Remember This✔

Prologue

Copyright © by Kayley Barratt

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The Beginning of the End

The night that Molly's family were murdered, there was a crowd of four hundred people watching her. Heads were rolling, eyes were blinking, feet were tapping, teeth were clattering.

The night that Molly's family were murdered, there was a billion stars in the sky. She remembered this, for many nights it was too cloudy to see them and it angered her.

The night that Molly's family were murdered, her parents had whispered those amazing five words into her ear: "We are proud of you." Before Molly had even delivered the performance to make it true.

The night that Molly's family were murdered, the night her parents were shot, the night her sister was brutally stabbed; there was a sudden silence in the auditorium. It was as if they knew, but how could they know?

Molly delivered her lines, she beamed her eyes up at that bright light at the back of the theater and she watched as the sound drowned out. She could feel something. Something uncertain. Panic? No, not panic. She couldn't find her family among the hundreds of faces and she had been trying since the beginning of the performance. Close to panic. Anxious.

Molly could no longer speak her lines. She turned her head to the curtain at the side of the stage, and she saw two strangers speaking to her drama teacher. She still tried to speak her words, not taking her eyes from the interaction just feet from her.

Her drama teacher, Mrs Lowe, suddenly looked at her.

My family wouldn't miss this, Molly told herself. Not for anything.

Molly didn't need Mrs Lowe to walk out and dismiss the play, Molly was slowly walking toward her, leaving her friends and the audience to watch in silence and confusion. When Molly reached Mrs Lowe and the two strangers, one man and one woman dressed in professional attire, she allowed them to escort her into a private dressing room at the back of the stage.

Molly was told to sit. She sat. She was offered water before an explanation had been given. When the explanation was given, Molly had drifted to another place.

"Do you understand, Molly?" a voice asked her. She was unsure who.

Molly didn't respond.

"We understand this is going to be a very severe shock. My colleague, she is going to take you to your grandparents. She will take very good care of you."

"She's only thirteen, she can't handle something like this," Mrs Lowe said. "Is your colleague trained in this?"

"Yes. My colleague, Sophie, is a social worker within the force. Molly will be in very good hands."

Molly felt Mrs Lowe's hand pat against hers. How odd it was that Mrs Lowe, a drama teacher that Molly could hardly stand, was now her only source of comfort. Molly wanted to go home, she wanted to have that car ride with her family where they told her how much they enjoyed the play and there was laughter and reassuring notions. Molly's father would probably have driven, for her mother didn't like driving that much, and when they got home, they all would have gotten ready for bed while shouting to each other about nonsense.

On the night that Molly's family were murdered, none of that happened. Instead, Molly was taken by a stranger to her grandparents' house. She would walk in on them crying and screaming, while Molly just stood in the doorway; lost.

She remained lost indefinitely. Not even the distractions of school months later could take away the misplacement of her family. One year after her family were murdered, Molly stayed over at a friend's house. During the night, two strangers visited her once again.

"I'm very sorry but there was a fire tonight at the house you have been staying at. Unfortunately, the two people inside didn't survive."

Her grandparents. The only connection she had left to her mother, and her sister. The only two people in the damn world that she could call family. Molly had heard the phrase 'lighting doesn't strike twice' being spoken before, but she could not fathom who would torture her with those odds. Because lighting did strike twice. It struck and it destroyed and it obliterated the last string of humanity she had left. It was almost like a sick joke to her, she had yet again avoided death, avoided disaster, avoided freedom.

She sat on that couch and she listened. Oh, she listened until there was nothing left to hear. But what was left, what was born after, that was silent.