Memories Of A Witness

Chapter Six

A week had passed. A week full of emotional pain.

The most painful one being her dad's funeral. It was on Wednesday, four days after his death. Many people had gathered, strangers and the ones who were assembled in her uncle's house when she was brought. She wished vehemently, she had lost her memories now, so that she wouldn't suffer so much.

Megan never left her room, unless she had to go to the bathroom. It was impossible not to encounter someone. The house was tiny, with two tiny bedrooms and with an even tinier kitchen. It was suffocating here. 

"Megan? Come downstairs and eat breakfast with us. Please? You haven't been eating at all."

She looked at her lethargic face, embellished by dark brown curls and then at her large belly. She was pregnant and sluggish, but still looked after her. She always left meals on the small 3-drawer dresser, when Megan refused to show to dinner. How nice of her. 

She sighed and pushed off the smelly blanket from her. She stood up and saw the usual black dots. Megan quickly reached out to the headboard to steady herself. After the dizziness vanished, she left the room and descended the creaky stairs with Bel. From here she could see the kitchen as her uncle munched on a sandwich. He had a flattop crewcut and a protruding belly, yet he acted like her father right down to the reticence. But there was something off-putting about him. On the day of the calamity, friends and relatives of her father had gathered at his house and comforted her, except  him. He was hiding in the back. She thought he was crying and shocked by the news. No. He was glowering at her. 

Up until now she realized she hadn't talked to him at all. 

Her aunt smiled and held out a bowl of cereal to her. She grabbed it, put it on the table and sat down. When she looked up, their eyes locked over the breakfast table. Something in his eyes made her look away. 

Megan started eating and stared down at the colorful wheels of cereal floating around in the bowl full of milk. "Were the police able to trace the murderer?" she mumbled.

The  chewing and drinking halted and she felt them staring at her. 

"Not yet, honey. But they will. It's just a matter of time," said Bel sweetly and rubbed my back. She had a mother's instinct to reach out and calm someone down.

The rest of the breakfast went silent, only the munches audible. Nobody said a word. 

Megan finished the bowl and stood up. "Thank-" she suddenly felt an uncomfortable sensation in her stomach and slammed her mouth with a hand. 

Before her aunt had a chance to say something, she ran to the bathroom and threw it all up. She heaved and heaved until there was nothing but an empty pit in her gut. She felt relieved and rose erect.  Out of the blue, a reflection of her looked back at Megan through mirror, something she had been avoiding. She gasped. She looked skeletal, really. Skin was stretched over her skull, jagged cheekbones stuck out and hair so dull and thin. She thought she saw bald spots too. Her sweater was too loose and she smelt actually like garbage. 

Appalled, she staggered backwards and fell in a heap to the floor. First tears, then sobs.

A knock on the door broke the weeps and her aunt opened it. "Megan, are you OK?" 

"No," she said and hid her flushed face behind her hair.

She handed her a glass of water, which she grabbed silently. "Do you want to go to the doctor?"