I woke up, shivering from the cold. I got up to turn down the air
conditioning in the hallway. As I entered the hallway, I heard voice from
the kitchen.
I tiptoed down the hallway in that direction, stepping cautiously so as not to draw attention to my presence. I leaned against the wall at the doorway of the kitchen, listening intently to the voices of Catherine and Gil.
"What did they say?" Catherine was asking when I reached the doorway.
"There's evidence that the brakes were tampered with," Gil said, his voice tight with stress.
"Tampered with? You mean, it was deliberate? They were murdered?" My hand shot up to cover my mouth, just barely suppressing a cry. Deliberate? Who would want to murder my parents? I wanted so badly to turn around and run back to my room; to crawl under the covers and leave the world behind.
I forced myself to tune back in to the conversation. "What makes you think it was him?" Gil asked.
I heard Catherine sigh. "I don't know. It just makes sense."
"Cath, he's been out of jail for four years now. He hasn't done a single thing to Sara in any of that time. There's no reason to believe it was him." Who? I wanted to scream at them. Who were they talking about? And why would he do anything to my mom?
"I guess you're right, Gil." Catherine said, exasperation and exhaustion in her voice.
The conversation ended there. Blinking back tears, I hurried back to my room. I curled up under the covers. Sleep seemed miles away. I kept replaying the conversation in my mind. Who could they have been talking about? The questions were still piling up in my mind when sleep finally came.
The next morning when I woke up, the house was unearthly silent. There was no talking, no TV or radio playing. Not even the low hum of the coffee machine was present.
As I entered the kitchen, a note on the table caught my eye. My eyes scanned the note quickly, taking in the message. Gil and Catherine left to take Lindsey back to the airport. They'd be back in about two hours.
I sighed and collapsed on the sofa in the living room, flicking on the TV as I did so. Flipping through the channels, I finally settled on my mother's favorite soap opera. Or what had been her favorite.
Halfway through the show, I heard a floorboard creak in the back of the house. My head shot up from its position on the arm of the sofa. I must have imagined it. I'm way too paranoid.
I heard another creak. There it goes again. Footsteps. Down the hall. And they sound like they're coming closer.
My heart was pounding a mile a minute. I felt lightheaded. Fear was creeping up my spine and making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I bit my lip. I couldn't stand the suspense any longer. I stood up and made my way over to the doorway, determined to prove that the footsteps were just in my imagination.
I tiptoed down the hallway towards the kitchen, where the footsteps seemed to be coming from. Just then, a sound behind me caught my attention. But, before I could turn around, a cloth covered hand covered my nose and mouth. The sharp scent of chloroform filled my nose. I tried to pull away, but my strength was dwindling. Using my nails, I clawed at the hand that was holding the cloth. I fought to stay conscious.
My knees grew weak, and I felt myself falling to the floor. Then, I lost consciousness.
I tiptoed down the hallway in that direction, stepping cautiously so as not to draw attention to my presence. I leaned against the wall at the doorway of the kitchen, listening intently to the voices of Catherine and Gil.
"What did they say?" Catherine was asking when I reached the doorway.
"There's evidence that the brakes were tampered with," Gil said, his voice tight with stress.
"Tampered with? You mean, it was deliberate? They were murdered?" My hand shot up to cover my mouth, just barely suppressing a cry. Deliberate? Who would want to murder my parents? I wanted so badly to turn around and run back to my room; to crawl under the covers and leave the world behind.
I forced myself to tune back in to the conversation. "What makes you think it was him?" Gil asked.
I heard Catherine sigh. "I don't know. It just makes sense."
"Cath, he's been out of jail for four years now. He hasn't done a single thing to Sara in any of that time. There's no reason to believe it was him." Who? I wanted to scream at them. Who were they talking about? And why would he do anything to my mom?
"I guess you're right, Gil." Catherine said, exasperation and exhaustion in her voice.
The conversation ended there. Blinking back tears, I hurried back to my room. I curled up under the covers. Sleep seemed miles away. I kept replaying the conversation in my mind. Who could they have been talking about? The questions were still piling up in my mind when sleep finally came.
The next morning when I woke up, the house was unearthly silent. There was no talking, no TV or radio playing. Not even the low hum of the coffee machine was present.
As I entered the kitchen, a note on the table caught my eye. My eyes scanned the note quickly, taking in the message. Gil and Catherine left to take Lindsey back to the airport. They'd be back in about two hours.
I sighed and collapsed on the sofa in the living room, flicking on the TV as I did so. Flipping through the channels, I finally settled on my mother's favorite soap opera. Or what had been her favorite.
Halfway through the show, I heard a floorboard creak in the back of the house. My head shot up from its position on the arm of the sofa. I must have imagined it. I'm way too paranoid.
I heard another creak. There it goes again. Footsteps. Down the hall. And they sound like they're coming closer.
My heart was pounding a mile a minute. I felt lightheaded. Fear was creeping up my spine and making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I bit my lip. I couldn't stand the suspense any longer. I stood up and made my way over to the doorway, determined to prove that the footsteps were just in my imagination.
I tiptoed down the hallway towards the kitchen, where the footsteps seemed to be coming from. Just then, a sound behind me caught my attention. But, before I could turn around, a cloth covered hand covered my nose and mouth. The sharp scent of chloroform filled my nose. I tried to pull away, but my strength was dwindling. Using my nails, I clawed at the hand that was holding the cloth. I fought to stay conscious.
My knees grew weak, and I felt myself falling to the floor. Then, I lost consciousness.