Sunlight streams through my windows, and I blink sleepily. Looking around the room, confusion sets in. A picture on the dresser next to me reminds last night. I must be at Greg's house. Doing a quick check, I find my locket still on, and my wooden box on the dresser next to me. I enter the five letters to unlock it and pull a hair tie from the top drawer. I pull my spiral curls back into a messy ponytail and sleepily exit the room. The smell of food startles me. Food was always a reward in foster care, not something just given during the morning. My mother always made delicious breakfast. She would be up at five am, humming in the kitchen as she made my French toast. I would run into the room, and she would swing me around.
"How's my little Rosie today?" She would ask, and I would grin up at her. My response was always the same.
"Hungry, mommy!" She would laugh and kiss my head, then tell me to go watch some cartoons. When breakfast was ready, we would sit together and talk about whatever I was feeling like talking about.
"Ash! You're up!" Greg's voice snaps me out of my daydream.
"How are you not tired?" I ask him, puzzled. He grins and lifts up a mug.
"Thank god for coffee," I giggle, noticing the jittery way he's flipping the pancakes. I tentatively sit myself down at the table, and Greg places a black pancake in front of me. I look up at him, and he shrugs. "Don't hate on me. I can't cook." I laugh and bite into the burnt pancake. His cellphone rings, and he pours another cup of coffee, putting the phone on speaker.
"Sanders." "
Hey, it's Nicky. You in the mood for a murder?"
"It feels like criminals are just trying to be inconsiderate now. Why not kill someone when it's NOT my day off?" I giggle, and the man on the other side of the phone pauses,
"Do you have a girl over, G?"
"Not the kind you think." He winks at me and turns the phone of speaker, entering the hallway. I creep back into the room I was staying in and enter. The letters again, smiling as the box opens with a satisfied clink. I pull out my hairbrush, running the silver bristles through my matted and tangled hair. When it falls in perfect ringlets to my belly button, I put it away. Quietly, I enter the code for the bottom drawer. I pull it out. In one compartment, letters, some opened, others sealed. In the other, photographs. In the third, documents. And in the forth, a shiny silver gun.
Short chapter. I know. Anyway, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! 21 reviews! My third highest yet! I LOVE YOU GUYS! Not in a creepy way. Moving on. So what do you guys think? Review! Or PM me. I love PM's. If you ever want to discuss stories, life in general, Szmanda, Sandles, Morganders, or of course... CSI, PM me! Thanks for reading, guys!