Playing with Fire (The Four Book 1)

Vow of War - Ch. 3

As soon as the last bell rang I bolted out of class and rushed to my car and drive home - breaking many driving laws and speeding way past the limit.

I jumped out of my car, calling into work and running into the house.

"Hi, Mr. Boss Man, I'm sick, can't come into work today, sorry." I broke into a fake coughing fit and hung up before he had a chance to argue.

Knowing my mom would be home from work in about half an hour, I ran up the stairs and I packed us both a bag of clothes - we already had an emergency essentials bag in both cars, but we had time to pack some more clothes.

I swept through the bedrooms and upstairs bathroom, picking up a few items of clothing and valuables.

I left most of it - it would put the cops off our trail if it looked like we'd only gone on holiday to visit family, for an emergency or something, than if we completely cleared out.

I went into the study - a desk sat in the middle of a dark room, with a few bookcases lacing the walls and numerous boxes scattered around.

I grabbed my mom's old diary - a book containing everything she had ever learnt about the Four and the Society - and threw it into one of the bags.

I ran back downstairs, going to the kitchen to collect some food when I noticed a red pool on the floor, leaking from the downstairs toilet, glistening in the light.

I froze.

Then I walked over to the door.

I pushed it open.

And screamed.

Sobbing I knelt down next to my mom, the stab wound no longer bleeding. I was checking for a pulse, breathing, any sign of life.

Nothing.

My mom was dead.

I sunk down to the floor, tears leaking from my eyes and violent sobs ripping from my mouth, leaving me gasping for breath.

My mom was dead. She was dead.

The woman who raised me, looked after me and loved me was dead.

She was the one who taught me how to ride a bike, the one who took me to my first day of school, she was there when I left for my first date, when I left for my first prom, first homecoming.

She was always there.

How could she be gone?

I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the body and crying, but at some point my mind registered that it had gotten dark.

If I was to live I needed to leave.

I swore, then and there that I would kill whoever did this. As slowly and painfully as I could.

I grabbed the bag I had packed and some food from the kitchen, wiping away the tears.

I was careful to avoid the toilet and the hall - I knew that if I were to see the blood or the body then I'd break down again and I would never leave.

As I ran out the door I became aware that I wasn't alone.

Standing in the front garden there were some men, one wore a suit, others were dressed as though they were SWAT wannabes.

He looked old, with greying black hair, which had not yet started receding, and wrinkles - I'd guess he was in his 40's.

For an old guy, he was quite good-looking, a bit like Brad Pitt, he was tall and well-toned, with wrinkles from laughing around his eyes.

I glared at him.

I wouldn't trust anyone who turned up at my house after my mom had just been murdered.

I didn't trust him.

"Hello," said the man. "Are you Ida?" He smiled when I didn't respond.

"Do you know who your mom was? What she could do?"

Did this mean they didn't suspect me? That they didn't know about me? If they did then wouldn't they just shoot me on sight?

I shifted into a defensive position just in case, my hand hovering near the gun I kept hidden in the waistband of my jeans.

"I need you to talk to me Ida," he told me as I continued glaring at him.

"Do you know?" He asked, harsher this time.

When I didn't answer one of the SWAT team wannabes spoke up.

"Of course she knows, boss. She didn't call the police when she found her mom and she's got a bag to escape."

"I know that," the man said, shooting a look at the wannabe, causing all colour to drain from his face. "But that doesn't mean she told her. She could have conjured up another story to explain it."

So they really didn't know? They didn't know who I was, what I could do?

I could work this to my advantage.

"Who are you?" I asked, saying something at last.

"I am Jonathan Andrews, I'm the leader of a society that has been looking for your mother for a long time," he smiled softly, but I could tell that it was fake; it looked too... sweet.

"Why, what did you want with her?" I wanted to see what I could get out of this man and how much of it was the truth.

"Your mother was a bad woman. She stole something from us, and she could do something. Something which wasn't normal."

"My mom was a good woman, she would never harm another being. She was a fucking nurse for Christ's sake." I noticed my voice getting louder towards the end, but if there was one thing I wouldn't stand for it was someone disrespecting my mom.

One of the SWAT men laughed.

I shot him a glare and had to fight my every nerve telling me to put a bullet between his eyes.

"There seems to be a lot about your mother which you never knew. If you come with us, we will happily explain."

"Explain it here." I half-suggested, half-demanded.

"We do not have enough time to explain, get in the car," he indicated towards a black Mercedes-Benz which I hadn't noticed, what with being too preoccupied by the mob-boss stood in front of me.

"Ha! No." I scoffed, "haven't you ever heard of StrangerDanger?"

"So you're not coming?" The bastard actually had the nerve to look sad, as though he wanted me there.

"No." I spat out, my anger definitely showing through.

"Very well, I shall leave you my card for if you change your mind."

"I won't," I replied, but Jonathan ignored me, nodding towards one of the wannabes, who took a card out of his pocket and handed it to me silently.

"Goodbye Ida." Andrews called back, having already turned away to leave, "I have no doubt we will meet again."

Whatever that meant, I vowed to kill him.

He was a complete tool and was most likely the man who murdered my mother.

He would die.