She looked around at the room. Nothing moved and nothing made a sound. Looking down at the source of irritation, she suddenly realized what was wrong. A knife had been plunged into her gangly arm. With tears springing from her eyes, she used her free arm to yank the knife out and drop it to the floor. Grasping her right arm, she sat up in pain. A thin stream of liquid dripped down her forehead and she reached up to feel the blood seeping out of her cut. More tears cascaded down her cheeks.

"Mom!" she screeched, "Dad!"

No response came back to her.

"Mom! Dad!" she yelled in desperation. Where are they? I need help! "Mom!"

Still no response. Curiosity and pain get the best of her and she got out of bed, stepped over the bloody knife on the floor, and walked into the hallway. Her slow footsteps made no noise as she reached the master bedroom entrance. She called their names again at the no sound in return; she walked in and turned on the overhead light. A quick glance of horror rendered her speechless. Looking away and shutting her eyes tight, the girl struggled to contain her sobs. The image of her parents won't leave her mind. Their peaceful bodies. The blood everywhere.

Turning away with strained difficulty, the girl reached for the phone in the hallway. She dialed 911, trying to rid her mind of the images of grief. No sound is heard. She tried again and still nothing happened. A series of tears rolled down her face as she realized this night could not get any worse.

Her cell phone was the next thing that came to mind. Walking over to her room, she pondered over what her future would hold. Her parents were dead; she had nothing to do, nowhere to go. More tears skimmed her cheeks. What would happen to her? I have to contact Him…Maybe I can stay with Him..If He wanted me too…He said…The last time we met He said He would bring me something big to work on…No, stop. Stop thinking about Him. You have to be strong, think about your parents. How can you help them?

As she stepped into her room she glanced down at the floor by her bed. There, hidden in the darkness, something silver and black shimmered a beautiful sparkle. In amazement, she went over to inspect the object; it was the knife. No, not just any knife; the knife that slither forehead, the knife that stabbed her arm, the knife that killed her parents.

She picked it up and held it weakly in her right hand. Still staring at the foreign object, she involuntarily walked over to her desk where her cell phone sat. Immediately after dialing 911 a calm voice came through the top of the phone. The girl answered every question the voice had and explained her situation routinely without thought. While on the phone, the girl walked through the hall and glanced into the master bedroom with longing before going down the stairs. She walked through the dining room, into the kitchen, and looked out into her scenic backyard. Everything was a pale dark outside; nothing moved, nothing was disturbed; it seemed so peaceful to her.

The voice on the phone regained her attention as it replied, "Stay where you are. Police officers are on their way to help you. Don't hang up the phone."

The girl listened, instead of hanging up, she set the phone down on the counter. Still grasping the knife, she walked away into the mud room.

Suddenly a noise came from behind her, "Meow!" Her cat, Simon, sat behind her, licking his paws. She smiled a simple smile, sniffed back some tears, and wiped her nose as she reached down to pet the cat with her free hand. The girl turned to the left and looked to the backdoor- it was still locked, as it was before she fell asleep. The man must have come through the front door. She unlocked it and peered out through the window once more to see the serenity of the yard for perhaps the last time. The sun cast its' rising rays across the yard, shining spectacularly between the leaves of the trees and highlighting the dew covered grass.

She decided to walk out to the wooden swing that sat in the middle of the fenced in property. She needed time alone, to think, to mourn, to be strong. What could she do next? Her parents were dead. Where could she stay? What could she do?

Walking through the cool, damp grass in her bare feet made the girl feel refreshed. She sat down on the far right side of the swing with the knife and her right arm concealed behind the rest of her body. Her head was ducked down towards the right to keep her secret marks hidden from any intrusive, curious person. In the time to come she would occasionally bring her left arm up to wipe the blood away from her eyes.

She felt so hollow inside. All she wanted was to be left alone to think. Think, Riley. He said you were strong; He said your mind is strong. Use your mind. Do what you're good at and help. Help find who did this. And learn. He always encourages you to learn and this seems like a great time to do so. You can get through this, do what you do best. Follow His rules and make Him proud and you'll get through this.

It took the police about ten minutes, after the girl laid the phone down, to get to the sorrow-ridden home. This gave her plenty of time to gather herself, be strong, and think. The questions became clearer and more meaningful in her head. Who was that man? Why did he leave her alive? What was going through his mind at the time? Where am I going to get all of these answers...I know just where- my mind.