[ I LIIIIIIVE.

Also fffffuCK this college semester. All my homies HATE online schooling and professors that give more work than they normally would just because we're online and they think we're home all the damn time.

Anyway, enjoy! ]

Chapter 4

Mom made a really big dinner tonight. Deep dish pasta, chicken parmigiana, garlic breads, Caesar salads, chocolate cake for dessert. And all of that with a big bottle of Parmesan in the middle because she and Dad know I like to put too much. Hell, I even get to drink some wine. Mom usually doesn't do something so elaborate unless it's a very special occasion, like my birthday or an anniversary. I don't recall what day it is today.

Everything was amazing, every single bite. Dad and I couldn't really get enough, and Mom had to refrain from scolding us for our mess. But even if she seemed irritated, there was always a smile on her fair face. Cheekbones like little plums, Dad says, when she smiles big like that.

After dinner was over and we devoured our slices of cake, I finally had the thought to ask Mom what all of this was for.

Mom chuckled and answered casually, "For making it out alive, Ellie-bear."

I froze from the initial confusion and held my final bite of cake on my fork. Furrowing my brow, I questioned, "What do you mean by that?"

Dad jumped in this time. "You made it out alive and now you're back home, safe and sound with us. Now finish up your cake or I'll take that bite for you—!"

"Wh-What did I make it out of? You guys aren't telling me."

"You're here and you're alive," Mom stated, completely ignoring my real question.

I shook my head. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"You're here and you're alive, Ellie-bear," Dad cheered, then grabbed for my hand. "You made it out of that house! You ran free! You're alive! You...are alive, aren't you?"

I suddenly didn't feel like finishing my dessert any more, and promptly excused myself from the table. Meanwhile, I could feel my parents' stares burning into the back of my head as they remained completely and inhumanly silent. I went to the only place I knew to comfort me—my bedroom. As soon as I was in, I locked the door and hurried into bed, trying not to think about my parents' unnerving behavior. Maybe it was all that wine they were drinking. Maybe it was—

I felt something viscous and wet touch the side of my leg and jolted from the surprise sensation. Panicking, I threw off my blankets to see what exactly I touched, and was met with the sight of an eviscerated, pulpy face of what was once a living human's head. And despite that the eyes were misplaced and buried in torn flesh, both of them rolled forward to stare at me, crying brown, impure fluid.

I screamed and scrambled out of bed, only to be grabbed at my ankle by something squishy, and then I fell across the floor. When I turned around, I saw the detached head under my bed, and its tongue was far longer than any animals' on this Earth. And as its horrifying tongue throbbed against my skin and went up my leg to my inner thigh, I wailed for help and clawed at the floor for anchorage.

And as that repulsive tongue drew ever closer to violate me, my vision was going hazy and I kept screaming and the tongue kept getting closer and closer and closer—

I awoke to a dimly lit hospital room and the sound of an irregular beeping to my right. At first, I couldn't really move as my mind was processing the dream—nightmare—I just escaped from. Once I figured out I wasn't paralyzed from the shock, I wiggled my fingers and held my hand to my chest. That's where I felt the electrodes that recorded my weird heartbeat for the EKG monitor to tell the world. I stopped touching them and just laid there, staring at the blank ceiling.

After spacing out for a few minutes, I finally noticed a figure sitting in the recliner beside my bed. Dad was right there, sleeping with his head in his hand. I couldn't tell what time it was at the moment, but it seemed late at night. Judging from the bit of stubble on his face, it seemed as if Dad stayed here for a while and hadn't shaved. But then, how long have I been here in this hospital room?

I reached a hand out towards Dad, hoping the simple movement would catch his attention, but he was dead asleep. I suppose it's for the best that he stays resting. Having your kid in the hospital isn't the most relaxing of things.

As I sat there with my hand out, I started to recall what had happened, bit by bit. The first thing that cleared up was the image of black eyes looking right into me, neither threatened nor completely unbothered. They looked calculating but I could feel the spontaneity in them of someone willing to kill, has killed. Right before my eyes.

The second thing I recalled was the appearance of strange marks. Two lines over a circle, like an X. One on either of my inner wrists. Curious, I looked down at my hands to see...nothing. There were no marks there. I checked all over my arms too, but there were nowhere to be found. Was that part just a hallucination? Was the whole event a dream? No, unfortunately, because then I wouldn't be here in this hospital bed and I wouldn't be feeling so sore from my injuries.

Even though I just woke up, the weight of my memory exhausted me, and I closed my eyes to fall asleep again. As I drifted off in the space between sleep and awake, I felt a big, warm, familiar hand slowly envelop mine and squeeze, and suddenly it felt as if all of my troubles melted away.

...

When I woke up again, Dad was awake this time, and Mom was here too. She was in her baby-blue scrubs looking over a chart. Mom was the first to notice I was up, and immediately set the chart down and reached for me.

"Ellie-bear," she sighed with relief. Because I was in bed, all she could do was kiss my forehead and hold my other hand. Dad occupied my other side and just sat there on the recliner, smiling.

"How are you feeling?" Mom asked.

"S...Sore," I murmured.

She frowned a bit and brushed my hair back out of my face.

Out of curiosity, I asked her, "Are you actually my nurse?"

She shook her head. "No, my co-worker is. I'm just checking in on how you were doing. I'm new here, so it was best not to take you as a patient at this time."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being here. I'm sure you have other patients to focus on."

Mom faltered for a moment, right before her blue eyes teared up and she squeezed my hand tighter. "Don't say that, Ellie," she croaked. "This isn't your fault."

"Mom..? D...Don't cry."

While she let out what she could, Dad stepped in and held my other hand. "What happened to you isn't your fault, bear. We're upset at whoever hurt you, not you. So don't be sorry about being here or about anything, okay?"

I nodded solemnly and listened to Mom's tearful sniffles die down. Dad continued on, "Speaking of how you got here, we need to know...if you're okay with speaking to an investigator about what happened to you?"

I blinked. "Right now?"

Dad smirked. "Well, not now, but soon. They want to get a proper report as soon as possible from you."

"But it's only when you're ready," Mom added. "Your recovery is more important, and you can always say no for now."

"Preferably, you should answer the investigator's questions soon," Dad added.

"Louis," Mom lightly scolded.

Dad looked up and replied, "Beatrice, she needs to say something as soon as possible."

"When she's ready. She's been through a lot."

"You don't think I know that? I want something to be done about this."

"So do I, but not at the expense of her recovery. Don't pressure her."

"I'm not pressuring her into anything," Dad grumbled.

"Don't do it."

"I'm not...!"

"Ahem," someone interrupted, and we looked to see another nurse at the doorway. She must be the one taking care of me.

Mom sighed and glanced at Dad. "We'll discuss this later." With that, she promptly walked out, greeting her co-worker briefly before disappearing past the door.

After my nurse finished checking in on me, she left the room, and then it was just me and Dad. He kept staring off at the floor, before I grabbed his attention and said, "Are you and Mom going to fight again, like the last time I was investigated?"

Dad seemed taken aback by my up-front question, and also guilty. He immediately held my hands and stammered, "No, no, we're not going to fight. We're just...right now we're just really upset. I shouldn't have argued like that with her, I'm sorry."

"Please, don't fight anymore."

"We won't, I promise you, bear."

While I enjoyed the coziness of Dad's hands holding mine, I quietly asked him, "What do you think I should do?"

Pressing his lips, he frowned in thought, then answered, "Your mom is right—your recovery is more important. You can always talk to the investigator later when you're discharged, or whenever you're ready. Just take your time."

Despite that it was against Dad's preference, he opted for Mom's side anyway. I could see him disagreeing with it in his head, just from the shine in his hazel eyes. It may seem like he's not regarding my well-being, but I don't doubt that Dad wants me to recover well just the same. He just wants the truth to come out faster. And if it means that Maddy and her friends can face their own consequences faster and won't hurt anyone else, then...

"I'll talk to the investigator," I answered finally.

Dad seemed a bit surprised by my sudden decision, but looked relieved for it. "Go for it, bear. I'll let the guy know. We'll see when he can come by."

A few minutes went by before Dad announced a restroom break, and I was left alone in the hospital room for a while. It dawned on me what I had just decided and suddenly my nerves kicked in. I haven't talked to any law enforcement in a long time, not since when I was younger. Being 9 at the time, I didn't really know how to be anxious about that kind of thing. Now, it's like I'm taking an exam, despite that whatever answers I give are always going to be the right answers, except it also doesn't feel like that.

When Dad came back, he revealed to me that he brought me a few of my books from home to pre-occupy my mind while I was stuck in this bed. It was a pleasant and welcome surprise, and I took to the pages as soon as he even showed me the covers. With a book in my lap, I felt just as safe and cozy as I would at home.

...

The investigator said he would come at 4 o'clock. Time passed since my decision in the morning, and it's now 3:45. Despite that I was just sitting here in bed, time sure does fly. Maybe my books helped with that, though...

While I tapped my fingers against the spine of a book, Dad asked me, "Are you nervous, Ellie?"

Hesitantly, I replied, "A little bit." I then noted how the older man was shaking his leg against the recliner. "Are you?"

He smirked and stifled a chuckle. "A little bit."

I smiled at him. Well, at least I'm not alone on that.

Dad groaned and held his stomach. "Dammit, I'm hungry and nervous?"

"You can get something from the cafeteria, can't you?"

"Yea, but, uh, I haven't always had the best luck with hospital food in my time," he grumbled.

Remembering at least one good thing about my dream, I fake-whispered, "You should convince Mom to make her deep dish pasta for us."

Dad rubbed his chin and replied, "Hmm, you make a compelling suggestion, a compelling suggestion indeed."

"And then afterwards, chocolate cake."

"You still want your dad around right? I'll ascend to another level with all that food."

"And wine."

"That's only for me and your mom."

"You've let me have some before," I said pouting, "C'mon."

He grumbled to himself for a few seconds, then said, "Oh, fine. But only because you're the best kid ever. Seriously, sometimes you're too good."

"And that's bad?"

"Haha, no. But I'll say, you've made being a parent way too easy sometimes." 

"Or maybe you're just a really awesome dad," I chimed.

With a haughty laugh, Dad shrugged his shoulders and flaunted his hand. "I mean, I don't want to toot my own horn or anything..."

While the both of us shared a few back and forth jokes, there was a knock at the door. The both of us placed our attention at the man standing there, a golden badge hanging down his torso by a lanyard.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," the investigator said as he took a few more steps in. Dad got up to share a handshake and greet him, before offering up the seat on the other side of my bed. Before he sat, he turned to me and gave me his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Elizabeth. I'm glad to see you're doing well," he said gently. Looking at him up close, he actually looked fairly young. A brunet man with gray eyes, warm-toned skin, and regular plainclothes. Of course, he had his gun holstered at his side, and for some reason it made me intimidated despite that I knew it'd never be for me. Aside from that, he was just a regular, young guy, at least younger looking than I expected. I always met older officers and investigators when I was a child.

I took his hand and shook slowly. "Th-Thank you, uh..."

"Oh, sorry," he chuckled, "should've introduced myself first. I'm police detective Travis Wilson, and I'll be taking your case."

...

Before Detective Wilson took a seat, he asked me, "I understand that everything you'll need to tell me is uncomfortable, so would you like your father to be here during this? It helps ease the tension having a friend or family member present, but that's up to you."

Even though I would love to keep Dad in the room with me to ease my nerves, I couldn't bear the thought of seeing his face when I tell all the details of what happened. And sometimes he can't hold his comments either.

"Dad, can you...wait outside?" I asked.

He was definitely surprised by my request and maybe even a little disappointed that he couldn't be here. Despite this, he just nodded and stepped out of the room. I'm sure he'll try to listen in, but I'd prefer that than to see him growing more distraught right in front of me.

Once the room was clear, Detective Wilson took the seat Dad had offered earlier and brought out a pen and notepad. "So," he began, "for the sake of your recovery, I'll try to be as forward and brief as possible, so you won't have to worry about it later."

"That sounds fine," I remarked.

"I'm glad you agree. I'm just going to ask you questions and you tell me everything I need to know, okay? Let me know if you're uncomfortable at all."

"Okay."

He nodded and opened up his notepad. "So, first question....what is your favorite animal?"

That took me by surprise and it looked like Detective Wilson noticed. "Just a little something to break the ice, start things off calm."

Scratching the side of my face, I said, "In that case...I think sea animals are pretty cool."

"Sea animals, huh?"

"Y-Yeah, like that little octopus with the tiny ears and big eyes, and it looks like a toy."

"Adorabilis? Dumbo octopus?"

"That one, yeah," I beamed.

"Gotcha," the detective said as he scribbled something brief on his notepad. "Very exotic choice, Miss Umber."

"Is that weird?"

"No, of course not," he affirmed lightheartedly. "Whatever is your favorite animal is your favorite animal. No one needs to dictate that."

After a few more notes, he looked up at me with a firm gaze and continued, "Now that that's established, we can start with the real questions."

I noticed that my heartbeat in the EKG monitor flitted suddenly for a bit, before going back to its normal slowness. Here we go then.

"Do you recall everything that happened before you went unconscious?" Detective Wilson started.

"I do."

"Can you identify your assailants?"

I faltered for a moment. "I only know their first names. They go to my school."

"That's alright."

For some reason I found it hard to say the names of those horrific teens out loud. Even though I haven't even known them long, they've already got a chokehold on my esteem. Just from one unlucky incident.

It seemed Detective Wilson noticed my anxious reluctance and gave me his notepad. "You can write their names down, if you want."

I gladly did so. After that, the detective asked, "Did all four of them attack you?"

"J-Just these two actually hit me," I answered, pointing at the names. Detective Wilson made a note of it.

"Can you tell me what led up to this attack, in as much detail as you can recall?"

It wasn't hard for me to explain everything that happened prior to getting beat up. I also explained how I was already being targeted by Maddy for the mistakes I made. I described the car they used too, that they grabbed my stuff, their original plan to throw me into the canal, but then...well, things got worse. Detective Wilson mentioned that my stuff was actually found left out in the grass outside the house, and that meant to me that Maddy and her friends ditched my belongings knowing it would be stronger evidence against them. How awful...

"This next question might make you further upset, but it's necessary. An excessive amount of blood was found on your clothes, and it wasn't yours, from what groundwork police and the hospital report. Can you confirm you were present at the time of the homicide of one of your assailants?"

That, somehow, wasn't hard for me to answer aloud either. "It happened right on top of me. The other man stabbed...Cyrus, while he was on top of me."

Detective Wilson faltered for a bit. "There was another person present?"

I looked at him, almost a bit surprised myself. "Um, yea. The others called him a 'squatter', I think. He came out while I was being attacked and then...well..."

Detective Wilson furrowed his brow, gray eyes steeling some. "There wasn't sign of a third party being present at the scene. That puts things into a new light now. Can you describe what he looked like?"

For some reason, I hesitated. Why am I hesitating? Thinking about it now, that guy did save me from a horrible traumatic event, but then he was also willing to kill me. No, wait, he wasn't actually eager about it. He gave me the chance to run, but I was too scared to get up. Would he have chased after me though? No, no, he didn't even go after the girls. He seemed injured. He couldn't have chased me. Or maybe it's because it was 3 people he was after, so he gave up—that compared to measly me against him. Why am I thinking so hard about this? He could've killed me. Could've...

"Miss Umber?" the young detective called for me.

"R-Right, a description," I stammered. "I...I can only recall the clothes he was wearing. I...didn't see his face."

What are you doing, Ellie? Of course you did, he came right up to you. Why are you lying to a detective?!

"A white hoodie, dark pants, and black sneakers. I think he also had a backpack with him, like a runners backpack."

And his face—you saw his face.

"That's...that's all I saw, since his hood was up. He moved too fast for me to get a good look."

Ellie...!

Detective Wilson then asked, "Could you tell if he was Caucasian, person of color? Any height guess?"

Glancing at the investigator, I asked him, "Can you stand up?"

He did so without question. After getting a good look, I said, "I think he's around your height. I don't know his race. He's sort of average built too. Again, I don't really know. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, you tell me what you can. Often times the adrenaline of a situation like that can mess with our memory."

"Y-Yeah..." Oh, you lying idiot.

After a few more questions and detailed recounts, Detective Wilson had gathered everything he needed to know. With a kind smile, he said, "Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Umber. This isn't easy stuff, so I'm grateful for your info."

Then, he got up from his seat and began tearing out a sizable piece from the corner of his page. Afterwards, he pulled out a card from his shirt pocket and handed both pieces of paper to me. The card was his investigator's info, like his work number and email. The other was a pen-scribbled drawing of the Adorabilis sea creature I told him I liked. It was almost realistic and impressive for the time that he drew it. I never even noticed he had done this during his note taking.

"If you have any questions or any more information you'd like to share," he said, "feel free to contact me. I'm usually very punctual on my response time."

With that, he shut his notepad and pocketed his pen. One more gentle handshake and he added, "Get well soon, Miss Umber. You deserve the rest."

And then he made his way out of the hospital room, and that was the end of our talk. It ended as simple as that. All my anxiousness from earlier seemed pretty useless now, but I guess that's not a bad thing. A moment later, Dad came in and took his seat on the recliner again.

Before he could say anything, I asked, "Did you hear everything I said?"

The older man paused for a moment, then rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, "Will you be upset if I said yes?"

I shook my head to assure him.

Dad sighed and ran his fingers through his hair with exasperation. Even though I don't like seeing him like this, I know it's only natural. Carefully, I reached over to grab his hand, and then he came closer to rest his head on the bed, at the spot next to my lap. I watched him frown into the white sheets, witnessing him beating himself up for probably many reasons. So all I did to comfort him was hold my hand against his stubble-riddled cheek and let him process.

It barely dawned on me that I haven't actually gotten upset over what happened. Mom cried in front of me, and Dad is huddled in frustration beside me. And then there's me, the person that got brutally beat up and witnessed a gruesome murder. I haven't shed a tear, haven't trembled in anger, haven't even uttered a word of contempt for Maddy and her friends. Then again, this isn't the first time I've acted like this. Even during that investigation for the slumber party incident all those years ago, I went around not really knowing how to feel or how to express whatever feelings there may be. It's like I was unknowingly numb to everything. Psychiatrists said it was a way to cope, but they were always wrong.

Because eventually, the reality hits like a bullet train when my respite matters most.

...

I was discharged from the hospital the day after I awoke. Although it's his new job, Dad was fortunate to be allowed a week off of work so that he could stay home for me to take me to school and pick me up. And to keep an extra eye on me. Meanwhile, Mom kept up her shifts at the hospital, despite that she'd rather stay home for me too. They've always felt pretty overprotective of me, and for good reason. Dad said I make being a parent easy, yet somehow trouble finds me anyway.

Returning to school felt...weird. Everyone went about their business like it was normal, except for when the principal and staff held a conference in the gym over the death of Cyrus Miller.

They talked about his achievements as a football athlete and warned of the dangers of violence against the youth. I would've felt remorseful of the ceremony if the memory of what he did to me didn't haunt me as I stared at his face on the big projector screen. From the looks in the crowd, everyone looked solemn. Majority of these kids would never know what a truly horrible guy he was. While I had sat in the hospital, I had felt quite guilty for his death. But now, I don't feel bad at all. In his last moments, he was a disgusting guy. It made me wonder if he attempted to violate other girls in the past too. Although it's almost a waste to muddle over that now. No point in tarnishing the reputation of a dead man. What's done is done.

I was advised by Detective Wilson not to discuss the details of the investigation with anyone, but after a load of prying questions from Addie, Johanna, and Ian over lunch, I confided in them anyway (I did make them swear to keep things hush though). They were thoroughly upset, meanwhile I sat there unfazed.

"Fuckin' Christ...," Johanna muttered under her breath.

Addie clutched her mint green tumbler bottle tight in her hands, turning her knuckles white. "I knew Cyrus was an asshole, but never thought he would've gone that far. Actually, all of them! Ugh..."

Ian talked through bites of apple. "Hope he's having fun sucking on Satan's taint."

"Dude, gross," Johanna grumbled, before reaching for a high-five and adding, "Nice." Across the table, Addie rolled her eyes.

Braving the question, I said, "I haven't seen Maddy and her friends since the incident. Are they still here?"

"Yes," Johanna replied. "Saw them earlier, but they all looked out of it. Police are probably up their asses right about now."

"I don't know how they're not suspended," Addie commented.

Ian piped up enthusiastically, "Actually, schools can't suspend or expel a student for anything they do off campus grounds. So even though they, like, committed a crime, the school can't punish them and remove them from classes. Unless they get arrested of course. Politics or something, I don't know..."

"Schools are stupid," Johanna growled.

Addie let out a heavy sigh. "I'm more worried that they won't be arrested at all."

I furrowed my brow. "Why is that?"

"Well," she said, "Maddy's family is pretty loaded. Her dad is a well-known business man. She's bribed her way out of trouble before. I've seen it first hand."

"But bribing law enforcement?" I remarked.

Ian waved his hand in the air. "Corruption hits hard, bro. Fat pockets gets you far."

I glared down at my lunch tray, suddenly aware of how badly my stomach churned. In my head, I thought of Detective Wilson. He seemed like a stand-up guy. I had hopes he wouldn't be bought off like so many other people.

Johanna caught my attention and asked, "What about that other guy? Any news?"

I shook my head and tried not to think about that man's dark eyes.

"I'm glad he was there, but also how creepy...," Addie murmured.

"He could've hurt you too," Johanna remarked.

"I'm well aware," I said, recalling the feeling of his bloodied knife against my skin.

"Dude, what if he was a serial killer?!" Ian chimed excitedly, before being pelted with the husk of an orange.

"Read the room, hotshot," Johanna warned.

The chestnut-haired boy rubbed his face and added, "You don't find the thought fascinating? A serial killer—here!"

"Cierra la boca," Johanna hissed.

Ian scrunched up his expression. "I barely passed Spanish so I don't know what that means."

"It means, shut your trap, asshat, or I shut it for you," the brunette scolded.

Ian crossed his arms and harrumphed. "Fine, I'll quit it. But if it turns out I'm right, I get to say I told you so."

"Ever wondered what the bottom of a trash can looked like? I'm real close to helping you find out," Johanna chirped with her fake smile.

"Cut it out already," Addie sighed. "We shouldn't be fighting when we need to be morally supportive. No need to stress Ellie out more by bitching at each other."

"My bad," Johanna relented. She gave me the usual gentle look she always gives me and said, "You said your dad is off for a week for you, right?"

"Yeah."

"What about after that? Like, what if you have to be home alone again?"

I hesitated as I thought. It never occurred to me what I would do if I had to walk home because no one could pick me up. Or that I'd stay home alone too. I answered, "I don't know."

"It wouldn't sit right with me," the brunette stated, adjusting her glasses. "I can give you rides home, if you want. Stick around with you so you feel better."

My eyes widened. "Oh, no, y-you don't have to—."

"It's not a hassle if it makes sure you're safe," she interjected knowingly. "I don't want to see you hurt again."

Self-consciously, I held the side of my face, remembering each spot where I had a dark bruise or red splotch. Even my hands seemed a little roughed up from my feeble attempt at defending myself. I don't want to get hurt like that again either. I guess there's no need to hesitate. Johanna is my friend.

"Okay," I said.

Johanna beamed. "Awesome. You know I'm always a call away."

"You can call me too if she isn't available," Addie offered. "We can take turns."

"I'd feel like I'm being babysat," I retorted.

"Ehhh, consider it a...gal hangout," the curly-haired girl joked.

'Gal hangout'? Well...I've never had one of those before...

Ian raised his hand and said, "I'm game to babysit you!"

Addie was the one to chide him this time. "First of all, don't say babysit. Second, no way we'd leave her with you, a dude, alone."

He frowned and crossed his arms. "What's me being a dude have to do with it? Are you being, like...sexist?"

Addie furrowed her brow with confusion. "No, I'm—."

"You emphasized me being a dude. How does that keep me from being able to protect a dear friend who just happens to be a girl?"

"I...I don't see how this is—."

"Maybe you should re-evaluate your obviously skewed understanding of gender norms and be more accepting of my abilities as an individual and not just as a dude."

After the table spent a moment in silence, he then quipped, "....But you're totally right, I shouldn't take care of her, I'm prone to fires for some reason."

I blinked. "Wait—."

Beside me, I could hear Addie mutter to herself, "Re-evaluate my...what...?"

With a sigh, I said to all of them, "I'll definitely give a call or text when I need some company. Or some fire. Thanks again, you guys."

"It's no problem," Johanna responded. "We're here for you, Ellie."

It was a small sentence and a simple gesture of kindness, but it definitely made a world of difference in my mind filled with worries. Actually having these people backing me up still awed me, especially knowing just how different they were to each other. I don't think they'd speak to one another if I wasn't around. Knowing they can share these moments with me because of me felt surreal and profound...but incredibly comforting.

...

Rumors were nothing new to me. I'd hear them all the time when observing everyone around me over the years. I'd been the subject of some when I was younger. Such things like how my vocal cords were stolen, which is why I never talked. Also how I was secretly a zombie or maybe even a witch. That looking into my eyes will make your grandma get sick. It hurt at first but things get bearable when no one talks to you. Rumors weren't unknown to my person.

So when it went around that I was possibly the person who murdered Cyrus, it was definitely a new one to add to the list. Although I was never that fazed by rumors as a kid, this time felt different. Maybe because it was within reality. Monsters and witches weren't reality, but killers were. And some ridiculously thought I was one of them.

What a step up from barf-girl to murderer.

There wasn't solid reason to accuse me, other than that I had been hospitalized and gained injuries at the same time of Cyrus's death. It didn't matter that he was nearly a 200 pound student athlete and I was significantly smaller, daintier, and less agile. I think people just wanted to latch onto something, anything, even if it meant ridiculing me behind closed doors, behind my back, or, uh, even right in front of me.

"So like, what's with your face?" a random girl prodded me during class discussions. "Kinda funny that you came to school like that right after a kid got fucking murdered."

I didn't say anything and just wrote on my notebook.

"Hey, relax," a guy in our discussion group commented. "Why are you interrogating her? Does she look like she could kill someone? I mean, no offense or anything, but..."

Another girl piped in, "Quit sucking up to random chicks, you're not going to score any."

"Shut the fuck up, as if I'd go for girls like her. Ah, n-no offense—."

"So did you do it?" the first girl interjected. "Huh? I heard his face got flayed. Did you kill him, huh? Why are you so quiet for? Just answer the question. Hey, freak, answer! I bet you at least had something to do with it. Huh? Look up, weirdo!"

My pen made a giant line across my page as she pulled the notebook away from me. I just sat there, silent, refusing to look at anything but my own hands.

My hands...they looked really pink. Did something irritate my skin?. I didn't do anything to them, though the longer I stared at them, the more flushed with red they became. They're getting warmer too. Maybe, a little too warm. No, they're hot. No worse, they're beginning to burn now. Can anyone else see this?

Before the sensation could reach its peak, the teacher came around to us and he asked, "How's your group doing? Any comments on the work?"

When the other three students couldn't say anything, I took this chance to grab my notebook back and show the page to my teacher. He scanned over it with a small smile. "Good work, Elizabeth. Glad you seem to be understanding the lesson. Keep it up...!"

Once I got my notebook back, I noticed that my hands were no longer flushed with color and the burning sensation was entirely gone. What on earth was that...?

The teacher left us, and the first girl leaned over and asked, "Hey, you know I was just messing with you, right? Learn to take a joke. So, uh, could we copy those notes there? C'mon."

The second girl added, "Yeah could you do us a solid? We don't understand any of this crap."

After remaining silent through the degrading talk about me, I finally said, "I hear paying attention works very well. You guys should try it."

I counted myself lucky, when the teacher had the groups finally separate, and no one pestered me for the rest of the class period.

...

For a week Dad was always home for me. It was really nice to get to hang out with him, just the two of us. The summer before this school year, he and Mom were always preoccupied with the move. Although I'd love to have Mom with us too, we get to work together (mostly me...) to make dinner for when she comes back from a long nursing shift. I always make sure that Dad doesn't overcook things or bust any of the appliances. If it's not Mom, I'm the one in charge of the kitchen.

When the week was over and it was time for Dad to get back to working, I felt a little bummed out. But that also meant having my friends over (I still need to get used to that) when no one is home.

I didn't know what to expect for a 'gal hangout', but I didn't think it would be debating over watching Godzilla versus true crime and forensic shows while infomercials kept playing on the TV the entire time (Sunsetter retractable awning, call 1-800-351-2249. That's 1-800—).

It seems Addie and Johanna get off on the wrong foot on a few things still, but I suppose it would've been naive to think they'd automatically be the best of friends. At least they weren't near to fighting. I can't really say the same for the one time Ian came over though. I'm not sure why he thought bringing random beetles he found on the way over to my house for a beetle pit fight would be the best idea, but he said it was either that or snails. Anyway, no fires so that was good...!

No updates from Detective Wilson also. The whereabouts of the unknown man who killed Cyrus are still yet to be determined. I'm beginning to doubt that Maddy and her friends will be punished. I'm not sure which is worse, really.

Aside from that, life here at this new house isn't so bad now. My parents have said they're proud of me for making friends and for growing so much in such a short time. I wouldn't call it growth, really, but if they're happy then so am I. As long as they don't have to worry or fight, I'll be okay too.

It was just Johanna and I for this hangout, and most of it was studying for classes. By the time she had to leave, my brain was nearing its melting point from looking over all of my notes. Usually once Dad gets home, that's when my friends leave. This time though, I convinced Johanna to head home earlier since tonight there was going to be heavy rain, and I didn't want her to get caught up in the start of it.

Before I knew it, I was home alone. Despite doing this for years of my life, it suddenly felt strange to me now. I guess I had gotten so used to hanging out with everyone in these few weeks, and now...well...

You'll be fine, Ellie. You haven't read one of your books in a while. Let's do that...!

As I was picking up all my notebooks from the kitchen table, I heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. Along with an off-beat clang from somewhere nearby. That...kind of sounded like it was in the house.

Clutching my notebooks against my chest, I walked out of the kitchen and stood at the foot of the stairs. Bearing the uncomfortable ringing in my ears, I listened in the midst of the house's silence for any other noises. Then, the loud click of the central AC startled me and I flinched in my spot. With a sigh, I berated myself for being so jumpy and chalked up the noise earlier to the vents.

As I took the first step on the staircase, I heard another clang, and this time I knew it wasn't the AC. I froze and looked to my left, at the alcove where the basement door was settled. I stared at that gilded handle to the point where my eyes began to water. I finally blinked when I jumped at the sound of the same clang from behind that door. What the hell?

Quickly, I pulled out my phone and called Dad's cell. He picked up after a couple of rings.

"What's up, bear?"

"There's noises coming from the basement. What do I do?"

"Huh? What kind of noises?"

"Um, I don't know, just a weird banging noise. Sounds like all the stuff down there is getting hit or something."

"Ugh, it might be mice or worse. The seller did say there could potentially be pests. Go ahead and stay in your room for now until I get home. I'm almost there anyway. We can check it out later."

I frowned. "We? Who said we?"

"Look, just because I'm your super manly dad, doesn't mean I'm not squeamish, so you're helping me out."

"Dad—."

"Have your rat catching cap ready when I get there!" With that, he hung up, and I slumped my shoulders. I suppose 'pest-hunting' with Dad would put my paranoia at ease.

I started to make my way up the stairs, when the clang echoed again, followed by the very small squeaks...of sneaker shoes.

I'm not alone in the house.

Without a second thought, I dropped my notebooks and dashed for my parents' room. I locked the door behind me and jumped into their closet room. Somewhere in here is Dad's gun, I'm sure. As if I can fire that damned thing, but it's better than not having anything to protect myself at all. Now where is it? Where, where? Agh, stop clamoring all over the place, the intruder will hear you at this rate! Where is it?!

I went ahead and tried checking at the closet room's top shelf, attempting to reach up by climbing cabinet edges like a ladder. Then with a creak, the shelf underneath my foot gave out and I fell hard onto the floor. I immediately went silent as I sat there, Mom's clothes sprawled out on me, anxious out of my head. That was loud, that was really loud and definitely audible throughout the house.

Slowly, I crept forward and pressed my ear against the closet door, listening out for any sounds elsewhere. Rumbling thunder resounded from the outdoors and I begged for it to stop so I could listen. My chest felt heavy when I heard someone try the door to my parents room.

The lock clicked open.

I was frozen in my spot, forced to listen to footsteps getting closer and closer. They're walking around the room. Looking for something. Looking for me. Don't check the closet. Please, please—.

Suddenly, I jerked forward as the closet door I leaned on was yanked open, and I screamed through constricted vocal cords.