She saw it all. She heard it, too. She saw Amber crying, and her father merely frowning down at her body. The music was bloody awful! Bethany hated roses. She hated flowers in general. She knew why there wasn't very many people at her funeral. Only two people knew how she had died. She wondered, for a moment, what he had done with the gun. He probably destroyed it. She had always liked Amber, and was glad to know the feeling had been mutual. She wanted to go thank the woman. After all, she believed in ghosts. She smiled. Visiting Amber was exactly what she was going to do. Amber could help her, she could play a major role in getting Bethany's dad put in jail. Or get him sentenced to death. She could provide the evidence. Bethany would only scare them. They would be more likely to listen to a living woman, than a dead girl. But – perhaps a dead girl would make all the difference. Perhaps she could let her murder speak for her. Pictures do speak 1000 words, evidence does the same. She thought of when that one tear fell from her dads face and smiled. She couldn't read minds but she could read what the expression on his face meant. He had vowed to himself, he was stone. And if he was stone, she was fire.
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Bethany (incomplete)
General FictionBethany just wanted to see inside the big, old, brown cabinet. Her father just wanted to keep a secret. Now the house is haunted.
