Chapter 8

I still had two more hours left of my shift and I was ready to go home. I scanned the items. "Eighteen twenty-seven is your total." I say. The woman pulls out her wallet and puts it in the machine. "Have a good day." She says as she smiles at me. "Thanks, you too." I say, smiling back. It was the most dreadful day ever. I cleaned up spills on the aisles, had my fair share of rude customers, and was tired all shift. When it was time for me to go home I raced to the machine and clocked out. I made my way to my car and sped home. I raced through the door and called Melanie's name. She was still mad about our fight weeks ago. "I'm up here, Weston." She said. She slid something behind her back and sat on it. "What's that?" I ask her. "It's just a drawing. It's embarrassing." She says. "I never knew you were an artist." I say, chuckling. "By no means is it anywhere close to art." She jokes back. "How was your day while I was gone?" I ask. She's silent for a moment. She looks as if she's contemplating something. "It was good, I guess." She answers. This didn't sound too reassuring. "What's wrong?" I ask. "Nothing, it seriously was a good day." She says. "Okay, if you say so. Want me to order some pizza?" I say as I rub the top of her head. "Sure. Pizza sounds good." She smiles as she says it. I smile back and get up and walk out of her room and back down the stairs. I sit down on the couch and order a pepperoni pizza. After I ordered I sat down on the couch. I sat there for 5 minutes when suddenly, I heard a thud, and ran up the stairs as fast as I could. "Mel? Mel!" I screamed. No response. I tried to open the door but couldn't get anything more than the jiggle of a door knob. I tried to kick the door down, but to no evail. A tingle started crawling up my spine as I flew down the stairs, skipping every other step. Suddenly I entered a daze. What could she be doing? Why wouldn't the door open? why didn't she answer? My head spun as I ran through my house to the garage, tripping over a glass table and cutting myself in the process. I could barely feel it, I was full of adrenaline. I had to get in there, I had to figure out what was going on. I opened the garage door and opened the inventory cabinet. I grabbed an old, rusty axe given to me by my grandfather almost 11 years ago when he passed. I ran back out of the garage, and dangerously hustled my way through my house to the stairs. "Mel! Are you okay?" I yelled again. I received no response. I made my way up the stairs slowly this time, remembering I had an axe in hand, and I already cut myself once. I was shaking and numb, I struggled to catch my breath. What could possibly be wrong? I walked up to the door, and braced myself. I put the axe up over my shoulders and swung. I did this again and again until I got to the other side. I couldn't see anything and I couldn't reach through the door. Something was blocking it, which explains why I couldn't get it down the first time. What could she be blocking? I was crying now, and wiggled my arm through the very small space between the door and the barricade and reached the lock on the other side. I unlocked the door and began to push as hard as I could. All at once, whatever was blocking the door fell, and something made of glass shattered. The door swung open and I fell into the room. I looked up. I couldn't move. All the feeling in my body had left me. I was crying before, but I started to sob. I screamed, "Melanie!" As if that was going to change what was in front of me. There Melanie was, dangling by a rope tied to her ceiling fan. Below her was a chair that was knocked over. Her body was swaying back and forth. I stood there frozen. For a moment, I disconnected from reality. I stared for 10 minutes at Melanie's body as it was held in the air. More tears built up inside of my eyes. I got up and punched the wall. I let out a scream of agony. I raced around her room, looking for any reason as to why she would do this. On her bed I found a notebook. It was opened to a page that had my name in Melanie's handwriting at the top. I read through the page. It went on to explain that when dad died, she began to feel empty. It explained how she blamed herself for our mother's death. It explained that she felt like she didn't have a connection with me anymore. It told me to keep going, and that I was loved beyond anything anyone else could fathom. "Why should I keep going when you didn't?" I screamed. I picked the notebook up and ripped the page out. I crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the garbage can in her room. I pulled out my phone and called the police, then I raced outside of my house and got into my car. I went as fast as I could for as long as I could. I began to hyperventilate, and I was screaming and punching the steering wheel while I drove. I went back to my house and met the cops. They brought me to a room for interrogation. I answered all the questions they had for me. After what felt like hours, they let me go. Her funeral was the roughest experience I'd ever had. It hurt to lose my dad. It hurt to lose my mom. Losing Melanie, though, was a whole different world of hurt. I wasn't sure how to feel. My mind was blank for days on end. I was numb to everything life had to throw my way. I just wanted everything to be a dream.