The Music We Make ✔️

15. Accusations

I sighed, "I overheard your parents panicking about who I am and if I know that they're connected to my parent."

He scoffed, "Maybe you heard wrong."

"I clearly heard them say 'How much do you think she knows?' And 'We would've known if she knew we were connected to them in any way.' And in my parents safe there was a piece of paper with the name Bates written on it." I told him as I paced in front of the couch that he was still sat on.

"My parents suck, but they're not murderers!" Drew exclaimed, getting up from the couch so he could tower over me as he spoke.

I pushed him away from me, "Maybe you don't know them all that well. They killed my parents, or know who did kill them!"

"Get. Out." Drew growled slowly, anger seeping from every word.

I took a step back in shock at his dangerous tone, and how dark his eyes suddenly were.

"I don't want to be in a house with murders anyway." I spat before storming out of the room to grab my stuff and leave.

How could he defend people that treat him like dirt? The people that quite possibly murdered my family?

And what was I supposed to do now? I didn't have any actual proof that the Bates did anything.

As I walked out the front door of Drew's house, I pulled out my cellphone and turned on my data so I could find a bus to take me back to my home town.

It was a good thing I had a couple hundred dollars on my debit card, or else I'd be stranded here.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Hours later I was finally home and not at all calmed down from everything that happened earlier.

On the bus I had nothing to do except for think, and all my thoughts consisted of how my parents and Drew's parents could've possibly known each other. But they all had very different careers, and lived in different cities. There was no clear connection between them at all.

I raided my dad's office again, looking for any sign of Cecelia and Trevor Bates but there was nothing. The only suspicious thing I found was a blueprint for some complicated device, and I had no idea why my dad would have that. He was a musician, and from what I remember, couldn't even use an iPhone properly.

I also looked around in my mom's studio and of course found nothing.

I sighed in defeat as I flopped down onto my bed. I needed answers. But there weren't any here.

It had been a few hours since I got home, and now the middle of the night, but I couldn't sleep. I was too shaken up from the eventful dinner with Drew's family and everything that happened afterwards.

As I laid in bed I tried to rack my brain for any place that might have clues, or any way my parents could've known Drew's, but I couldn't come up with anything. Everything I discovered led to a dead end.

A sudden crash downstairs brought me out of my thoughts and scared the living daylights out of me.

"What the hell?" I whispered to myself, grabbing the only weapon type thing I could find, my ukulele, from my night table.

I silently cursed my parents for never putting me in baseball, a bat would've made me feel a lot safer right now.

I listened closely for any footsteps, and when I didn't hear anything I quietly made my way downstairs to see what the commotion was.

As I stepped into the living room I gasped at the scene before me. The window was broken, and on the floor was a brick with a piece of paper taped to it.