Ghost Whisperer

Prologue

        In a split second, you can lose everything. Imagine. You could lose your home, family and friends. All it takes is the Universe snapping its fingers, and bam. Your life changes, and you can't get it back. It's gone, and you can't get it back.

      At age 12, my entire thought process was mainly logical. I could see that, in the big picture, there was a good chance that nothing greatly traumatic could happen to me. Sure, a few bumps and bruises, failed love, blah, blah ,blah. Nothing too serious. I didn't live in the best of neighbourhoods. It's not like I didn't see crime. A few robbery's here, a few assaults there. Even a murder at some point. But all the pain and terror around me... it just felt distant. I felt for the families that suffered but it was a distant pain. I couldn't relate. When we would go to funerals of those I didn't know and everyone around me was crying I was simply... silent. Unattached. Not present. It's hard to believe that, right? You would think a 12 year old could be scared, terrified even. But not me. I was never scared, never terrified. Nothing could touch me. 

   How impossibly wrong I was.

   I can still remember like it was yesterday. My family had attended a funeral for a little girl who had been brutally murdered the month prior. Of course, my mom was in tears and my dad was, well, he was upset. All I could think about was going home, getting out of my itchy dress and reading a book. I never got to do it.

   By the time we got home, my mom rushed me up to my room. She sternly told me to wait there and not to come out. I rolled my eyes and flopped into bed. She slammed the door behind her and ran back down the stairs. Within moments, I heard yelling. My dad and my mom never fought. And when they did, it was in hushed voices. Near silent. But it was different today. They sounded furious. Even though you could hear them from China, I couldn't hear what they were saying. I didn't care. I stuffed my head into a pillow and tried to block the sounds out. Is this what it's like being in a dysfunctional family? When did we become like this? I heard glass breaking downstairs. What was it? A mirror? A cup? I hope it's not the glass vase in the hallway. That was so pretty...

Another shatter came from the downstairs. What the hell were they doing? I knew my mom had told me to stay. Believe it or not, I was a pretty obedient kid. There was a silence for awhile. Maybe they had stopped fighting. Maybe they were making up right this second. Maybe my dad took my moms hand and apologized, and maybe my mom took his and smiled. Maybe everything was okay.

  Maybe.

  I wish that's what happened. I really, really do. I hate to say I'll never really know what the fight was about that day, or why it started. I'm not sure if the person that murdered my parents that day knew I was up there, or maybe they intended to kill me in a much, much more cruel way. The moment I smelt the smoke I knew something was wrong. My mom wasn't exactly an expert in the kitchen, but I knew right away this wasn't one of her mysterious meatloafs. No, this was the smell of my house burning down. It was the smell of all my ignorance catching up to me. I could no longer say that nothing could harm me. Because the worst of the worse had already happened and I couldn't avoid it. The last thing I remember about that day was smoke filling up my room, my lungs. Filling me with such  hatred and revenge that I completely forgot who I really was.

  My name is Charlotte. I am 12 years old, and have survived a murderous arsonist. 

  And I'm going to kill them.