Chp.12

"Lukas?" I hear a voice. Is it your voice? Am I dreaming? Was I dreaming? Please tell me it was all a dream? That you're here right now, probably about to throw water on my face so I'll wake up. Or maybe you're still sleeping? Deciding to bunk school again?

"Lukas?"

There it is again.

It's a voice. A voice older than yours. So it's not you, is it?

I open my eyes. Slowly. I didn't keep my hopes high. Because I'd go crazy if it's you who's standing in front of me.

The side of my temple throbs with pain but I manage to suck in the groan, not letting it slip out of my tongue. I grunt, raising my head from the bed. Wait....Bed? But I wasn't on a bed before... My face scrunches in confusion as I frantically look around. The person. The intruder. Where is he? I remember he was here. I remember a cloth pushed on my mouth. I remember choking. I remember fainting, for godsake! Where the hell is he?!

I jump from my bed, suddenly scared, my heart thumping hard. Sweat beading on my forehead, I have an urge to make a run for it when I hear a voice. That same voice. I pause. Stop my movement. I was so shocked by everything that I didn't even notice her standing there. Close to me.

Mom.

She's here. She's… here? How? What happened? But I thought-? And they were-? They were gone! How did this all happen? And there was Rickson about to send me a way? And your diary. Where's your diary? I had it in my hands. It was in my bloody hands!

"Lukas?" Her voice is filled with concern, "Luke, what are you doing?"

"He was here," That's all what comes out of my mouth, "I swear he was here with me."

She frowns in utter confusion. And it only makes my face fall in miserable defeat. He was gone. That damn person was gone. And he took your diary. He took the book. The book which revealed so much then I'll ever bargain for. I run my hand through my hair, realizing your beanie was gone. He took that away too.

"I don't understand what you're talking about," She says, "Who are you talking about?"

I don't reply to that, instead inquiring another question, "What are you doing here? How did you come back?"

Her frown grew deeper, "What do you mean? We came back with the car of course."

I shake my head furiously, "But...But you didn't come back yesterday. You didn't. And I waited for so long and I went over to Rickson's and they couldn't find you and I was so scared-"

"Are you feeling alright, honey?" She asks me gently, walking closer to me, but I take a step back. "We came back yesterday – just like we said we would. And there was no DS Rickson and everything was normal. Maybe… You just had a dream." It felt more like she was consoling herself than me.

"Where's Dad?" I ask, randomly.

"He's having breakfast."

I feel relief when I hear that. At least they're safe.

I bite back an ugly sob, giving out a cracked laugh of insanity. I step away from her, letting myself fall on my bed again. I rub my eyes vigorously with the palm of my hands, trying to make sense of everything. Yesterday night. My parents didn't return. I felt sick and stupidly ran to find help in the pouring rain and got sick. Rickson found me and I told him everything. There was an investigation but that bloody DI Williams with his big mouth-hole ranted about how I should be sent away. I ran back home and discovered how there was no pattern. How children were murdered every random year. As if the killer wanted to people to forget before making the next move. My stomach churned with nausea, trying to shake the thought out of my head. I felt a raw taste like acids in my mouth, almost making me gag.

"Mom," I don't have the energy to stare at her, so I look at the floor instead, feeling dizzy with all of this, "What happened yesterday?"

"What do you mean, what happened yesterday?" I could almost feel the painful worry in her voice.

"Just bloody answer me!" I hiss but stop when I see the horror on her face. I take a deep breath and sigh, and then add, "Please." To sound more… polite.

I look up at her, my hands trembling as I held tightly on the sides of the bed. Her brown eyes showing… as if they had given up on me. Like I had gone completely insane.

"Please." I try again, pleading.

She hesitates before starting, "I don't know what to tell you, Luke. I mean, you were right there. With us."

"I just have a hard time remembering." I give a tight smile.

"We came back yesterday night and you were in your room doing this assignment on your laptop. I asked you to come down for dinner but you said you felt sick and wanted to call it in for the night."

I let out a short unsure laugh, hoping she's messing with me. Obviously she isn't.

"Are you-?"

I interrupt her, "That didn't happen. I didn't do my homework. You guys didn't come like you said you would. This is the game isn't it? I'm in a game… or this is just a dream? I can��t-"

"Calm down, Luke." She placed a hand on my shoulder. I push it away, angrily.

This can't be happening. This can't, this can't!

"But there was this person!" I yell, "He had this cloth and-"

"Lukas Wells!" She shouts, disbelief in her eyes, "I honestly don't know what's gotten in to you lately. I only came to thank you for packing up her room."

I grimace, silence covering me. "I did what…?"

She sighs, resting her head on her hands, knowing what's coming next.

"I didn't do anything to her room." Except for the fact that I read your diary, Jesse, I would have never packed up your room.

I don't wait for her response, running towards your room at the end of the hallway. It takes an effort to open the door with my fidgeting hands but I manage after a while. I push the door open, revealing your… this isn't your room. It's just a place filled with boxes. Nothing but boxes and empty furniture.

I could feel Mom standing behind so I swallow the lump in my throat.

"You did a really good job at it." Mom says, making me more depress.

"I didn't do it." I whisper.

But she's already heading downstairs. To the kitchen. Ignoring me as she said,

"Just come downstairs and have some breakfast, Luke. If this is a joke than I'm not finding it funny."

But I didn't do it. It was that psycho. It had to be him. That person who somehow did this. Somehow made everything look normal. Packed every belonging of yours and stole your diary. Mom and Dad won't ever believe me. But I needed someone to tell them that I was telling the truth. Like a… witness, maybe?

All of a sudden, it hit me.

Rickson.

He can help me right? Well, he should. That's his job or whatever.

I run downstairs, this new adrenaline chasing in my blood.

"Where in the world are you going?" Dad calls out, irritatingly, his way of saying hello.

"I'll be back before lunch." I respond, closing the door behind me.

Because Rickson might be the only chance to prove everyone that I'm not crazy.

To prove to myself that I'm not crazy…