Chapter3
1024 Words
CHLOE POV
I got home late, sneaking through the back door like some criminal, just to avoid questions I couldn't provide answers to.
The house was quiet except for the TV playing in the living room. I tiptoed up the stairs, each creak making me freeze.
Luckily, I made it upstairs without grandma hearing me, thank god, I peeled off my blood-stained clothes and jumped in the shower, the water washing away the blood off my body.
Once, I was done, I got dressed and went downstairs.
Grandma was in the kitchen stirring something on the stove.
"Hi granny," I said, kissing her cheek.
"There's my girl, I was wondering when you'd get home, dinner's almost ready."
"Sorry, got caught up studying at the library."
"On a Friday night? Baby, you need to get yourself some friends."
"I have friends."
"Mmhmm, imaginary ones don't count sweetheart."
“Yes, they do .” I laughed, sitting at the kitchen table. "Your cooking smells amazing, I could almost feel the food in my stomach. By the way, what are we having?" I asked excitedly.
"Your favorite, chicken pot pie."
"You're literally the best. You sure know the way to my heart ."
"That’s my job," she winked. "Now set the table for me baby."
I got up, grabbing plates and forks.
"Oh my god granny, you won't believe what Mr. Shawn did today."
"What did that lazy man do now?"
"He gave us a ten-page assignment, ten pages! And you want to know the best part?"
"What?"
"He didn't even teach us the material," I said, getting worked up. "He literally just wrote the chapter number on the board and told us to figure it out ourselves."
Grandma turned around, one hand on her hip. "That man gets paid to do what exactly? Breathe?"
"Right? Like sir, that's not teaching, that's just being lazy with extra steps."
"I should go down to that school and give him a piece of my mind." She fumed.
"You should see him granny, he comes to class with coffee stains on his shirt, looking like he just rolled out of bed."
"Coffee stains? Baby, that man probably can't even spell coffee."
I burst out laughing. "Granny!"
"What? I'm just saying, if you're going to be lazy, at least look presentable while doing it."
"He also falls asleep at his desk sometimes."
"He what?"
"Swear to god, last week he put on a documentary and just passed out, we could hear him snoring."
Grandma shook her head, serving us both. "And they wonder why kids these days are struggling, it's because their teachers are taking naps instead of teaching."
"Exactly! Thank you! I tried to tell my guidance counselor but she just said Mr. Shawn is going through a lot."
"Going through a lot? We're all going through a lot honey, but that doesn't mean we stop doing our jobs."
"That's what I said!"
"That man needs to retire or actually do his job, one of the two."
"Honestly, I'd prefer he retire, at least then we'd get a teacher who actually cares."
"Amen to that baby."
We ate dinner, talking and laughing, and for a while, I almost forgot about everything.
"This is so good granny."
"I know baby, eat up, you're too skinny."
"I'm not skinny, I'm average."
"Average? Baby, a strong wind could blow you away."
"That's not even scientifically possible."
"Don't use big words with me, I taught science for thirty years."
I smiled. "Need help with dishes?"
"No baby, you go rest, you look tired."
"I got it granny, you cooked, I'll clean, that's the deal."
"You're too good to me."
"Learned from the best."
She kissed my forehead and left while I cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and wiped down the counters.
But as soon as I went upstairs to my room, everything came rushing back.
His face. The blood. The girl's eyes. The lies.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
I couldn't sleep. I was completely restless.
"Ugh, come on," I whispered into my pillow.
My eyes caught sight of the box at a corner, the one I kept hidden behind old textbooks, my box of stories and secrets.
I got up, pulled it out, grabbed a fresh notebook and a pen.
Maybe if I wrote it down, it would feel like a confession, like getting it out of my head would make the guilt less heavy and I could finally take my mind off it.
I started writing, everything that happened, every single detail.
An hour later, I stared at what I'd written, pondering on a title.
I grabbed my pen, and wrote at the top: "The Night I Saw Murder."
I smiled a little, hid the notebook deep inside the box, locked it with the tiny key on my necklace, and shoved the whole box back in my closet.
Then I remembered the blood-stained clothes in the corner.
"Crap," I whispered, grabbing them.
Couldn't leave them here, grandma did laundry every Sunday, she'd see them and ask questions I couldn't answer.
I went downstairs quietly, out the back door, found some old newspapers and a lighter, made a small pile, and set the clothes on top.
Lit the lighter and watched as the flames caught, spreading all over the clothes.
I stood there until there was nothing left but ashes, making sure every piece was destroyed.
Turned around to head back inside when something at the front door caught my eye.
"What's that?" I whispered to myself.
I walked around the side of the house, looking around.
Nothing. Nobody. Just an empty street and darkness.
Got closer to the front door and my blood went cold.
A dead black rose, withered and dried up, was lying on our doormat with a piece of paper underneath it.
"What the hell?"
My hands shook as I picked it up, and unfolded the note.
"Some truths are better left unsaid and some secrets are better left hidden. Hopefully you don't end up like that rose you're holding darling."
- Writer
