The Unsolved Case

Chapter 1

Hellllooo! So if you've already read this chapter I suggest reading it again because I basically changed most of it just leaving the key points. I wrote it a long while ago and just wasn't happy with how it was written so I edited it. Anyway, enjoy! Vote and comment and give your ideas on who should play Bridget and her parents! :))

Bridget

~

Scarred face.
Pale lips.
Bloodshot eyes.
I stare at my reflection, wondering where the strong girl I used to be is.

My clothes look disheveled and dirty and my hair is filled with knots.

My face is full of dirt and I have a number of cuts on my face, one of them starting at the bridge of my nose and ending in the middle of my cheek. I gently touch one and wince as it stings.

But my appearance was the least of my problems.

I moved away from the mirror and sat on the edge of my bed, dropping my bag casually next to me. I sighed and my vision began to get blurry as tears welled up in my eyes. I had a lump in my throat and didn't acknowledge a sharp object sitting on the bed as I lay back. Immediately I yelped and jumped up, cursing under my breath.

Motherpooping bag with all its pockets.

I thought feeling annoyed at my carelessness. But I've been careful for the last 2 weeks, and I finally got to come back home.

I look around the bed spotting a small pocket knife.

Such a small item yet it holds so much meaning.

All the memories I've been trying to forget come flooding back to me, knocking me off my feet.

Sitting in my tent thinking about tomorrow, the day I finally get to go back home.
Getting the phone call that changed my life and made my insides ache.

I couldn't bare to think about it.

A knock on the door causes me to stumble back on my feet.

"Honey..." I hear my mothers quiet, shaky voice on the other side of the door and for once in 3 months I feel glad to finally get the chance to talk to her, to get a proper explanation of what happened yesterday instead of rumours and lies.

"Come in" I reply quietly. My mother enters and takes a pained look at my appearance gasping, and comes rushing over.

"It's nothing..."

She doesn't give me a second glance as she hurries over to the first aid kit I kept in my room for when I get my monthly surprise. (Wink wink)

She comes back carrying various bandages of different sizes and shapes and starts disinfecting my wounds.

"Mother, please! It's nothing, let go!" I squirm out of her grip feeling irritated at the fact that she didn't listen to a word I said.

"I'm sorry." She apologies, I suddenly feel pity for her. "Oh I'm so sorry honey, I'm sorry for everything. I should have never grounded you. It's just, I was worried about you. You would lock yourself up in your room after Rick left and you would only leave when you needed to go to the bathroom. I was so wor-"

I cut her off, whispering softly "I understand mum."

Standing there looking into her bright hazel eyes, her highlighted hair and red cheeks, I couldn't help but feel guilty for leaving her at such a hard time.

"Oh, look at you." her eyes fill with tears as she holds my hands. "You look just like your father," she smiles looking into my eyes as if searching for any last piece of him.

"Don't you mean looked." I correct her.

Her smile vanishes just as soon as it came.
She sat on my bed, moving the knife out of the way.

She pats the seat beside her. I hesitated but slowly made my way to the bed.

"I can't even begin to imagine the pain and confusion you must be going through." She mutters.

I look down, away from her burning gaze.

"P-please tell me where d-dad is. Please t-tell me he's okay.." I managed to choke out.

Count to 10 Bridget, like your father used to do to calm himself.

One

This can't be real.

Two.

I take a deep, shaky breath.

Three.

Please let me be having a nightmare.

Four

Where is he?

Five.

This better not be some cruel joke.

Six.

What else would make your mother fall apart like this Bridget? Think.

Seven.

But how?

Eight.

I wasn't even there.

Nine.

Dread was causing tight knots in my stomach and sweaty palms.

Ten.

"Your father's dead, Bridget." My mother whispered.

Dead.

He was dead.

It was true.

It wasn't a rumour.

Moments pass and
I don't feel pain, or anger like I thought I would.

No.

I just feel numb.