Where It All Began

Prologue-Chapter 6

Prologue: The News

I remember the day clearly— as if it had happened yesterday. It all started with the sun rising as if it were a normal day in San Francisco, California.

I snoozed my alarm when it blared in my ears. Dreadful Tuesday. I hated Tuesdays. It was the worst day of the week. It was after Monday, the second worst day of the week, and not quite the middle of the week, Wednesday... Tuesday was a pointless day.

"Oh my gosh," I growled, jerking my giant purple quilt over my head, shielding my face from the streaks of sun seeping through the cracks in my windows.

"Clare! Get up!" I heard my mom yell from the kitchen below.

Much to my dismay, when I refused to get out of bed that second, I heard the dog, Marty, a Husky, bounding up the steps to come meet me. He blew through my door and landed straight on top of me in bed, breathing heavily and wagging his bat-like tail behind him.

Marty licked my face as I attempted to get out of bed. I wished I could just remain in the warmth and comfort of my bed rather than get up and go to school.

Once I was off the bed, Marty curled in my blanket and stared at me with his innocent, dark brown eyes.

"You're one lucky dog, Marty," I grumbled at him. He wagged his tail at the sound of his name. "You get to sleep all day while I am at school."

I looked around, sighing. My bedroom was big and square with white carpet and peach colored walls. I had French doors that led to a small porch outside that overlooked the beach— yes, I lived right on the beach! My bed was a queen mattress with a heavy purple quilt that my grandmother had made for me years ago. The dresser was pressed up against the wall across from my bed, I had a walk-in closet that I could fit all 47 pairs of my shoes in, all of my dresses and swim suit covers in, and a lot of just pointless cardboard boxes of junk. I had a chest of blankets and robes at the foot of my bed and a recliner near my French doors with a five foot high bookshelf beside it.

I grudgingly pulled out a blue sweater, one of my pairs of black zip up boots, and a pair of my favorite skinny jeans from my dresser. I slung my bag over my shoulder and left Marty snoozing on my bed.

My house was massive. Outside my bedroom door, there was a hallway lined with only a fraction of our family photographs, a staircase leading up to the attic, and a spiral staircase going down to the main floor.

The spiral staircase led straight into the living area. It was carpeted with a 55 inch plasma screen TV, a mahogany coffee table, a large black sofa and a recliner with a massage setting. To my left, the staircase continued down to the basement with an iron railing. To the right of the living area was the kitchen doorway where my mother was cooking breakfast. Across from the living area was the front door, also made from mahogany wood. Beside it was the library.

I dropped my bag on the sofa and stepped into the kitchen.

There was a sliding door to the porch outside with a table and some chairs at the far left; the kitchen table fit eight people comfortably. There was a long counter dividing the kitchen from the dining room with stools. The countertops were a white color with a light gray tint, the island in the center of the kitchen and the appliances were stainless steel, the cabinets were a mustard yellow color and the light fixtures looked like glass jars dangling from the ceiling.

My mother, Eliza Parker, had curly red hair and green eyes. She was still in her pajamas but had her pink apron on. I took a seat at the counter and awaited my plate of food.

"How did you sleep, Clare?" asked Mom like she did every day.

"Good," I replied mouth watering at the smell of bacon sizzling on the griddle. "Are Carmen and Jacob coming for dinner tonight?"