Late Nights & Pillow Fights

Day 11: Stars & Streamers

                                  D a w n :

My phone buzzed beside me, but I didn't bother looking at it. I already knew who it was and what he wanted.

I leaned on the gas pedal, speeding up, trying my hardest to get there before I did something stupid, like tell Lane where I was going.

I knew that he probably wasn't that worried, I mean it wasn't like I'd never went out on my own before, but I was scared. I knew that if I picked up the phone, then Lane would be able to hear my fear and then he'd be worried as well. Ignoring the call was the best thing to do for the both of us.

I turned onto the small dirt road that led to Daryll's house, my grip on the steering wheel growing tighter the closer I got.

I knew that I wasn't going to find something pleasant waiting for me, I could feel it in the air. Something was very wrong.

When the road ended and it was just the grass surrounding his small, two-story wooden house, I got parked the car and got out, walking towards the house.

It didn't have the usual homey feel that it did when I had been over before, the small fence that surrounded the house was broken, littering the dying grass along with the broken glass from the kitchen window. There were no longer any of Mrs. Smithson's famous yellow tulips planted outside the doors, but instead, below my feet were yellow streamers that read; 'Crime Scene, Do Not Cross.'

And they were no longer strung up, but laying on the ground around the house, muddy and ripped.

I hadn't even known that something had gone on with the police though, Daryll didn't really tell me anything, and I couldn't even blame him.

I should've tried harder to find out what was wrong. I was worried, I knew something was off, but I assumed it could wait until the end of the project and he would be fine, but that's not the case. Clearly he isn't fine, and it took me ten days to come and find out why.

After a few jolts and a small shove, the back door to the kitchen flew open and crashed into the cupboard, breaking the glass, causing the cups to fall on the floor and shatter into little shards of glass.

It seemed like that was the last thing that was still intact, everything in this house that I knew so well was different, everything was wrecked, now just fragments of what they used to be.

I didn't even know if Daryll was home, but I prayed that he was still standing, and not a casualty of this misfortune.

I passed the kitchen, heading upstairs, but I stopped at the middle of the stairs, my eyes frozen at the sight in front of me.

At the very top, dried blood crested the staircase its smell almost as bad as the sight of it. Behind it though, on the before, white walls, blood was scattered all over it.

Blood was not a sight that I was new to, but to see it like this, running in every direction, trying to escape its purpose. It was almost beautiful the way it was mounted upon the wall, the personal statement of a sadistic artist.

But this was the blood of somebody I knew, and that was an unsettling feeling.

It was either Mr. Smithson's blood, Mrs. Smithson's blood...

I couldn't even say the words of the last possibility, I couldn't say them because if I did, then it could be true, but I couldn't allow that.

I couldn't allow that to be true.

I ran up the stairs, the dried blood flaking up behind my heels.

I needed to get to Daryll's room and he needed to be in there, Goddamnit he needed to be in there.