by Mary Steward '19
“Ryan’s already asleep. In the morning he’ll need his medicine, it’s in the cupboard above the sink, the amount he needs is on the label,” Mrs. Girard pointed toward the gorgeous, vast kitchen, “If you need anything, our numbers are on the counter.”
“Perfect, sounds good. Now go out and have fun!” I rushed them out their new, freshly painted red, front door.
I was so ready for some extra cash. I’m basically coming out of college completely broke. Plus, babysitting is the easiest way to make some money, especially in this beautiful home. Just the living room is twice the size of my whole house. The shiny, silver sterling stairs twisted up to the second and third floor. The kitchen didn’t even have walls; it was mostly just windows that overlooked their immense garden. I actually can’t believe I got this job, especially with my history. But, it’s 7:30pm and Ryan is already asleep, all I have to do is make sure the place doesn’t burn down. In front of their huge flat screen TV, I began my project that was due the day before April brake started; accompanied with a glass of spiked soda that I found in their kitchen. My college project was almost finished as my hands cramped and my head dropped to the arm rest on the couch. I drifted to sleep for what seemed like 5 minutes. My body straightened and eyes dilated as I heard a crashing sound coming from upstairs. I hoped it was just a fallen dresser. Then Ryan’s struggling cry crushed my prayers. My heart burned, I couldn’t think. I grabbed a kitchen knife and ran up the long twisting stairs, “Ryan! Where are you,” I screamed his name as I entered the vacant hallway.
“HELP! MOMMY!” Ryan screamed.
I rushed to meet his cry. Instant pain shot up through my foot as I limped over broken glass. The pain didn’t come close to the feeling of my heart stopping when I saw the dark hooded figure standing over Ryan’s dead body with a bloody knife. My mind scattered, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Ryan laid limp on his bed with three jagged holes in his chest; I was next. The figure lunged toward me and cut my left arm. I screamed. Too scared to open my eyes, I fought back the best I could. The man tripped over Ryan’s train set, crushing the 10 year old’s hard work. As he fell I was able to stab him three times in his chest, then everything went black.
My eyes fluttered open and the blurry room around me slowly became visible. I stumbled to my feet. I didn’t see a shattered window, a broken train set, or a stabbed, dark, hooded man. But I did see Ryan’s lifeless body and the one bloody knife I used against him, in my hands. But I haven’t done this in 7 years...