Fault Line [Completed]

Chapter Twelve

So sorry for not updating last week. God knows that I was busy with homework and such. And then there was the inspiration loss. I swear: Having no inspiration will be the death of me.

I read this book called The Hollow, and let me tell you: It was stupendous! I loved it! I'm got the second book today, can't wait to finish it! It is a published book, so it's probably not on Wattpad, unless there's a sample of it . . . I don't know. But I suggest reading it.

Anyway, sorry for that, I have a huge obsession with books, but here is the next chapter.

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So lately I have been as bored as a nail on a table. Lana came up to see me yesterday. It's been four days since our conversation of leaving together. Ever since that day, I haven't been thinking anything through. I feel as if I made a mistake giving her hope like that. Will I really take her with me?

It's just that my life is too crazy now, but in ten years, it might be better. I might find a safe place to live. I might find someone who gets me. I might be caught. Maybe I'll be dead.

No, stop it! Stop thinking like that. It's not good to be thinking like that.

I take a deep breath through my nose and the sound of a car engine turning on makes me jump slightly. Listening more carefully, I realize that Aunt Mallory is leaving. I smile and wait for the sound of the car fade away and then jump over the boxes. I run over to the attic door and I push down on it. The door swings open with the help of gravity and the stairs descend, making themselves stairs again.

I climb down the stairs quickly and rush to down the stairs to the first level. I run to the living room and swing around the corner to come face to face with the bookshelf. Scanning the titles quickly, I pick out three books that were on top of the aligned books. I hold the books tightly to my chest and run up the stairs to the upper level.

I set the books down and jump to open the attic door. The stairs fold out to the ground while I grab the books on the floor. I quickly make my way up the stairs and they close right behind me. I walk to the boxes and climb over them. Setting the books at the foot of my small bed, I sit down and close my eyes, breathing in through my nose.

I just hope that the books aren't too boring.

I open my eyes and lower my gaze to the small stack of books in front of me. I grab the book on the top of the pile and turn the book to look at the description at the back. The book named "Apples And The Ones Who Lie" has a very boring description. It's about this group of girls fighting over this one guy and the only thing they know about him is that he likes apples. And it all takes place in the dresses and balls and kings and queens era. Fun right?

The second book talks about a detective and his associate and together they solve crimes. I flip the book open to a random page and the two men are at a crime scene with a dead woman lying on the ground. Okay, done there.

I cross my fingers and pick up the last book. I glance down at the title and I literally do a double take see if the title is correct.

It is.

"Murder in 1882"

The book that I saw in Aunt Mallory's bathroom oh so long ago. I grip the book tighter, knowing that my strength could fail any second. Flipping the book open, the book opens to the first page and I cautiously read it. And then the second page.

And then the third page.

And before I could even think, I had finished the book in record time and now it's laying on the ground closed in front of me. All of the murders and deaths . . . it was too much. All of that happened in 1882? All of those deaths. The ones who were murdered and then those who killed them also dead. There was so much death. And even now there is.

I killed my mother. But she abused me for three years. Three years of suffering and crying myself to sleep and keeping my head high even when there was nothing better to do than run away. Three years of pain and endless nights. Three years of screaming into a pillow because I couldn't let the girls know. Three years of abuse. And now I've moved on. She's dead and I'm running.

Deep down, it was always going to be like this.

Throughout the book, only one sentence stuck in my head.

'And the guilty shall rest under pain of death.'

I'm definitely not getting any sleep tonight.

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For the last two hours, I have flipped the book over and over in my hands. I have tried for the past half hour to not fall asleep. It's not the easiest thing to do.

Aunt Mallory returned over an hour ago, so I can't grab any more books or put the ones I have away. I'm stuck once more.

Maybe Lana will visit me today. Maybe she won't.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the attic door opening. I lean backwards and position my head so that I can see out of a tiny crack in between the boxes. A small figure slowly makes its way to the top of the ladder. It's Lana. I know this.

"Jane!" Lana runs to the boxes and jumps up on them.

She lands on top of me and wraps her arms around me tightly. "I'm so sorry. Oh!" She sobs into my chest.

I sit up a little and pat her back. "Lana, dear, what happened?"

She wipes at her cheeks furiously and looks down. "I told Aunt Mallory that you were here."

I freeze.

This is freaking unbelievable.

She knows.

I feel my heart beat faster in my chest.

I got to leave now.

When I finally thought that I was safe for a little longer. But no. She found out. At least Lana kept her mouth shut about me for this long.

But what would cause her to tell Aunt Mallory about me hiding out in the attic? I don't need to know. I just need to get out of here.