Dynasty | h.s

Thirty

Warnings! brief mention of blood and death/murder. Descriptions of high levels of anxiety/panic!

Ezra's pov                                                                                                                   June 13th

Something doesn't feel right. Something feels different. It doesn't feel like a normal Friday afternoon.

It's not like mom not to collect Lucas and I from the bus stop. Rain or shine, she is usually standing at the corner where the bus drops off all the neighborhood kids.

But today she isn't here and her absence leaves a weird feeling in my belly and my mother's voice rings loud in my head. "And remember, Ezra, always trust your gut."

At the ages of twelve and fourteen, maybe we don't necessarily need our mother at our bus stop anymore and maybe she woke up and realized exactly that this morning. Maybe she's just giving Lucas and I more independence.

Lucas doesn't bat an eye at her absence as he runs ahead with some of his friends, eagerly discussing how they want to spend their Friday afternoon together.

But I linger behind, my hands deathly gripping the straps of my backpack as I try to shake the unsettling feeling.

Maybe mom just lost track of time. Maybe she is in the kitchen, getting our after school snack prepared. Maybe she decided to clean our bedrooms today and it took longer than she had expected because of the tornado that passed through them.

There are countless reasons why she isn't here right now.

Everything is okay. Everything is fine.

I reach our home and I walk up the steps that lead to the front porch. Lucas has already disappeared inside and left the door slightly open.

I discard my bag and shoes by the door with Lucas' belongings and the gut feeling has only intensified.

The house is quiet, too quiet.

"Mom?" I bellow out with a slight tremble to my voice. "Luc?"

No one answers. I walk deeper into our home and my stomach further sinks as I notice all the out of place things. Mom is very orderly and organized, so to see things out of place doesn't feel right. Tossing things carelessly to the wooden floors isn't something she would ever do. The living room has been made a complete mess as if Lucas or I had torn it apart, looking for something important that we couldn't find.

But this isn't how we left the house this morning. Lucas and I had only just gotten home so we didn't make this mess. Dad is still at work, and there's no way mom did this herself. Mom doesn't misplace things to the point she makes a mess trying to find them.

Someone else did this.

Had we been robbed?

"Mom? Lucas?" I say louder and more frantically.

Still no answer.

Why is no one answering me?

I swallow the lump in my throat and I walk towards the kitchen. It's mom's favorite room of the house. She has to be here.

There's a moment of relief as I find Lucas standing in the kitchen, but that gut feeling comes back in full force as I notice him standing as still as a statue with a horrified look on his face.