Falling for Nightmares

Chapter 1

The first thing I do when I wake is sit up and sigh. I know that today's just going to be another boring, depressing Wednesday where I don't go to school because I have work. I rarely ever show up to class anymore. I wonder if any of my teachers actually still have me on their rosters.

Once I've reluctantly pulled myself out from under the covers and stood, I replace my gray sweatpants with my favorite high-waisted blue jeans--they make it look like I actually have a butt, which is cool because a ruler isn't really my ideal body image. I leave on my baggy black T-shirt so that I can still be comfortable while I get ready for my shift as a waitress. After I'm done being hygienic, I'll put on a more appropriate work shirt, but for now, nah.

I don't take very long brushing my teeth and running my fingers through my choppy black hair, and then I'm slipping on some ankle boots. I replace my comfy shirt for a pinkish halter top and grab my key ring off the counter. Just before I turn the doorknob, a knock comes and I swing the door open.

I glare at the person who's standing there. It's a boy. A handsome boy at that, but he looks kind of off. His expression is blank and somehow cold even though it's just a straight face. His hair is short and dark as his eyes. He reminds me of some sort of stony soldier with a worn down sense of morality. "What do you want?" I snap less angrily than I would have liked. The boy's face remains unchanged, but I can see his posture become even more perfect as if he's preparing himself to face some impossible task.

"I'm Isaac Wagner," is all he says, and I sneer.

"And? Do I know you?" Still blank. The fact that he's not the slightest bit bothered by my aggression is getting on my nerves.

"You're Ruth and your sister was Kennedy. She was murdered." I can feel tears rise up unexpectedly, and I struggle to keep my eyes dry. I take a step forward and jab a finger into his chest.

"No shit! Everyone around here knows that. Did you come here to tell me my sister is dead like I didn't realize?" I nearly shout, voice cracking. I swear I see something flash in his eyes for a moment, what I think may have been anxiety. I don't believe it to be meant for my rising tears.

"Your father killed a man named Harris Wagner, who was said in court to have raped and murdered Kennedy Talmei. I am the son of Harris Wagner, and I need—"

"Your dad killed Kennedy?! Are you fucking kidding me? You had the nerve to show up at my house?" I glance around for the nearest thing to throw. There's a painting on the wall behind me that I pull down and try to hit him with. I know for a fact that the frame's really sharp because I've bumped into the wall under it and had it give me a nasty cut on my shoulder quite a few times.

Isaac jumps back and catches my forearm with little struggle. I throw myself at him, sight blurry with tears. He pins my other arm behind my back and I struggle to free it, but I only succeed in pinning the rest of me against him. His chest is surprisingly toned underneath his button-up, and I find myself blushing at the realization, which aggravates me further. Then my thoughts shift to how this could have been how Ken died, and I'm thrashing, sobbing. I can feel the painting being pried from my fingers and I let it fall, solely focused on getting away. The boy releases me and I take in a gasping breath, stumbling. I keep moving until my back is against the wall and there are a few feet between us.

"I apologize, Ruth," he says softly, and I manage to choke off another upcoming sob. Don't say my name, I want to tell him, but I can't find the words. "I really am sorry for upsetting you, but I have my reasons." The boy holds out his hands, palms up in a pleading gesture.

"I came to help you," he continues, voice lowering. "The case of your sister's murder was concluded with my father as being the criminal. Your dad wanted revenge and took it. The problem is, I know that my father was innocent. Harris Wagner was framed and the murderer is still out there." He pauses, gaze falling from my own. "I believe that he's planning to get you next."