My Crazy Obsessed Stalker (Watty Awards 2011)

Chapter Twenty Five: Reklats' Revenge

Chapter Twenty Five: Reklats’ Revenge

“I had only human comparisons for such a look. Caesar and Brutus, Jesus and Judas.”

Stephenie Meyer The Host

                I took a step forward and placed my hand gently on the doorknob. In front of me was my house that I missed so much. Jamanj was the reason I had not seen my house in a while. It seemed like decades since I stepped foot over the threshold.

                “Open the door.” My mother said.

                I turned and looked back at her, remembering when I first saw the house with her. I always loved this house and it was a shame that Jamanj was the reason I hadn’t seen it in a while. My hand turned the knob and light poured into the empty domicile. I let out a sigh of relief as I recognized the pieces of furniture and drapery.

                “We’re finally home.” I stated, walking forward with Gage, Charisse and my parents trailing behind me.

                “No more Jamanj Reklats.” My mother breathed as she went over to the living room couch.

                On the plane ride back to Chicago, I told my mother about everything Jamanj did. For some reason it never occurred to me that she would be worried about where I was once she came back from her business trip. My mother called every person in town that would know where I was. She was even more devastated when she found out that Gage, Avian, Bibiane and Malory were gone as well.

                Tears formed in my mother’s eyes as she took a seat down on the coach.

                “What do we do now?” She asked me.

                “I don’t know.” I answered.

                The truth was that I didn’t know what to do. Now that I was back at home, I didn’t have a clue where to start. How long was I on the run? How long had Jamanj tormented me?

                My green eyes scanned everything in the room. My home seemed so foreign to me. Even though I had only lived in Chicago for a little while before Jamanj forced me to leave, I felt like I was truly at home. My mother had finally finished redecorating and the couches in the living room were a bright sage green. The drapes were an ivory cream color with painted vines crawling up.

                “The place looks nice.” My father stated as he went over to my mother and gave her a hug.

                My father had not seen the house. He had never stepped foot in Chicago until an hour or two ago. I was glad that he finally made it to the place he was supposed to be in. There was going to be no more Aliana Reklats and no more Chip Willis. All of what happened in New York was left behind.

                “We should go set the table for dinner.”  My mother interrupted, grabbing my father’s arm.