Destiny

Chapter One:

Blinding lights. Unfamiliar, insignificant voices. A bustle of noise. None of it meant anything. Not anymore.

Nipping my skin, the freezing cold air cocooned itself around me, seeping into the bottom of my bones. Salty, hot tears uncontrollably gushed from my eyes, spilling down my face, creating a tiny puddle of milky white water at my feet.

"I think she's going into shock," a faraway voice exclaimed.

The same image flashed in my mind. Over and over again. The real world was hidden from view; my mind too distraught with what I'd just seen.

"After what she just saw, I'm not surprised," a bored voice replied.

My body was numb, and it was hard to concentrate. Soon, the police would be here, and I'd be forced through hours of intensive questions.

I'd be the top suspect. It'd be all over the news: Daughter kills father.

How could people be so stupid?

Blinking, the real world came into focus, the rushing of people, avoiding looking at me. We were at the end of the street. Where my house lay, the street ahead stretched far into the distance, either side lined with quaint little houses with neatly trimmed hedges. Slowly, I turned to face my house. Our two neighbours, from either side, came rushing out and they stood at the bottom of their drives, watching with wide eyes and pale skin. Their hands were covering their mouths and for one second, I was so angry that they were able to be here now, but when I was screaming for help, no one was around. My dad's little blue car was parked in the driveway. The front door to our house was wide open showing the whole street the rather mundane hallway littered with his favourite books. Unlike the other houses, our front garden was a tangle of weeds, threatening to spill all over the front of the house.

My dad had said that he'd never had much time to tend to the garden; he'd always been too busy in the study. A room that was out of bounds to me. For years, I'd sat on the bottom step of our stairs, clinging to the white chipped banister and wondered why he spent hours in that room. He'd claim it was for work, but he'd always told me he'd worked at a construction site, and as far as I was aware, working as a builder didn't mean you had to spend hours upon hours locked up in a room.

It was dark and cold outside, a gloomy atmosphere coming to rest around us like a blanket. A woman in a bright yellow jacket and green overalls came rushing over to me. "Honey, take this, you look like you're freezing to death."

It was only as she wrapped the bright orange fabric around me that I realised I was clutching my bare arms to my chest, shivering from the abundance of goose bumps that were spreading across my arms.

The woman looked at me, smiled sadly and then walked away, presumably to where my dad's body lay. More tears spilled over as I thought about how everything would change now. What would happen to me?

I didn't have anyone else, no mother, no aunt.

"Lisbeth Jones?" A woman, no older than forty, stood in front of me. She held a black clipboard in her hands. Her black hair was pulled tightly back into a bun to make her features seem even sharper. Subtle crow’s feet lined her eyes, and as she looked at me, a little wrinkle appeared in between her eyebrows. She wore a white blouse, covered mostly by a black blazer. Her legs were clad in a pencil skirt, and her shoes were black high heels. On a normal day, she would have scared me.

Today? I just wanted her to leave me alone.

I nodded my head in response to her question. She jotted something down on her clipboard. Her nails were manicured and painted a glittering blue.

"My name is Sarah Oswald, I'm a social worker and I'm here to assign you to another adult to live with seeing as your father is...deceased." I gulped as she said those last words. I would not think about what I had seen. "Do you have any other family?" Sarah asked, looking imploringly at me.

I shook my head. If I did have any other family; my dad had never told me about it. I'd never met my mother; my dad had said that she lived in America somewhere, but I'd always figured this was just a lie to protect me from the truth. The truth that she was dead.

"We already have a foster family set up for you. A friend of your father's, I don't know how she knew, but my company received a phone call from her, somehow the news reached her that your father was dead, she's agreed to take you into her care."

I nodded mutely. "Will I have to go in for questioning?" I asked with in a croaky voice.

"Yes, but not today. First, we'll get you settled into your new home. You can answer the questions when you're ready. You can go into the house now. You need to pack."

I agreed, and slowly my legs began to drag me towards the house. I avoided looking at the garage; where it had all happened. Instead, when I reached the bottom of the stairs, I paused. There was no one around, no one to rebuke me. This was probably the only chance I'd ever get to figure out what was in that room. I made sure no one was watching me, and then I stealthily made my way to the door and twisted the golden knob. I stepped inside the room and let the door shut behind me.

A bookshelf full of different books dominated one side of the room. The bookcase was a glossy oak, dented here and there from years of use. In the middle of the room, standing on top of the beige carpet was a table. Atop the table was a map of the world, different coloured push pins stuck in random places. Looking closely, I saw that there were around six or seven pins, and that more lay flat in a black tub beside the map. Beyond the table, a large desk filled up the back wall. My dad's modern computer sat, humming with energy.

An array of papers littered the top of the desk, so much so that the glass top was hidden from sight. On the other side of the room, opposite the bookcase, a small white table was supporting a kettle, a few cups and a biscuit tin. As I neared the table, my hands lightly brushed over a half drank cup of tea that my dad must not have finished. It was still warm.

Pushing down thoughts of his old, warm face, I wandered over to the computer desk and slumped down in his chair. I moved the computer mouse, and his monitor burst into life. I needed a password to get in, but I was never good at guessing these kinds of things. The writing above the password box told me I had five attempts.

First, I tried 'Lisbeth'.

Then, I tried 'Wiston'. That was the name of our first cat.

Next, I typed in '010400' My birth date.

Frustrated with myself, I leaned back and thought. I had one more go, for if I guessed it wrong five times, the hard drive would wipe itself clean. With an abundance of hope, I decided to try 'Amelie' My mother's name.

Nothing.

My eyes burned and I knew that tears were coming. I got up from the chair and was about to leave the room, when something caught my eye. An envelope. Addressed to me.

Hearing voices outside in the hallway, I stuffed the letter in the pocket of my black jeans, and made myself look busy by admiring all the books.

The door opened. "Oh, there you are!" Sarah exclaimed. "Are you nearly done?"

I shook my head. "Sorry. I was just getting my favourite book," I lied as I randomly selected a book from the shelf and made my way from the room. I headed up the stairs, the plain white walls stinging my eyes as I went. Opening the door to my room, I slumped on my bed. My walls were plastered in deep purple wallpaper, and tiny glittering stars were dotted everywhere. My curtains were drawn; like they always were.

I dropped the book and the letter onto my black and white quilt, rushed over to the wardrobe and pulled out the two grey and blue backpacks I had. Then, I threw them on the bed as I tugged off all my clothes from the hangers. I emptied my underwear draw onto the bed, grabbed all of my notebooks and began packing. Not really concentrating, or caring really, I stuffed everything into the bag. I felt underneath the bed for the two pairs of converse I owned and threw them into the bag as well. By this point, the grey backpack was full, almost spilling over. I grabbed a few of the ornaments off of my desk when something caught my eye. Draped on the back of my chair was Sam's jacket. My heart sunk as I realised that Sam would never see me again. I picked up his jacket and inhaled his scent. Throwing the jacket on, I grabbed my phone from the side of the bed and dialled his number.

After the third ring, he picked up. "Sam?" I whispered.

"Hey, Beth," he replied in a groggy voice. Sam was the only one who called me Beth, because he knew it annoyed me and there was nothing more that Sam liked than to tease me, he was like an annoying but sweet brother.

I slumped down on the floor, my limbs in a tangle. "I'm so sorry I woke you up," I whispered.

"It's OK. Beth, what's wrong. Are you okay?" Sam seemed more alert now, and more tears cascaded down my face.

"No, no I'm really not. I can't - I'm no-" I choked and then that was it, I began to cry. I couldn't breath and I was making horrible noises. I was only faintly aware of Sam saying "Hold on, Beth, I'll be there in five minutes. I promise. I love you."

He hung up and I let the phone drop to the floor. Sam was my best friend; it had just been us ever since we met. The thought of leaving him made more tears roll down my cheeks.

Ten minutes later, there was a commotion outside, but my limbs felt too heavy to move, so I just sat, leaning against the bed, staring at the door, hoping, wishing, waiting for Sam to be here.

As if on cue, a rather bedraggled Sam burst through the door. When he saw me on the floor, he rushed over and scooped me up into his arms. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "They wouldn't let me through, your neighbour had to confirm that I wasn't a total stranger. God, Liz, what happened?" Sam only ever called me 'Liz' if was he was worried about me.

Sam was still in his pyjamas. They consisted of blue bottoms, a thin grey shirt and, because he was outside, a thick grey jacket. Much like the one I wore. He had curly brown hair that always fell into his startling blue eyes. He had prominent cheekbones and a square jaw; feats that made girls drool over him.

But, he only ever paid attention to me.

"I saw it all," I began. "I was in bed, and - and, I heard noises from downstairs. I went down and there was this man, he had dad pushed up against the wall. And dad was covered in blood; it was everywhere. The man dragged him into the garage and as I followed I heard a sickening crunch. I screamed. The man turned, saw me and grabbed me. He shot dad in the head. He fell to the ground. He... was dead. Is dead." The words gushed out of me faster than I had ever spoken before but it helped me to comprehend what had happened, yet it didn’t make it any easier, I doubted it would ever get easier.

I couldn't continue; I held Sam even tighter and wept into his shoulder. He rubbed my back comfortingly and consoled me with his words.

"It's OK, Liz. Shh, shh, you've got me, you'll be okay."