The leather of the couch feels cold under my fingertips. My feet are propped up on the small coffee table, banging together lightly in nervousness. Mom sits with me, our shoulders barely touching. It's only been twelve hours since I found Laura in the alley, and the police already want to put us into protective custody. I don't want to leave my childhood home, but there is nothing really tying me here anymore. Laura's gone, so why should I stay?

Officer Jenkins, the one I talked to yesterday, stands beside an FBI agent, who sits on the armchair across from us. He gives me pondering glances every now and then, making me feel like I'm being analyzed under a microscope.

A couple other officers from the station stand outside, guarding the door. I don't know why they even bother. It would be a blessing if my stalker busted down the door and murdered me. I feel empty without my best friend, and I just don't feel tied to my mom like I used to. She seems different, more distant as of late. It has me wondering what's going on with her. Does she know something about this that I don't?

"Melanie?"

Mom's broken voice pulls me out of my thoughts almost immediately. Guilt gathers in my gut as I think about how I should have told her. I should have listened to Laura and told Mom about all of this the moment it happened. Maybe Laura wouldn't be dead if I had.

"Ms. Larkin, we know you're distraught and have gone through a horrible ordeal, but we need you to focus right now. Your life is at stake," Officer Jenkins says firmly.

A wave of anger rolls off of my body. Without thinking, I stand and hiss, "Focus? You didn't seem too worried about me yesterday. If you would have done something then, then maybe Laura wouldn't be dead!"

Jenkins eyes avert from mine as he looks to the ground, feeling guilty. I shake my head, tears forming in my eyes. "You should have helped us yesterday. What kind of cop are you?"

"Melanie," Mom scolds from the couch. I don't pay any attention to her though, only to Jenkins, who's now looking up at me, his eyes reflecting pure calmness.

How can he be so passive about all of this? Am I just another one of his cases that will go away the moment he sends me to another town? Does he even care that my best friend is dead, and that he has a murderer on the loose?

"Ms. Larkin, please go pack your necessities. You're being transferred tonight," Jenkins says, getting up from the chair.

"No," I quickly say. "I can't leave yet!"

The FBI agent, Agent Callaway, looks at me with pity. "Why is that Ms. Larkin?"

I bite my lip. I need to figure out a way to stay a bit longer, to have time to say goodbye to my home. Laura pops into my mind again and I suddenly remember about her funeral, and how I was invited. "I just—I want to stay for Laura's funeral on Saturday. It will help me cope, I think."

Callaway looks to me in thought. I notice Jenkins' expression turn sour, like he had just swallowed a full lemon. I glance at Mom, who has had tears in her eyes for the past three hours we have sat here, reporting what has happened the past few weeks, for the FBI agent's sake more than Jenkins'.

"Please."

Callaway looks back to the other officers outside quickly before answering. "Fine, but you're both leaving right after the funeral. I'll have Jenkins arrange a cruiser to stand by outside your house until then. I'll also have one of my men come to the funeral with you, just for precaution. Any other time before the transfer, you are not to leave the house. Understand?"

Mom nods, her face ashen with grief. Laura was like a second daughter to her, with how often she'd come over. The loss has been just as hard on her as me, and now she has to deal with all of this as well.

"Yes, I understand," I whisper, my eyes never leaving the floor.

•••

I adjust the delicate necklace as I look in the floor-length mirror that sits on the wall in my room. The small diamond hanging from the chain glitters in the sunlight. It seems to be the only beautiful thing left of me.

I feel stripped of my life, of one of the only people that have ever cared about me. All of it was from the one person who didn't seem to want to just leave me alone.

The texts haven't been that frequent. I would get around one taunting comment a day, but nothing more, after I ignored it. It scares me to think about what may happen when we leave. Will he just follow us to the new place? It seems rather likely. He's probably already caught wind I'm being transferred. What glee it must cause him to know that he's the reason that I have to leave town.

I sure hope he doesn't follow us, but I guess it would be his loss if he did, because I would murder him before he could lay another finger on my family or friends. Then again, I probably wouldn't have the guts to. And, even if he did kill me, at least I wouldn't have to deal with the absence of Laura anymore.

Smoothing the midnight black dress down over my upper thighs, I grab my cell and head downstairs to go meet my mom at the car.

Mom is donned in a simple floor-length dress that hugs her curves. Her hair is curled, but is still pulled back into a ponytail like she always does. I rarely ever see her with it down. I'm the complete opposite of her for that. You couldn't catch me dead in a ponytail, no matter what. It's either down, or in a loose bun.

"Are you ready?" She asks me, her voice weak with exhaustion and grief. I notice the dark circles under her eyes and purse my lips together. I had hoped that she had been getting more sleep than me, but apparently not.

"Yeah, I'm ready," I murmur, passing by her and getting into the passenger side. My dark brown flats settle on the floor as I tighten my seatbelt over my body. Right now, I feel too numb to even recognize what is going on. I'm still in denial over Laura's death a week later.

"The five stages of grief," I mutter, thinking about what one of my teachers had told my class the one day. "First stage: denial."

I glance behind me to make sure one of the FBI cars is behind us. Right now, the police are the only thing keeping me feeling safe. I relax when I see the jet-black SUV following, but staying relatively behind the car.

I study the lines that make up my fingerprint as our car drives down the street. I can't help but think that it will be the second-to-last time we leave the house. Once we get home, we grab our bags that we've been packing all week and follow a cruiser to our new home, far away from here.

It still seems surreal. All of it.

"Mel," Mom's voice says softly. My head turns. "We're here."

I nod slowly, swallowing. "Yeah, okay."

I step out of the car, taking in the dark clouds and gloomy atmosphere. I cannot help but think that it seems like the appropriate kind of day for a funeral.

Goosebumps rise on my arms from the faint wind that blows against my body. I can't help but glance behind me to make sure I don't see anyone. I know I never will though, he always seems to be able to keep himself hidden. I think he purposely wanted me to see him that Monday morning. It was his way of shaking me up.

It definitely worked.

I feel mom pat my back and I realize that I have just been standing in the same spot for a few moments, not moving. I look back up to the church, which looks just as dark as the clouds in the sky. I grab Mom's hand as we walk up the steps. I need her support to help me get through this.

I had been asked to say a eulogy at the funeral, but I declined almost immediately. I can't go up there and talk about Laura when I know I was the reason she was murdered.

"I'll be a few rows behind you guys," the agent whispers as pass through the doors. Mom nods, but doesn't say another word. I don't say anything at all.

The service goes by rather fast. I watch numbly as her mother says the eulogy and gives a bit about Laura's life. Her husband stands beside her, also stricken with grief. I can't help but feel guilty.

When a slide show of her life is plays, I can't help but begin to cry. Most of the photos have the both of us in them, smiling and laughing. By the middle of it, I can't take it anymore. When I begin to walk down the aisle, the agent stops me, grabbing my arm. "Where are you going?"

I sniffle, "The bathroom."

He nods apprehensively, but releases my arm. "Be careful."

I nod slowly and I walk out of the room with tears blurring my vision as the service continues to go on.

I lock myself in one of the bathrooms and watch my mascara mingle with the tears dripping down my face. If I could take the whole week back, I would.

My phone vibrates in my hand as I continue to stare into the mirror. Without even looking down, which is very foolish of me, I slide the call button right and put the cell to my ear. "What?"

"Hello, Melanie."

Rage erupts from the most inner part of my gut. I stare at myself so hard that I feel I might burst into flames. It's him, again.

"Why can't you just leave me the hell alone?" I snarl, my other hand gripping the counter tightly. "Haven't you done enough already?"

"Now, now, Melanie. I warned you about contacting the police about me. Laura didn't have to die."

"Don't say her name, you have no right," I hiss, tears flowing more steady down my face.

"Melanie," he says, his voice laced with warning. "I didn't have to end her life; you brought it onto yourself the moment you stepped into that station. It's your fault she's gone."

"No," my voice cracks. I shake my head, "no, I...I didn't kill her."

"That's where you're wrong, Melanie."

My anger finally gets the best of me. I scream, "I didn't kill her!" Before hurling my phone at the mirror. Shards of glass explode everywhere, some embedding into my skin, but I don't care. As I stare at the blood on my legs dripping onto the floor, I feel numb; I don't feel pain. It's my fault.

It's my fault she's gone.

My vision begins to blur. I'm not sure if it is from tears, or from shock. The last thing I remember before falling is the door swinging open, revealing my distraught mother screaming my name.

"Melanie!"

________________________________________________________________________

Are those...tears in your eyes? XD probably not, my writing sucks for emotion XD

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