet scent of soap, I purse my lips and try to focus on my job… Doesn't answer my text messages, doesn't call back or send an email. I am so not worried.

The washing part is over, and I pull a hairdryer from a nearby shelf. Lucky for me, it is my favorite one. Ruby red with a lighter color white going along its side. My coworker – who also seems to be in the middle of drying someone's hair – was about to take the same one and sends me a look of disappointment. I grin at her and wave the dryer in my hand.

"The weather doesn't make it look like the spring will be coming any time soon," I say and ruffle the wet hair, the dry air from the blower slightly burning my skin at one point.

The customer's eyes look at my reflection in the mirror. She isn't so nervous anymore. "Yes. Just yesterday, the snow was still falling."

"Are you a student?" I ask curiously, starting a small talk to pass some time. Though, my mind is wandering off to somewhere else.

Edmund promised to keep our deeds as an utmost secret. And that is the exact thing that scares me, because there is a possibility that something is truly wrong back in Germany. And that is the reason why my friend has stayed so silent.

The hair is dry rather quickly, and the next thing that needs to be done is cutting. I ask few questions how the young girl wants it to be done, before taking scissors from nearby. The sounds of the blades cutting the bad strands away is pleasing and I actually start to have a small smile on my face. Although, it is not enough to wipe away my concerns. My muscles keep tensing and relaxing, but they can't decide when to end the shifting. I almost cut too much hair, and it is a warning sign that I should definitely try to calm down or think about something else.

This is supposed to be a happy day. Right? So why am I feeling like there is a boulder on my shoulders? Edmund shouldn't be my concern right now. I should focus more on Michael and mother. Not to mention my job and this young customer.

When the new hairstyle is finished – the layers have lessened somewhat, and their shape has softened the girl's features even more. The strands had been long enough for me to style a bob to her, and she seems to like it judging by the happy expression on her face. It makes me a little happy as well, and I smile naturally the whole time she pays the bill and leaves with a wave and 'thank you'. This is the reason why I like people who come here and are younger than me – they are much more energetic and positive looking than someone older.

"Nancy," a man peeks through an open door from the back and waves me over. "Your phone was ringing just now."

I blink a little and then walk past him in a hurry. "Oh, yes. Thank you, Chris."

"No problem."

Who could be calling? I think curiously in my mind, but part of me hopes for it to be a certain person. The reason for my recent worries should at least try calling once back to me – Edmund.

Though, those thoughts are simply hopeful guesses. But when I find my phone on top of a coffee desk and look at the message board on the screen, my heart skips a beat. There is one missed call from the half-German man.

Suddenly, the phone rings quietly with the piano version of 'My Heart Will Go On' and my friend's name appears on the screen. The tip of my thumb presses the answer button faster than I can think and I bring the phone close to my ear, heartbeat rising over the roof. After all this time, I can finally hear his voice.

"Hello? Ed-"

"Nancy!" The voice from the other side calls my name loudly with a tone that makes me think of a relieved face.

"…Edmund?" I ask for confirmation. I hesitate – I have not expected him to sound like this.

"Yes. It is me," he replies and heaves a quiet sigh. "How are you? What about Michael and your mother?"

My mouth opens, about to answer him, but then I frown almost angrily. "You're asking how I am doing? What about you? You haven't answered my calls or messages!" I make my way deeper into the salon, not wanting my coworkers or customers to hear my voice, thats volume is slowly rising with an angry hiss. "Do you have any idea how worried I have been? I thought that cops might have gotten you!"

The man on the other end doesn't seem to pay much attention to my tone. "Where are you right now?"

"At work," I spit out and clench the phone tightly. I am not sure, if I am more relieved or angry. I am glad to know Edmund is alright, but he has not given me an explanation yet. "Now, why didn't you answer befo-"

"Nancy, listen to me," he cuts my words off and continues before I am able to form another proper sentence. "I will call you later. I only contacted now to make sure you are alright."

"Ed-"

"I am sorry, for not calling much earlier, but I have been busy."

"Alright, but-"

"Please, do not call or send me messages anymore."

This is the point where I freeze from his words. He sounds so serious and I feel a slight pang of hurt from his request that sounds more like an order. His tone isn't irritated or full of annoyance, but a thought that he might actually find my concern foolish enters my head.

"Ed, what is going on?" I ask, not bothering to mask my concern or hurt. "Why – why are you saying things like these? We aren't in trouble because of that, right?"

There is a short pause on the other end. "No. This is not really about that."

Somehow, I am finding that hard to believe and my hands start to get sweaty. "Edmund, please-"

"I am telling the truth. Trust me."

My frown deepens. "I do, but-"

"Bye now."

"Ed!"

The line is cut off and all I can hear is the sound of running water from the other side of the wall. Someone's hair is being washed, but it is not the sound I want to hear. The bottom of my stomach has dropped, and I am left staring at the opposite white wall with wide and helpless eyes. The short conversation ended too quickly for me, and I keep thinking about different kinds of things I could have said to keep him talking.

He said not to worry. I start to feel weak and have to slide down against a wall to the floor. After waiting to hear something about a childhood friend for over a month, I get this. The anger sizzling inside dims and I am left with a shell of myself simply sitting on the floor with a phone still next to my ear.

"That… idiot," I whisper and drop the phone.

If he says things like these, of course I will get worried.

I am waiting in the parking lot, drumming my fingers against the wheel impatiently. The car's motor isn't on, thus not even the heather is working. This results in the temperature dropping inside and me shivering within every few minutes. Because I actually owe a small Skoda Citigo, I thought that this will be a simple and warm drive to home. So, I didn't bother dressing too warmly. The only thing keeping some heat around me is a long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans.

Fingers numbing with rapid speed, I pull my hands back and blow warm air onto them. The breath I release becomes faint white cloud and I decide to twist the keys and the car purrs pleasantly. If Michael doesn't get here by the time this vehicle is warm enough to glide against the road, I am leaving him into this cold weather to walk back home.

He is always late! My brows knit forcefully together and the frown on my face will no doubt leave marks later.

The sun is setting, and the sky is glowing with gold and red hues. The only good part of this whole pick-up trip is that I always get to use this same spot to wait and see this kind of sky. Despite the weather getting colder at evenings, there is just something calming about watching this kind of scenario. A small park is at my sight – a child is climbing up towards the slide that will take him down and few other children play with swings. Parents watch over them from benches and one is holding a small infant. This neighborhood is so nice, with its peacefulness, children, families and elderly people. It is so close to the countryside after all, so nothing pretty much happens around here.

And I once hated this atmosphere as well. What a fool I had been. Michael should hurry up and realize how lucky both of us are to live here, like I did.

I sigh and close my eyes at the same time. Why can't he learn to take more care of himself? It's like I am his mother now.

As if reading my thoughts, I finally see my little brother making his way out of McDonald's and walking towards the car with a leisure pace. The nonchalant expression on his face doesn't give away his possible uneasiness from the thought of facing my lecture.

"What took you so long?" Is the first thing I say and ask from him, when the door to the backseat opens.

Michael doesn't look at me and closes the door calmly. "I had to clean up a little."

"You say that almost every time," I pull on my seatbelt. "Couldn't you at least text me, when you have to? I was about to leave without you, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah."

I grit my teeth from his noncaring response and glare him over my shoulder. "I will seriously not drive with you in here, if you keep this up. You want a ride? Be nice and stop that attitude! I had to work until now and you were laying on a couch the half of that time."

Michael's eyes are the same color as mine. Brown, the murky kind. And those dark color filled orbs glare at me with contempt. I return it, but otherwise keep my lips presses together in a tight line and pull out of the parking lot with sharp movements. Not only am I tired from work, but also confused, scared and worried of the call from Edmund. He should have explained more to me and not leave everything to be so vague. And it is not helping that the youngest child of the family is currently in one of his 'moods'.

The park I was admiring a minute ago passes by along with the pretty view to the sky I was gazing at few minutes ago and it makes my own mood grow sourer.

"Hey, Nancy," Michael suddenly calls out.

Unconsciously, my hands tighten around the wheel and I grit out: "Yes?"

He pauses a bit, already knowing to be careful with what he is about to say next. "I need to go to a friend's house."

"No," is my immediate answer and the irritation rises up along with the tension in the car. "You will come home, study for the next exam and that is it."

"But this is important," he insists, not sounding happier than what I am.

"And your exam scores aren't?" I bite back and stop from the red headlights further away. This gives me time to look over my shoulder angrily at my equally displeased brother. "Mother told you to-"

"Ugh! Do you always have to bring her up?" He cuts me off and throws his arms up in the air dramatically.

I am not sure why, but I get a feeling that men currently in my life like to interrupt me. And why today of all days? I am not certain but take deep breath and try not to start yelling. "It seems I do."

Like I had a second ago, Michael takes in a deep breath. "I need to finish a history project with Mike."

I raise a doubtful eyebrow. "Last time you went to him to finish a "project", you got a low mark on your chemistry course from a half-finished assignment."

"I am serious about this," he says and leans forward so I can get a glimpse of his cheek from the corner of my eye.

The light turns to green and we are moving again. "Sit down, Michael."

"But- Augh!"

The stress has reached its peak rather quickly and the car makes a sharp turn to the left. It causes Michael to hit the seat next to mine and continue even further to the side and get an impact from the door. Luckily, it doesn't sound loud enough to cause the thing to open up. I feel a slight flicker of guilt from my brother's cry, but it is blinded by other heated emotions.

"Listen! I do not have time or patience to deal with your problems every time!" I growl out and increase the car's speed a little. "I will take you to Mike's. But, you better call me before eight o'clock to pick you up. Understand? Otherwise, do not bother returning home. Now, shut it and let me drive."

The car is filled with heavy silence the rest of the way. Michael doesn't say anything, and neither do I. We are both done with screaming and getting angry at each other, for today. This must be the second time during this week that the two of us have slashed out at each other like this. Not that we haven't done it many times over the years.

The blinding anger from being tired and stressed out will surely fade away later. And when it does, I am certain I will be feeling extremely guilty from what I did and that I need to fix it.

My eyes droop, before I nearly slam my forehead against the table and scattered papers. I have to lean back against the soft chair to stay awake, but I end up yawning and feel even more sleepier. No. Nope. I do not sleep. Have to concentrate.

Taking a large gulp out of my coffee cup, I rub my forehead and start to look through the list I have made. "Alright. Water, done. Electricity, not done."

The screen of the computer has become an annoyance. The light of the room at least is somewhat tolerable and not so sharp. It may have something to do with the fact that it has nice colors of warm orange and yellow on it, and that it was bought at a flea market from an old lady with flower patterned, wide shirt… I must be really tired, to be thinking about that time with a smile. That old lady had almost hit me with this said lamp.

I rub my forehead again. "Concentrate, concentrate. You are almost done."

The month's water bills weren't as bad as I had feared them to be. However, the electricity's use hasn't lessened, despite the fact that I talked to my little brother about his screen time and use of the charger of his phone. Honestly. I lessened my use of computer and Tv, but he can't do even that?

I shake my head, too tired to think of ways to interrogate Michael. He will get it, when I will go and pick him up later. Though, the clock is already half-past seven, and I am still waiting for him to give me a call. Despite what I said in the car, I am not planning on truly leaving him to his friend's house for the night. Mother would flip, if she finds out, and a higher blood pressure is the last thing she needs. She has been through enough when I was in my teenage years and used every last bit of electricity to suck her and father out of their money. If I had known personally during that time how hard it is, I would have become a hippie… for a while.

Bless you father, wherever you are up in Heaven. Sorry for making you pay all of my phone bills. I let out a loud sigh, again. I have been doing it a lot lately, for the past hour and a half. That settles it. When mother is all better, I will have to take her to a spa.

I tap the keys of the computer, while glancing at the paper in my hands every few seconds. I was right, when I thought only a little bit of our savings and my payment will be enough to pay all of these. Still, I will have no money left after this and will have to wait until the next payday. Though, I wonder, if Michael will even bother to commit to a so-called 'waste'. He once directly told me his feelings about it, around the time that I returned back from Germany, actually.

The frown I have been trying to keep at bay comes back and I have to relax my facial muscles for a second. That boy certainly thinks he is the only one suffering here. Like I have not gotten my share of this family drama as well.

"Father, was I like this as well?" I ask quietly and look at the framed picture of my parents. I do not expect an answer, but a part of me wishes dearly for a one.

Looking at the smiling faces becomes too difficult for me and I look back to the computer's screen and the bill in my hand. It is like back in hospital with mother. Looking at a ghost.

When I am finished, I have to look at the clock and then let out another huge sigh. Dealing with the last bill went much quicker than what I anticipated. That is good, but Michael hasn't called me yet. The frustration of it is like what I felt with Edmund… Oh, yeah. I definitely need to call that brother of mine and make sure he is not up to something.

"I swear…" I grumble and reach out to the phone. "Thought he would learn… Idiot… He is gonna get it… No dinner… Already eighteen years…"

However, I freeze, once I see that I have a message from the one I have been thinking about throughout the day. Like back in the salon, my heartbeat skips a little and I open the message as quickly as I can. At first, I look at the time it was sent at. The numbers show me it has been over an hour and I curse under my breath for not noticing earlier.

Edmund said he will contact me later, but I never expected it to be this soon. The way he had spoken made it sound like another month would need to pass or even a year.

Maybe he truly meant it, when he said there is nothing to worry about? The thought brings a small smile on my lips and I relax in my chair. I slide the screen down to read the message in peace.

Although, the peacefulness is short lived and the breath hitches in my throat from reading first few lines.

From: Edmund (the fool-that-owes-me-a-drink)

Get out of the country. Run.

The message is short, simple. Too short, actually. But that is apparently the least of my concerns now. I can't breathe and cold sweat runs down my back like a waterfall. The room's heater is on, but it doesn't stop a freezing chill or ice from spreading all over my body like a snake. It seems to get into my mind as well, because I can't think straight for a period of time that feels like minutes. Emotions of shock, emptiness, confusion, anger, slight hint betrayal and fear must appear on my face at the same time, until it becomes a stiff mask.

Then, I snap back to reality and close the phone quick as lightning. Few papers scatter down from the table, when I stand up so abruptly to create a small breeze. My feet work for my mind and I run out to the hallway. I am vulnerable inside this small study.

Edmund – the same man and friend who was praised back in kindergarten for being such a thoughtful lad. I could see it back then, as well. He wasn't careless, rushing or hotheaded. Unlike me. That is why I used to cling onto him like to a big brother, despite being months older than him. Through the school years he was one of the brightest in the class, a fact which made me jealous of him. But it also made me trust him whenever I needed to. I have almost never doubted his abilities to carry out his word, if he decides on something.

But currently, my faith in that dear and smart childhood friend is fading.

Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why!? WHY!? The walls look like they are about to close in on me, but I make to the door leading into my room. My first priority is to get out of the house.

I throw open the closest and am greeted with rows and rows of my clothes. I grab few useful ones for different weather and then move to smaller equipment. Like a toothbrush, which I almost forget in a hurry. By the time I am mostly done, my whole room looks like a hurricane has been there.

"Alright. Calm, calm," I keep on muttering under my breath, but then stop, when the phone rings. I look at the name of the one calling and realize the most important part I nearly forgot.

I answer the call in a hurry.

"Hey, sis. I am ready to go home," Michael says from the other end and I exhale in relief from hearing his voice. Though, I can also hear his friend, Mike, babbling something in the background.

"Michael," I start carefully. My limbs are trembling, and I want this conversation to be over as soon as possible. "I am sorry, but could you stay at Mike's place for a while? Like… over the night."

"What?" It's clear that he is flabbergasted by my request. I know it sounds suspicious, coming from someone who has forbidden him from staying out of the house many times. "Nancy, are you feeling alright?"

It takes all my willpower not to sound panicking. "Yes. I just need to go away for a while."

"What? Why? When did you…" he trails off, not sounding sure what to say next.

I run my hand through my hair and then stiffen. I glance towards the door of my room and see it is half-open. The phone still in my hands, I close it and put a lock on, then I go to the window and close it from the night world outside. My heartbeat and adrenaline are rising, and I know that the sooner I leave this house, the better. But, Michael is still my main concern along with mother.

"Look, I know it is sudden. But it is important, and I thought you might want to have a free night with your friend. Just, no drinking or smoking."

"…You sure – Wait a second, Nancy! I don't – What is really going on?"

My fingers nearly pull out the hair from its roots in frustration. "Like I said, I have to go out of town for a while."

"How long is a while? And have you talked to mother about this?"

I almost want to say I am impressed how adult-like he is finally sounding, but do not have enough humor left in this situation. Actually, my eyes are starting to sting, and I know that I will start crying, if Michael doesn't get through his thick skull that my decision is final.

Also, the mention of mother makes the emotions inside of me bubble. I can't bear the thought of what kind of worry she will experience after hearing my late announcement from her son.

"No. I will send her a message later. Also, i-in case I do not return back before new bills arrive," I definitely won't, "then use your own money and our savings. But do not buy unnecessary things, okay? You hear me? Mother's treatment was fully paid weeks ago, so you don't have to worry about that. R-remember to eat well and read for the exams. If you d-do not want to stay in the house, y-you can go to aunt's place or even stay at Mike's, as long as it is okay with his parents. D-do not forget to dress up warmly as well. The weather is still cold and all…"

It is no use. First tear is already tracing its way across my left cheek and below my chin. My voice nearly cracks, and I pull the phone slightly away from my face. I am afraid that Michael will hear the sound of my gritting teeth. Despite not wanting to, I am blaming Edmund for all of this. If he could have kept his word, I wouldn't need to leave my family behind to face whoever comes after me. I close my eyes tightly and image his face before my eyes, torn by guilt and regret. That is how I want him to be, when I will see him again. You promised, you promised that I wouldn't need to do this!

It is not that I only need to get out of town, but maybe even out of the whole country. Edmund had said so in the message, so I fear it really is too serious for me to stay. But who says that my family won't be accused by authorities for hiding me? Who am I kidding? Me and Edmund might have even pissed off a mafia group!

"Sis, I am worried. What is really going on? Please, tell me," Michael begs surprising me how honest he sounds.

I smile weakly, feeling some warmth inside my chest. "I-I… I really can't. Just take care of mother, alright? And don't you dare to come back home for a while."

"Nancy, please, explain," he sounds somewhat panicking now, which makes me experience similar emotions.

"I w-will be fine," I say firmly, clenching my fist. I wish so much to come up with a sensible excuse, but nothing comes up into my panicked mind. "Do not try to contact me. I don't think I will be able to answer. And for once, do as I say… please."

"How can I?" He asks with a huff, but worry is clear on his tone.

Despite the spat we had earlier today in the car, I do not want him to regret it later. So, I force my voice to sound soft, careless and genuine. "Michael, I am sorry for yelling at you in the car. I was so tired."

It is silent for a while, and I wonder if he is shocked from my apology or getting even more worried. But, if I don't apologize now, I might not be able to do it later.

"It… it was my fault, too."

"Then," I inhale and let another tear slide down my face. "Remember not to come home, at least for a week or two. And… goodbye, for now. I love you."

The sharp inhale of breath on the other side is enough for me to close the phone and listen to the silence around the room. The shaking has gotten worse and I struggle to not crumble down on the ground. Though, the warm and soft mat under my feet is calling to curl up into a ball on top of it.

This is bad… I take shaky steps towards my small luggage and struggle to gather it up into my arms. I do not want to leave…

That is all there is to it. I have to leave this place and my family. But, I am not sure for how long.

I hate this. I totally despise my situation but can also blame myself for it. Edmund will surely get it, when I get my hands on him!

But, I am the one who agreed to help him the first place, so-

The phone starts ringing and I nearly jump out of the bed with covers tangled all around me. The color feels like it fades from my face and I stop breathing for a second, but then quickly drop the diary and pen and grab the phone. Without thinking, I answer it.

"N-nancy Heart speaking," I say, but the stiffen and look at the name of the one calling. My eyes widen at once, after seeing who it is, and I dare to raise my voice, that still quivered a second ago. "Ed! Where are you!? Do you have any idea – No, scratch that! Where are you right now? What was up with the message you sent me!? I swear if you don't explain right now, I am gonna hunt you down and shave all your hair off!"

"…"

"Ed? Hellooooo?" I shake the phone like it could actually help. I am angry, tired and frustrated and this actually helps me with them. "I swear, if you are keeping quiet on purpose, I will really shave your hair off!"

"…"

Now, I start to frown and look at the screen. It is still working, and the call is still going on. So, is there something wrong with the connection? Not that this hasn't happened before, but what a bad timing. I bite down on my lip and look around the room helplessly. How am I supposed to speak to Ed, if I can't even hear him?

"Ed, if you hear me, I will have to go to…"

"…"

The silence continues in the room and on Edmund's side of the line. I blink, frown and then stiffen. I don't dare to breathe, as I lower the phone once more and stare at it almost in frightened daze. The person I am speaking to… is Edmund.

Right?

Shaking once again, I close the phone and quickly throw it along with the diary into the bag. My mind empty, I follow my instincts and run out of the room with heartbeat rising to the ceiling. I know it may be crazy, too much out of a movie, but that call sent such cold chills down my spine, that I thought I would turn into ice. And I think that the one who called wasn't really Ed, but someone else who simply had his phone. And it has only been around two hours since he sent the message – it is suspicious. A terrifying thought enters my mind and I start imagining my best friend being held as a prisoner. If they had called to my phone, doesn't that mean that I am also a target? My stomach drops, when I realize that I nearly blurred out where I will be going.

I get to the front door and drop the luggage carelessly to the ground. Fumbling over the line of clothes, I grab mine and a scarf wraps around my neck clumsily, swatting me on the face and making me nearly trip over my shoes. And when I have to put them on, my fingers are trembling so badly, that I can't tie them properly.

The house's silence is becoming eerier and I look carefully over my shoulder. The framed pictures of different scenarios from trips over the country are displayed on the walls, and my eyes start to sting again as I look at them. Reaching out to the door's knob is harder than I thought, but when it does open, and cold night air hits my wet face, I have to close the lights, lock the door and run to the car in garage.

Maybe I should text to mother? Is what I think about, as I sit into the car and take out the keys. The engine goes on and the lights turn on as well. However, I do not take my phone from a pocket, but drive out of the house's yard and towards the road ahead.

Few cars pass by, all of them heading either to the left or right. The route I am supposed to take, is the left one. And as I turn my car, I glance towards the house I grew up in once and then hit the gas.