Brainwashed

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When I woke up the next morning, I was still shaken up by the events of last night

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When I woke up the next morning, I was still shaken up by the events of last night. I had woken up from nightmares in the middle of the night involving Duke and the bloody and lifeless body of Vicki Donovan. My wrists, where Duke had held me down started to become dark, as the bruises were forming. Not wanting to worry anyone, especially not my dad, I put on a dark red top with long enough sleeves to cover any marks. As for the one on my neck, I tried to cover it with concealer but had to opt for a light scarf instead.

     „Morning," I greeted my Dad when I entered the kitchen.

     „Morning," he answered while pouring two cups of coffee. „Did you sleep well?"

I shrugged my shoulders and sat down at the kitchen island.

     „Not really," I answered as my dad placed one of the cups in front of me.

     „Yeah, me neither," he sighed. „I used the time to go through some old boxes, family stuff. I found a whole box full of old journals, that reach back to the founding of this town," he said, pointing to a stack of boxes near the living room.

     „I also found this," he said, pushing a small navy blue velvet box towards me. „It was your mother's, she got it from her's, who got it from her's, and so on."

I was intrigued by the little box and quickly opened it, revealing a pretty silver bracelet, with a little flower-shaped locket on it.

     „It's so pretty!" I said in awe.

     „I know your mother would want you to have it and wear it," Dad said with a smile.

I put it around my left wrist, over my top, admiring how it looked on me. It was truly a marvelous piece.

     „Thank you," I said to my dad, smiling. My day had just become a whole lot better.

My gaze wandered back to the boxes full of journals.

     „What are you planning to do with these?" I asked, walking over to them and pulling one of the journals out.

They were old, really old. The one I was holding was bound in dark brown leather, the pages already yellowed from the decades it had survived.

     „I'm not sure," my dad said. „I thought about loaning a few to Carol Lockwood, for the founder's exhibition she plans."

     „You want to loan them the bracelet as well?" I asked a little bit worried. I loved it and didn't want to part with it so soon.

     „No, no," Dad said chuckling, "you're keeping this one, better you don't even take it off."

I grinned over at him, holding the locket closer to my face, admiring the intricate details on it, when I noticed a pleasant smell.

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