Chapter Eight

967 49 0
                                    

"How was school?" Pam asks Molly, who is frantically rooting through her schoolbag on the kitchen counter. Molly mumbles something incoherent and then empties her entire bag onto the counter. "Molly?"

"Sorry, what?"

"What are you looking for?"

"Uh. . ." Molly continues to search through her things, through every single piece of paper in each folder. "I've just lost something."

"I can see that. What is it?"

Molly gives up and bites on her nail. "Nothing. It's nothing." She begins placing all her work back into her schoolbag and then quietly panics.

She has lost the only drawing of her sister alive. She drew it for her a month before her death. Molly made her sit still for a whole hour while she worked, which was difficult but she did it. That drawing is sacred; irreplaceable. She could replicate it but it wouldn't be the same. The memory wouldn't be fresh, it wouldn't be stable.

Molly tries to think of where she could have lost it and the only place she can think of is French class. Camilla knocked all of her papers out of her hand and Molly had to search for them all over the class. But what if a student picked it up and hid it? What if they ripped it? Binned it? As though it's nothing but rubbish.

"You sure you're okay?" Pam says.

"Yeah," Molly says. "Dinner smells delicious."

Molly takes a seat at the dining table and pours herself a glass of water from the jug. She doesn't make a sound and she doesn't look at Pam, she sits still until the children are called in to dinner thirty minutes later.

When her dinner is placed in front of her Molly turns her attention to the television that hangs on the wall opposite her chair. It is only now that she notices the news channel is on and while there is a moment of silence at the table she hears their thoughts clearly as they read the headline.

On the screen is a pretty, middle-aged woman with brown hair and dark eyebrows. She is the reporter tasked with giving the public detailed updates of tragedies. Although she says it with a straight face Molly wonders how much it actually affects her.

"Pam, maybe we should turn that-" Molly's foster dad, Daniel, says.

"No," Molly says, cutting him off. "I want to hear it. Please."

The table falls silent.

"The bodies were discovered early this morning in Salt Lake City, Utah, by the family's gardener who described the scene as 'something from a horror movie,'" the reporter says to the camera. "The victims were Lauren and Russel Jackson and their two daughters. Twenty-year-old Katelyn and thirteen-year-old Brianna."

Molly stares at the pictures of the sisters. Their smiles are warm and happy, their eyes glow with ferocious passion and ambition. The oldest sister is brunette just like her sister was and the younger girl was blonde, just like Molly.

"The details of the scene have not yet been disclosed," the reporter continues. "But it is suspected that the parents died from fatal gunshot wounds and their children were stabbed repeatedly, marking a close resemblance to the Harrigan murders in Florida four years ago in which a family were murdered in almost the exact same circumstances. The killer was never caught and although we haven't got confirmation that it is the same killer this tragedy might just make a connection between them. The youngest daughter of the Harrigan family luckily survived. In other news-"

"Luckily," Molly whispers, the word rolling off her tongue uneasily.

"Utah isn't too far from here," Pam says to Daniel. "Should we call...?"

Daniel shakes his head. "We'll talk about it later."

"Talk about what later?" Daisy whispers.

"It's nothing for you to worry about," Molly assures her. "Eat your dinner."

"Eat yours, too."

"Fine," Molly says, grinning down at her. "I will."

"And don't play with it, eat it properly."

Molly laughs. She glances over at Henley who is happy as anything chewing on his chicken nuggets. While Lily has her headphones on as usual and is humming to herself as she eats. Molly likes dinner, she likes the company. It's never a boring house with Daisy and Henley around and she usually enjoys talking to them about their day. But something is different tonight. After watching the news channel Molly suddenly feels the panic return. It followed her for months after her family died, she lived in fear that the killer would come back for her and now he could be just across the border. There is an urgency now.

He could be outside the house right now. Watching and waiting for his moment to strike. She always knew he'd come back for her, she just never knew when. And if she stays here then she's putting them in danger. The killer will claim her, take her life as he believes he should have done and Molly can't allow that.

She stares down at her empty plate and then it hits her that she has just eaten her last ever meal.

"Will you read to me again tonight?" Daisy asks. "Please?"

"No, not tonight," Molly says.

"But-"

"She said no, Daisy," Daniel says.

Daisy groans and Molly smiles at her before she takes her plate over to the sink. She begins washing the dishes, staring out of the window intently as the voices pick up in the adjacent dining room. She listens to Daisy's detailed events of her day and she listens to Henley complain about a girl in his class that keeps eating his fruit. And as she listens to these beautiful, innocent and funny children laugh she hopes their lives will be filled with it always.

Once laughter is taken there is little left. Not hope, nor faith, nor fight. Those are already gone. What is left is the mere idea of laughter. The idea of hope. And the idea that you can fight.

The ideas keep you sane for a while. For Molly it has been her lifeline. Waiting for the laughter to come so she could someday be healed. It would be her something new, it would be the capability of feeling a pinch of small joy. No matter how temporary, no matter how guilty it would make her feel, it would, it could, change her.

"I'm going to bed," Molly announces as she approaches the kitchen doorway. "Thank you for dinner. Good night."

"Good night," several voices say at once.

Molly climbs the staircase to her bedroom. She climbs it slowly for this will be the last time she ever will.


Remember This✔Where stories live. Discover now