Windows of Time
Ryan's P.O.V.
I heaved my sneakers through the choking mud as I vaulted over a collapsed chicken wire fence. My breathing quickened and formed a cloud of warmth before my frozen, wind-torn face. My cheeks and eyes burned from the hammering deluge that endlessly streamed from the tormented skies above. Why was it so gelid and damp? It was never this icy in late August, and although it was the peak of hurricane season, the weatherman hadn't even hinted towards the torrents that made my clothes grow ten pounds heavier as I ran.
Which brings me to a rather inquisitional point: Why was I sprinting as if my life depended on it all over the unrecognizable regions of God's green Earth in the first place? I did not stop to ponder it for I got that deep, gut-wrenching feeling that if I did- if I DID stop to quench the dire need for oxygen that torn apart every part of my body- I would be too late. Too late for something I needed more than oxygen, more than energy, at the moment. The something that I needed to know. Now.
I pressed on in a desensitized auto-pilot as it seemed. No thought or consciousness. Just lights and clock work. Only when I rounded a bed in the exceedingly soggy dirt road that rambled past a random cornfield did I wake up. Wake up to the horrors that I could never forget.
Standing at the end of the path was a rather fetching little girl, not much younger than myself. Immediately I recognized her sandy hair and kitten nose.
"Adele!" I bleated. My legs felt purchased to the melting Earth beneath my feet. I was paralyzed, only to be a petty bystander in my sister's execution.
My heart skipped a beat as twelve men in all black encircled her. I could not bear to watch, but was incapable of looking away or even shutting my eyes as they nonchalantly brought the knife up to her throat. A screech of terror managed to escape my lungs just before they finished her off.
I sprang up and forced my eyes to take in the light. My chest moved up and down rapidly with my anxiety-ridden breathing. Light flowed in like a stream of harmonious magic. Peace of mind consumed my psyche in a matter of minutes. It was all a dream... Nothing more... But if so, why was there that deep haunting feeling that it was so real? A little to much caffeine last night, I figured as I groggily traipsed into the kitchen.
The intoxicating aromas of coffee and fat back bacon danced in my head as I pulled out the chair next to my father. The deep voice of the news anchor raved in my head while mom clanked pots and pans. The hum of the refrigerator echoed in the back of my head. The warmth of the morning sun was beginning to raise my spirits. But there was still that looming, unshakeable feeling that something just felt so... wrong.
"Ryan," My mom called from behind the pancake griddle. "Be a dear and go wake your sister."
I tossed her a yes with my head and dragged on up the oak tone stairs.
"Adele!" I pounded on her door as hard as I could in half asleep mode.
"Yo, Adele! Get your butt down stairs! It's almost noon!" I waited. No answer. I wiped the sweat drops off my brow and swallowed a lump in my throat. It can't be I thought vigorously to myself no way. It was a dream. just a dream.
"Adele, cut it out! This isn't funny!" Anxiety colored my tone as I pounded harder against the Hannah Montana decor coating her primer-white door.
"Adele-" I busted the lock open on her door. The sight of her empty bed and open window caught my gaze the second I took in her room. Clothes strewn across the floor and blood on the shades waving in the open window. The morning haze in the humid August room no longer seemed so bright as the truth began to creep up on me. Adele really was gone.
Bang! Bang! I jumped with a start at the sound of harsh rasping at the front door at the foot of the stair. It took every ounce of focus in my mind to bring my self into the hall and finally to the railing at the top of the stairs.
I watched, in a hushed stun, still unable to grasp reality. But it just started to slip further and further away. Mom opened the door, dad close behind her. We weren't expecting any visitors, and although the sun looked inviting, the day after a storm is no the typical day you chose to go for a mile walk to visit your nearest neighbors. The world was silent as my parents eyes telescoped out to take in the two men in all black suits standing on our porch step. Mom motioned then inside and they paced with perfect posture and almost amusement (although I could not see their eyes behind sunglasses), and I caught a glimpse of a transistor radio in their ears as they turned the corner into the kitchen.
My worries about my sister were, although somewhat heartlessly, flushed away in the moment by my excessive curiosity. I crouched down to the ground and listened hard to what they had to say. I thought I could hear my mom's heart beating through her chest as they set a stack of papers on the kitchen table.
The first man, who was sitting in a mahogany chair at the head of the table, his partner standing in statue-like motionless perfection behind him, cleared his throat to speak. I sub conscientiously swallowed my breath.
"Mr. and Mrs. Brookes we are sorry to confide that your 13 year old daughter, Adele Brookes, was found dead off Fullerton Rd. at precisely 3:46 A.M. this morning. We are terribly sorry for your loss. The cause of death is unknown, but it is presumed form the crime scene it was a murder. We will notify the family if a suspect is found and will be convicted as soon as proven guilty. Here are pictures of the victim. We will notify you with the details on the case as soon as we have them. I'm sorry but we can not aid you in any other way for the time being. Good - Bye Mr. and Mrs. Brookes. We are sorry for your loss".
If I could have seen where his eyes were looking I would have sworn he was reading from a sheet of paper. There is no other humanly possible way to achieve that sort of monotonous tone when discussing the death of a murdered 13 year old girl. But that is beside the point.
It took me until they had walked out the front door for the words to sink in. Adele was dead. It wasn't a dream. But she COULDN'T have died at 3:46. I'd seen her. Right then. And they looked just like the men I'd seen kill her...
I paced over to the table, unawake from this stunned trance.
"Ryan..." My mother began, choking back sobs.
"I know, mom. I know..." I said silently as I looked at the pictures, taking one up in my hand. It was cold like it had been in a freezer, or maybe it was just me making it feel that way.
Adele had a steel pole driven through her skull, pinning her to the tree. Draping from the pole were tethers of firecrackers. Blood stained the bark and the dirt under her feet. How could anyone have done this, no matter how hard they tried? The picture seemed almost... unreal in a way I couldn't seem to put my finger on. It was probably my determination to flee the truth.
I burst into tears and my mother and father took the invitation to join me. Why us?
