Was it a neighbor?
Was it my mom? No. It wasn't my mom. But it could have been. Oh. I have to know. I turn my head to the window. No I can't. I keep staring at the window. I have to. I go to the closet in my room and change out of my gown, into my regular clothes. I wear jeans, a T-shirt, and a plad shirt over it. I try to open the window.
Locked. I need a key to get out. Too bad. I take a chair and throw it at the window. The glass shatters and goes down to the ground, along with the chair.
I stick my head out the window. I look to my left. Nothing. I look to my right. Fire escape. It is at the next window and there is ledge on the wall just big enough for me to stand on if I stand on my tip-toes.
I hear footsteps in the hall. They must have heard me smash the window. I jump out the window and place my feet on the ledge as fast as I can. I carefully fit my hands into the jagged bricks. Don't look down. I think. I take another step. Two steps. My foot slips. I can't help but look down. Four stories looks higher than I thought it would. But it is probably just my fearful eyes playing tricks on me. I gulp. I am one step away from the fire escape. My foot slips. Then my other foot slips. Before I even realize it I am falling.
My mom lies dead on the floor, covered in blood. There is a bullet in her head, and a gun in her hand. Who can blame her? Her son did a terrible thing.
Right about now, I am turning the news on. I am remembering everything I know about her. Picturing her face. The cops burst in the door.
"Most likely suicide," the cop says it as soon as he sees her.
Right about now I am jumping out a window, scared half to death. But picturing her encouraging face gets out that window.
"While that is the most likely scenario," says another cop. "She could have been killed and framed."
Right about now, I am falling four stories.
I don't scream, because it will draw to much attention. I figured, before I jumped out the window. If I fall I will let myself die and let myself be with her. But, by instinct, I flail my arms trying to grab something. A ledge, the fire escape. Something. I realize that I don't want to die, and flail my arms more aggressively. My hand catches something. A ledge. I am only one story up now, hanging only five feet off the ground. If I fall from here I am not going to die. I look up. People are looking out my window. Luckily, they don't see me. I wait until they pull their heads inside to drop. When they do, I drop five feet to solid concrete. It sends a quick shooting pain up my body. It lingers in my feet, but I honestly don't care.
Now the easy part. I run. I run faster than I ever have before. I run up the main road. I turn onto Spring Street and from there onto Palms Drive. My lungs are on fire, and I can't hear anything over my heart beat. Tears from the cold air fill my eyes. I never realized it, but summer is coming to an end. The air is still warm, but crisp.
I walk down the road trying to find the house with the caution tape and cops. By now, I know what a crime scene looks like. I knew it. It's my house.
