Chapter Six:

I really hate being lied to. I especially hate being lied to by my parents. Of all the people in the world, they should be the ones I can trust the most. I'm sure they think this it is for my own good, or whatever, but this isn't really the time or place to try and protect me.

I slammed the front door shut, heaving my keys across the room with a frustrated growl. My tennis shoes were next, the left one knocking a crystal vase off a low table. It shattered as it hit the floor, but I was beyond caring at that point. My socked feet slid along the floor as I sank down, my back hitting the front door with a thump.

That is the thing about my temper. It would flash boil at one moment, but than cool just as fast. But in that three seconds before I got under control, it was best to lock up anything valuable. After my short lived fit, all that was left was a pile of broken glass, missing car keys, and my ragged breathing filling the total silence of the penthouse. This was the first time that I could remember my house being completely silent. Usually, there was the radio that Mom forgot to turn off, or at the very least one of Leo's pets squeaking. It was almost as if the rats understood that something was wrong.

I still couldn't believe the gall of my parents. I think sometimes they forget that in about three months I was going to be going off to college. They forget that I am almost eighteen years old. Sometimes they forget that I have a working brain cell. Leo is still well enough to be in an outpatient treatment program, so he's usually home by the time I get home from school. Today, on the way home from school, I got a call from Mom saying that they wouldn't be home till late tonight. She made up some lame story, but I saw right through it. They found some black market doctor, and they were taking Leo to him. When I asked Mom for the address so I could meet them there, I was ordered in very clear terms to go home and wait for them there. I wanted to be there for Leo, but my parents took away even the option from me. I had these terrible images of Leo in some dark and dingy room, all alone, while some sick, twisted freak poked at him. There had to be some reason this guy was black market.

Rationally, I knew that Mom and Dad wouldn't leave Leo's side, especially not now. I also knew that Dad probably spent hours checking out this doctor, making sure that he was okay. They probably didn't want me being involved in something that was probably very illegal.

I wasn't on the mood to be rational though. My plan, now that I couldn't be a part of the family, was to put on the most comfortable clothes I could find, dig out my hidden stash of double fudge brownie ice cream, and then sulk. Hopefully I'd be over it by the time Leo got back, because he didn't need to come home to the remnants of my temper tantrum.

The broken vase lay glittering on the floor. It was probably symbolic, but I didn't think I wanted to know why.

My anger was spent, but my steps were still jerky and my breaths still shallow. I left the destruction behind me and stepped in my room with the quiet click of my door. Despite it being so late in the spring, it was unseasonably cold. Even in my flannel pants and long sleeved tee shirt, I was still shivering slightly as I walked back into the kitchen.

I unearthed a frozen pizza while I was searching for my ice cream, and after throwing that in the oven, I grabbed the dustpan and broom and then headed back to the living room.

I was kneeling on the floor when I heard it. My body instinctively tensed, barely feeling the prick of pain in my hand from where I laid my hand down on the floor on top of one of the shards of glass. I heard the window in Dad's office close, which meant only one thing.

I wasn't alone anymore.

Son of a bitch! I'm getting robbed. My temper sparked again and my eyes narrowed. Tonight was not the night to screw with Maddy Cale. It really wasn't.

I laid the dustpan on the ground as soundlessly as possible. It obviously wasn't soundlessly enough because I heard the heavy footsteps of the intruder change directions. Now instead of walking away from me, he was walking right towards me. Good.

I sprinted into the kitchen, my socked feet making barely a sound. My mind was completely cold, completely blank, as I grabbed a long, thin bladed knife from the butcher's block. The only sound I could hear was footsteps and the pound of blood echoing in my ears. I tiptoed next to the door, pressing myself tightly against the wall, the knife gripped tightly in my right hand. My hands were shaking, but not in fear, but steely anticipation. Come and get me, I mentally taunted, just try and get me.

As soon as I saw the jean clad leg in the doorway, I shot forward, the knife raised offensively. I heard the quick intake of breath from the intruder, and that was when I realized that there was a long slice down the man's arm. I never even felt the blade go in. I never looked at his face as I raised the knife again. I didn't want to see his face; my only thought was of protecting my house and myself.

It happened in a flash, not more than half a second after I had jumped out from the kitchen. I didn't see the hand grab my raised wrist, but I felt the blinding pain scream up my arm and through my shoulder, exploding in to little spots of white-hot pain behind my eyes. I didn't know my feet had left the ground until I hit the wall, smacking my head on the door jam.

I saw the face of the intruder a moment before my vision went gray. The last thing I heard was Uncle Zack shout my name before I blacked out.