An ear-piercing scream shattered the quiet solitude of the house on Thursday morning. I jumped out of bed and rushed into the hallway, barely missing colliding with Aunt Beth and Uncle Dean. He flung open Abby's bedroom door, and I crowded into the room behind Aunt Beth, my heart in my throat. Was something wrong with Abby, or was she having another nightmare?
Abby was rocking on her knees in the middle of the floor, cell phone clutched in her hand. Her parents flanked her, eyes wide with fear.
"Abby, honey, what's wrong?" Aunt Beth asked, smoothing the hair away from her daughter's face.
Sobbing, Abby shook her head and continued to rock back and forth. I stood frozen in the doorway, unsure what to say or do.
After a moment, Abby lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was tear stained. "Marc's dead," she whispered.
I gasped.
"Who's Marc?" Uncle Dean asked, glancing at me.