Four

"I'm crying because of you; you're not worth it."

- Unknown

My knees aren't working anymore. I am on the floor. I am crying, but I didn't even know. After a few minutes, the woman comes to help me onto the couch. I sigh.

"What does this prove?" I ask quietly.

"Well," says the male officer. "I don't think is was suicide; we found traces of other people being here. But we think she might've…" He pauses.

"Might. Have. What?" I snap. The woman sighs.

"Might have… Tried to fight the murderer."

I stop snapping at the officers. I consider this deeply and carefully.

"So…" I begin. "What are you saying?"

"We're saying…" says the woman. "That she could possibly be a murderer as well."

"What?!" I scream. "Why on earth would you think that?!" The woman reaches for me, but I quickly jerk away.

"I--" I stammer. "I have to go to school. I'm getting ready." I walk down the stairs as quickly as possible. I put on the same jeans as yesterday, and a grey shirt. I slip my sneakers on, and rush upstairs for pancakes. But when I walk into the kitchen and see the time, I roll my eyes, and rush out the door.

"But," says the female officer quickly, grabbing hold of my backpack as I sling in over my jacket. "Where are you going?"

"School!" I exclaim, and wrench away from her. "Where else?" I pull open the door, and rush to the bus stop.

As I'm running, I realize that the last words I said to my mom were 'Bye mom, I gotta catch the bus.' I really wish I'd said bye, or I love you, or something. I didn't even care, and then I get home, and she's dead on the living room floor, and could supposedly be a murderer.

I sigh as tears fill my eyes. I start running faster, and then suddenly, I stop. I try to think of what I am specifically thinking about, but I don't exactly know. I just stopped, like my legs weren't responding to my brain anymore.

I start walking again. Only. . . I'm not. I can't move. I look down. "Okay," I say to myself. "I'm not in wet cement."

"That's for sure," says a scratchy voice from behind me. I gasp. I turn my head around as far as I can to find the ugliest, most scarred face I've ever seen. He has a small scratchy beard to match his voice, and he smells of smoke. He's fat, and wears a big, grease stained sweatshirt that had the word PROUD in all capitals.

I am about to scream for help when another man comes around him, and slaps duct tape over my mouth. This man is skinny, too skinny. I can see the bones in his face and arms. He has almost no hair on his greasy head, and no facial hair either. He is wearing way too big jeans that are baggy around his legs, and also has a grease stained sweatshirt on, but it doesn't say anything.

And now, I realize the larger man is holding me. He has my arms, and I am being kidnapped.