The Witness

The Return to the House

It was like an out-of-body experience. Going back to that house, willingly, to stay and live with the person that kidnapped me and tried to kill me. So many times I wanted to escape that house, I wanted to go home, to be back in the outside world. Yet there I was, returning, to hide away, to stay shut in and hide from the outside world.

I knew what I was doing. Even then I understood that the fantasy was over. But that didn't stop me from clinging to any little strand of it out of desperation. I was spiraling, I kept telling myself that Dakota and I could just go back to the way we were. As if the police weren't investigating us for murder. As if my friends didn't think I was an absolute lunatic. As if a girl wasn't dead.

As long as I was with Dakota, I would be okay. Or so I kept telling myself. Dakota was in control, she was confident, strong, caring, she was everything I could ever want.

Or was she?

The Return to the House

I've always been curious about what kind of parents Dakota has, she never talks about them and always changes the subject when I bring it up. I don't think anything could have prepared me for the reality.

"Home sweet home," Dakota opened the door for me as I knocked.

I felt awkward, knocking, carrying a bag from the local convenience store filled with cleaning supplies. Almost like I was a complete stranger. Or a door-to-door salesman.

"Cali's in the car," I said.

"I'll get her," Dakota moved past me to go grab her.

I walked inside and looked around.

It was certainly obvious that people had been in here, looking for something. People had been in there trying to decipher what happened. Trying to figure out what Dakota did to me.

"Cops are guarding the street, to stop protesters from showing up." Dakota walked back in with the playful kitten in her arms.

"Oh, that's good," I said.

She set Cali down and the cat cautiously looked around.

"I uh, packed a bag." I nervously rubbed my hands on my jeans.

"I'll get it." She quickly went back outside.

I walked over to Dakota's room, which was completely destroyed. Everything turned over. Her computer and gaming systems missing.

"I know," she walked up behind me.

I flinched.

"A total disaster, we have our work cut out for us." She sighed and set my bag on her bed.

"It's not that bad," I tried.

She eyed me.

"We can handle it." I pecked her on the lips.

She smiled.

"Dakota!?" someone called.

This time we both flinched. I watched Dakota stiffen.

"Dakota Foley, get out here." A man called.

We walked out of the room and there stood her parents.

Her dad is tall, his hair is already completely white. Even though he doesn't look that old. He has a hard and stern look on his face. He's kind of muscular, for a dad anyway. I could tell just by looking at him he was one of those overly strict and judgmental dads.

Her mom looks tired. Like she is finished with this task and conversation before it had even begun. She has a permanent disappointed look on her face. She's like an older, heavier, less pretty version of Dakota. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a sloppy bun, and she has sunglasses resting on her head.