Rhea Thurman has always been goal-driven despite the tragedies of her past. Her obsession with criminal law leads her to the most prestigious internship in the city, working under up-and-coming lawyer, Davina Jenkins.
But Rhea never prepared to meet...
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My eyes snap open. I notice the darkness first; the all consuming pitch black of the room. It takes me a moment to remember that I'm in the comfort of my own bed.
Thump.
I groan softly, rubbing my tired eyes. A noise from downstairs sounds again.
Thump.
I reach out for my phone on the nightstand blindly. My palm finally lands on the smoothness of the screen as I find the home button. I squint against the bright light, finding the time to be just past four in the morning.
I unlock it, finding Dean's contact.
R u awake??
I press send and watch as it delivers within seconds. I tap my phone, waiting for the read receipt to appear. It doesn't.
Thump.
My skin bristles. It's Tuesday morning. My parents should both be sleeping. My brother should be too.
Thump.
There it is again. Fainter this time, but if I strain my hearing, it's audible. I breathe out slowly, removing my duvet with a shaky hand.
My feet hit the cold floorboards beneath me. I rise slowly, cringing as they strain beneath my weight, creaking loudly.
I pad softly towards the door, opening the handle slowly and peering out into the hallway. I find my phone's torch, turning it on to illuminate my surroundings.
I hear the sound again this time. It's coming from the kitchen. I swing the light towards the bannister in front of me, but I can't see anything from the second floor.
"Dean?" I call softly. No one answers.
Slowly, I turn off the torch, stepping back into my room and shutting the door. I pull the lock across; it snaps loudly from disuse.
My phone chimes and I look down to find Dean's response.
I'm at work till 5. Why r u awake...Fighting again?
I open his contact and press call. He answers instantly. "Dude," he sighs, "you have school tomorrow. You shouldn't be up."
"I know," I whisper, my voice cracking from sleep. "I just—I thought it might have been you downstairs."
"Downstairs?"
"I heard a noise," I whisper. "Like someone continuously shutting a cupboard door or something."
"It's probably just dad," he mutters, clearly annoyed that I've called him at work.
