Chapter 3

"I don't believe in man, God nor Devil. I hate the whole damned human race, including myself... I preyed upon the weak, the harmless and the unsuspecting. This lesson I was taught by others: Might makes right."

-Gary Ridgway, also known as the Green River Killer, said to have murdered 75-80 women. He was convicted of 48.

Chapter 3

I awoke with a piercing headache and spiteful motives. Every molecule in my body was telling me to either:

1. Kill my father.

2. Severely debilitate my father.

3. Scream and cry for 24 hours straight.

Number three seemed more likely.

When I stretched, my limbs crackled and popped until they reached their desired placements. Groaning, I rubbed the sleep gunk out of my eyes, surprised that I had any seeing as I only slept for about an hour.

Standing sure as hell didn't help my sleep deprived hangover. I struggled to keep my balance as the room swayed beneath me.

When I regained my sense of gravity I attempted to make my way over to the door. It had been shut since I had passed out this morning, meaning someone had come home.

"Dad..." I whispered.

A spark of hope came alive in my chest as I yanked open the door. Completely unaware of my physical appearance I raced down the hallway, past the paintings, and into the kitchen.

Disappointment punched hope in the gut with knuckle busters and beat its head in with a club. My father was nowhere in sight.

My mother, however, was sitting at the kitchen bench, squinting at me over her mug of coffee.

"Are those your work clothes?" Goodmorning to you too... I glanced down at my unchanged clothes, but before I could answer she continued with; "What if I was one of your fathers clients? Or his Boss? They'd think this was a nut house with you looking like that!" I sighed and picked at my skirt, crinkled beyond means.

"M-sorry... was waiting up for Dad..."

"Speaking of which, he hasn't come home! I don't know what you two were up to yesterday, but I didn't even get a phone call! And I called him, like, a thousand times and—is that blood on your shirt?"

"Huh?" Was my reply.

"Come here, let me see." She beckoned me forewords, eyebrows knitted together in concern. I waddled over to her and did my best to remain unsuspicious. Dad didn't like it when mum found out about the violent things that went on in the prison. Every time something happened she would freak and tell me I could never go back there again; leaving me crying and Dad out of an important employee.

Her blond hair, which was the same shade as mine, fell into her eyes as she leaned forewords to grab the hem of my shirt. My eyes were drawn to her unwrinkled face as she closely inspected my shirt. Her eyes were the colour of the sea; the deepest of blue accompanied by the undertones of black and green. She was near impossible to read at times and I think that's a part of the reason Dad loved her so much. He likes challenges and when it came to her... things were always difficult.

"Emily Silverman! This is blood!" She exclaimed, pulling my shirt up so I could see it for myself. There was, in fact, a teeny tiny blood spot on my shirt; so small I was surprised that Mum had found it. But, she was Mum and she was stubborn, in a control freaky kind of way, and when she set her mind to something there was no stopping her.

When I thought about it, it was probably George's blood; sprayed on me when he was hooked in the jaw. Or, even worse, from the criminal that dragged me out of there. I cringed and slowly attempted to take a step back, but my mother still held a firm grip on my shirt and her eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and curiosity. "Did something happen that I don't know about?" Her voice got progressively louder as she spoke.

"Uh... No?"

"Don't you lie to me!" Her left eyebrow rose as she drew my face closer to hers. "Are you lying to me?"

"Nothing happened Mum... I had a nose bleed is all." Smooth Emily, she always believes the nosebleed story. She leaned back slowly; her eyes squinting like she was trying to read my thoughts. Her grip loosened on my blouse, giving me the chance to take a step backwards.

"Mm..." Was all she said. I tried to calm my racing heart rate, afraid that she could hear it. But, I managed to hold her gaze, showing that I was telling the 'truth'... or just a really confident liar.

Our stare off ceased when her phone buzzed loudly, playing the Apple harp tune. I sighed in relief and made my way over to the fridge; putting the counter between my mother and I.

Poring myself a glass of orange juice, she answered the phone with an irritated "what?" I snickered into my glass as I thought of the poor soul on the other end of the line.

"You're kidding...Where is he now?!" Was all I heard from her side of the conversation, the rest was too muffled and quiet. My brain was too tired to process that something serious could be happening, so I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and scrubbed it under tap water, the noise of the running water blocking out the conversation. Once it was clean I made my way over to the couch and sunk my teeth into the delicious skin of the fruit.

Silence was the indication that Mum's phone call had ended. I glanced at her through tired eyes; her hand covered her mouth while she stared at her blank phone screen.

"Who died?" I said jokingly, with my mouth full. I was aware of how insensitive I sounded, but I was too tired to care or realise how serious the situation was.

"Your father..." Jolting out of my semi consciousness, my mouthful of apple went flying across the room.

"What?!"

"...was in a car accident..." My stomach dropped. "He's... in a stable condition...He's in surgery now."

"Shit..." I whispered, "How did it happen?!" I said more to myself than to her. The first thought that came to my head was; well, at least he's not dead.

The second was; that's why he never came home... oh god... How long had he been out there for?

I looked to my mother for answers, but she abruptly stood up and waved her hand as if slapping away the conversation.

She didn't say anything, but I could see her eyes watering as she picked up the keys. I followed without saying a word, unsure of what to do. She walked out the front door, leaving the door wide open behind her, as if in some sort of a trance. I pulled the door shut behind me and ran to the car, hoping she wouldn't leave without me.

"It's all right, I'm sure he's fine," I said as I slipped into the passenger side. I buckled myself in and quickly wiped away a stray tear. I couldn't cry, not now, because then mum would cry and I'm not sure if she would have been able to stop. "Mum?"

Silent tears had already begun to slide down her tanned cheeks, dampening her skirt, as she fumbled with the keys. At the sight of her, another tear escaped from my eyelashes, landing softly on my lap. If she noticed my gaze, she didn't say anything.

Angrily wiping at her eyes, she continued to search for the car key.

"I just—I just need to f—find the key."

"Mum..." I reached out and grabbed her shaking hands in mine. She didn't look up, but her hands squeezed around mine.

I realised that while she scared about Dad, she was terrified at the fact that she was a control freak who had lost control.

Sighing, I plucked the keys from her hands.

"I'll drive."

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