"Can you describe to me the attacker? Any significant features?" I sat in the back of the ambulance silently, wrapped in blankets and not answering the questions the deputy was asking me. My cheeks were damp and my eyes were red from tears. Everything blurred around me as I recollected the man, the man who had mercilessly killed nearly half of my living relatives within a span of five minutes. "Brianna? It's okay if you don't want to talk, I kind of understand what you're going through."

I hesitated, not so willing to let my feelings pour out to just anyone quite yet. "You - you do?" It was better to have someone that had apparently been through the same thing, rather than someone who pretends to understand your feelings and ends up making themselves look like an idiot. I gave in and was prepared to retell the story out loud, as oppose to the countless times I had done so in my head. "I kinda remember this guy had these… this really w-weird face and-d…" I couldn't continue, my eyes were tearing up again and my voice was getting shaky. The deputy gave me a soft smile and didn't carry on with the questions.

The sheriff walked over to where I sat and gave me a pat on the back. "We've contacted your mother and she should be here within a couple of hours. Until then, you can stay at the station." He gave a smile, not one out of pity, but one that made it seem like he genuinely cared.

"Thank you, Sheriff." I was too emotionally and physically exhausted to say much more, but I'm sure he understood. He led me to his cruiser and opened the passenger door for me. He took the blankets from me - at my appeal - and gave them back to the paramedics. After a brief chat with a few officials, he came back and climbed into the driver's seat.

As we headed for the police station, I began to go over the events in my head for what must of been the hundredth time. However I kept thinking back to what the malformed man said, 'Say "hi" to your mother for me'. How did he know my mother?

We arrived at the station minutes later, but I didn't want to go inside. I've had my fair share of being inside police stations. My father was an alcoholic, was led to depression and eventually became suicidal. Last time I heard, he was admitted to Eichen House. The way my mom talked about my dad, it's like she's given up on him. I hardly knew him sober, I was five when he took up drinking and eight when I last saw him. All I knew was Mom saw him maybe once a year.

Following some consideration, I decided to go inside. The sheriff invited me to use the kitchen - fridge included - but after recent events, I found that I had lost my appetite.

After lounging in a chair for a small while, I heard a familiar voice asking for me. I turned around and walked hurriedly over to Mom. She held out her arms and I let her embrace me, even though it could have been compared to that of a boa constrictor. I breathed in her scent, feeling secure with the smell of her favourite perfume. I felt a tear trickle down my face, my eyes feeling like they had run out of anymore to shed.

Mom led me to the car, the black SUV barely visible against the early morning backdrop. As we climbed into our respective seats, I looked over to her, expecting to see a saddened expression, but however I was met with one that was stoic. As we pulled out of the car park, my mom was first to break the building tension. "Do you wanna tell me what happened?" It wasn't spoken softly, like you would to a child, but rather like she already knew the answer and she was waiting to see if I was correct.

I stared at the road ahead of me, illuminated by the street lights. I knew I could tell my mother of all people, knew that she would listen and understand no matter what was said. "Well there was this guy, he didn't look too much older than thirty, although that could've been because of his facial hair." I reminded myself of the frightening features that this, thing, possessed. "He had heaps of muscle on his face, it made his nose look massive and his forehead too." I looked to my left to see what kind of reaction my mom had, but all she did was nod. I continued, "He also had weird ears, they were pointed at the tip. And his fingernails..." I began to pick at my nail polish once again, imagining the animal-like claws slash through my grandmother's throat. "His fingernails were l-like claws really. His eyes though, they couldn't have been human. I mean, human eyes don't... glow." I started to breathe heavily, worried of what my mom might say.

All she said was, "What colour were his eyes?"

I looked at her sceptically, she shouldn't be so calm about something that makes me sound crazy. "Uh, they were, they were red. Bright red," I confirmed.

"Okay," was the only response I got from her.

We slipped into silence, not necessarily awkward, but not comfortable either. We stayed like that for the whole way home, only speaking to give each other small words of encouragement, such as 'you're strong, you can make it through this,' or to comment on how the other person is holding themself together so well.

Once we finally reached the comfort of our own home, we stood in the living room and held each tight for a few moments, finally pulling away when I yawned. I hadn't realised how exhausted I was. I trodded upstairs to my bedroom, slipped on a black tank top and shorts covered with love hearts. I slid into bed and pulled the covers up to my neck, letting a few tears slide down my cheek before slipping into slumber.

I didn't wake up until 3pm the next day. I walked downstairs to grab a bite, although I still didn't feel like eating. I looked around the kitchen, it felt empty without my brother to occupy it. He was always in the kitchen, cooking was one of his talents. I took a seat at the breakfast bar, placed my arms on the counter and rested my head, using my arms as cushions. I sat there wondering what I did to deserve such a thing to happen; why someone would break into an elderly person's home to kill two people. Then a thought came to me. Why did Brad have daggers? He died trying to save me, and I couldn't help but think it was partly my fault to begin with. If I had of realised my grandmother was downstairs, I could've protected her.

I sat like that for a little while, until I heard the voice of my mother increasing. I figured she was down the hall on the phone to someone, and since the house was dead silent, I couldn't help but overhear. "I don't know, Mark, I just don't think she deserves this... Yes, I remember... Okay, well I would still be careful, Beacon Hills is full of surprises... Okay, bye." She hung up the phone, which had me wondering to myself if 'Mark' was my dad, or if it was just a coincidence. She worked at a clothes shop, so it was possible that he was just a co-worker.

I sat up from my position in the kitchen and walked over to the living room, where my mom was now residing. "Hey, Mom. How are you holding up?" She gave a small jump at the sound of my voice, obviously she hadn't realised I had entered the room. I sat down on the sofa opposite her, careful to avoid sitting on the left side as that was Brad's favourite seat.

She slowly nodded her head, she looked slightly grief-stricken but not so much that it was obvious. "I'm fine, I suppose. Still shaken that my son is... gone. But I should be asking you that question, after all, you were there." I was slightly puzzled that she didn't really display much emotion. When someone's son dies the previous night, you would expect them to be a crying mess. But not this mother.

"Well I think I'm dehydrated from crying, but other than that I feel... hollow. Last night - or this morning, seeing as I didn't wake up until three o'clock - I kept seeing the guy who k-k-killed Brad and Gran." Despite the lack of tears I had to release, a single one still managed to crawl down my cheek. "His eyes, they kept appearing. They engulfed me, like the only thing I could see was red."

My mother nodded again, looking like she was hesitating to say something.

"What's wrong? I mean, I know there's the obvious but you look like you want to say something." I leaned over to rub her knee caringly, but she moved her leg back and looked me straight in the eyes. Hurt flashed across my face, but that was quickly replaced with her next statement.

"I'm admitting you to Eichen House." She said it straight-faced, giving no explanation as to why.

"What?! Eichen House? That place is a death trap! Do you know what they call it? Why they call it that? Echo House, Mom! The echoes, they - they drive people to insanity!" I was taking panicked breaths, not believing what my mom was actually saying. "Why would you send me there? It's not like I'm psychotic or delusional!"

Finally the hard expression on her face changed to one of guilt. "I-I'm sorry, dear. It's not my decision." She reached out her hand, hoping I would understand, but I swatted it away, the hurt evident on her face. She continued, "I'm admitting you for seven days, for severe PTSD."

"Severe post traum- and what if I don't want to go?" I was seriously wondering what kind of sick joke this was, but seeing as Mom wasn't backing down, I had no choice but to believe her.

"You don't have to worry about that, I have ways to persuade you." Was this woman in front of me the same woman I've always loved? The same woman who promised to always protect me? What kind of a mother would send her daughter to a mental health institution and lie about her being sick?

"I'll get evaluated. They'll realise the only thing wrong is that I'm mourning over my family members." I had to get out of the room, it was suffocating having to sit there and listen to my mother.

"I have that taken care of." I sat up from my seat on the sofa and began to walk away. "I'm taking you in Friday," was the last thing mentioned before I had completely left the room.

I walked out of the front door and down the stairs, looking back to see if Mom had followed me. I glanced over the two-story house quickly with a glint of hope, just to see if I had imagined the past two days in my head and Brad was actually in his bedroom playing video games. But his curtains were drawn and reality hit me again; he was gone.

I walked down the street until it came to an end. A dirt pathway led off to my left, pathing the way into the preserve. I followed it, as I had done many times before. I checked the back pocket of my jeans for my phone, silently cursing myself for leaving it in my room. Figuring I needed to blow off some steam, I walked through the trees until I reached a small clearing. I walked up to a small tree and untied a rope from a branch that had my lacrosse stick attached to it. Fixed to the trunk of the tree was a small bag filled with lacrosse balls.

So, as you may or may not have guessed, lacrosse is my favourite sport. It started when I first met Liam two years ago. He loved lacrosse while I mildly enjoyed it. He showed me how to play and a showed me a few tricks along the way too. At Devenford Prep I was on the girls lacrosse team. Sure, I could've been on the main team with the guys but that wasn't really to my liking. Besides, Mom didn't want me getting hurt too bad.

And that brought me back to the reason I was out here in the first place. I scooped up a rubber ball and aimed it to land inside an oil tin tied to the tree. As I transferred the power to the ball, I was thinking about what my mom said again. As if anger was the key, the ball went straight into the tin, then again, and again. After about an hour of constantly shooting, my arms were aching and the sky was getting dark. I decided to head back home, first putting the lacrosse gear away. I walked at a slow pace, not rushing to be with the woman willing to send me off.

I slipped inside the door, careful to not make a sound, and spent the rest of the evening in my room.

A/N: Woo! Chapter two! So not much Liam in this chapter again, in fact hardly any. But next chapter if I plan it right, he should make an appearance.
Read and review, it makes my day and encourages me to write faster :)

~Tegan