Chapter 2.
Growing up I was always a very intuitive child. I always wanted to know what was happening and be involved in everything. When I was young I was always very outgoing, my spontaneity was one of my best characteristics. I was fun; always the life of the party. But that all changed. After what happened to Katie. It ruined my childhood, crashed my hopes and dreams. I couldn't understand. The people that were supposed to protect us; how could they not do anything? I didn't understand how my parents couldn't bring her back. How she was gone. And that's the scary part. How could I remember what I ate ten years ago but not remember most things from that night? That is the night that has haunted me for the last 18 years. Sure 18 years is a long time but I never gave up hope. Katie, my sister, was two years older than me. One day we went out into a nearby field to play as we usually did every Saturday morning. And that's when it happened. I remember someone hitting her, and Katie falling to the ground. Then the man grabbed her and shoved her face into a puddle. That's how she died. She drowned in the puddle. This is where the blackouts come in. I can't remember the events very clearly. I can't remember who the man was even though I looked him straight in the eye. All I can remember clearly is my sister's lifeless body laying on the ground. I somehow managed to make it out of the woods. And that's when all hell broke loose. My mom decided that I needed a change, a new start. She tried to make me forget about my sister by removing every single thing that she owned. She tried to erase every memory of her, even the happy ones. But I didn't want to forget. I don't want to forget. Since then I vowed to remember everything that happens around me and this talent evolved into a kind of natural ability. It now takes over my life. I remember voices, faces, people, places, times, dates. You name it, I can remember it. My sister was also the reason I decided to join the NYPD and become a cop. And that's how I met him.
We met while working together on a missing person's case. A little girl who went missing while waiting for her dad to pick her up from school. It reminded me way too much of my sister. I hoped this story would have a better ending but it didn't. We found the poor girl's lifeless body in a ditch. The bastard had beat, tortured and raped her. You might ask; what kind of sick dysfunctional person would hurt a little girl? Turned out that the murderer was her own father. The story of this little girl haunted me. It reminded me of my own sister, my own father. Of course, my father wasn't a rapist but he has his fair share of imperfections. He was both emotionally and physically abusive. He hit my mom on a daily basis, sometimes even my sister and I. Then he was killed, shot in the head by a 'friend' of his while drunk. I can't say that I was sad my father died. We were finally free. But we weren't free at all. The little girl's case put me into a deep addiction to figuring out who had done it. I became obsessed, day in day out working on the case. Turning to pills was probably not the best way to stay awake but we all have our weaknesses. I became depressed comparing that poor little girl to my sister. I wasn't fun anymore so everyone abandoned me. Except for him. He helped me stay intact with reality. My shining star. It turned from a work relationship into a full fledged love affair. We were always together. Inseparable. We worked together, lived together, slept together. We did everything together. And that's when my obsession kicked in. After the little girl's case I became obsessed with solving my sister's mystery. And it's safe to say that I wasn't exactly ready for all the secrets I found out. Our relationship became strained. We loved each other. We hated each other. Passion and emotions ran high. Until finally he cracked. He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to be stuck in the past. I needed to solve my sister's case. So I let him go. I made the worst mistake of my life and let him leave out of my front door. I didn't miss him. I needed him. But he doesn't want me. He's got a life. I have nothing. I quit the NYPD and eventually gave up on the mystery I just couldn't solve. I had to deal with it. My sister's killer will never be identified. I now spend my days painting and drawing. I'm trying to find a job in an art gallery. Live a normal life. But I know deep down that I will never be normal. Our past makes us who we are today and who I am today is defined by the past experiences I went through. Good or bad.
Thanks for reading and don't forget to review! Next chapter will be much longer c: