With ever step I take along the cracked sidewalk I think about turning back and running into my dads arms. Telling him that it will be alright, that I'm here for him. But I force my self to keep going, knowing if I run home he will not be there, I won't be able to hug him and tell him it's alright. He will be at work or a bar, to caught up in his work to come home and tell me I will be okay. The nervous feeling in my stomach makes me want to vomit as I near the police station. I walk in the door feeling like I might faint.
"Hello, can I help you, are you lost?" The lady at the desk asks me like I am 5 years old.
"No I'm not," I say trying not to sound annoyed. Each word I say comes out slowly. Why you ask?
Because I think my dads a murderer.
