Trapped

Chapter 9-Jake

"I'm so sorry about Abigail. She was a good woman. Stay strong my son," came the words of Grandma's old time friend Mrs.Vesters.

"Thank you Mrs.Vester. Grandma talked of you very fondly as well. It's nice if you to come."

"Why of course! I've known Abby for over 20 years, how could I not? But truly dear, I came for you. Stay strong," she said as she placed her shaking hand on my shoulder.

"Of course." I said taking her hand and putting mine over it. I gave her hand a pat and led her to her car. She was the last of the mourners to arrive for Grandma's loss. I was still in shock, but it was comforting to know that so many people came to pay a visit for her. Indeed she was very well loved. I closed my eyes and patted the tears away.

Grandma Abigail had been my rock, the person I considered to be in the place of my mother. Mom had died very young, shortly after giving birth to me. After that, it was my grandmother who raised me. In fact, I didn't even know she was my grandmother until the age of 14, when she told me of my moms passing. She had cared for me, and raised me to be the person I am today. And I'm very grateful to her for that. When the news hit me of her passing, I was in decline. How could the woman I've been with so long just leave in an instant? It had been hell driving over here after hearing the news. Just knowing I was driving to my childhood home where the woman I considered my mother lay empty, was a feeling too much to bear.

Looking into the green grass of the lawn, my eyes followed the next door, the one with the red door. My mind immediately flashed to the encounter this morning. That girl. I thought about the way her almond dark brown eyes locked onto mine, the way the wind blew her soft tresses of hair across her face. He delicate, air-like hand gently whisping it away from her face. Her innocent face, with the worried expression on it. She was so beautiful, yet she looked so troubled. I remembered how she immediately avoided eye contact with me after she caught me staring at her. I remembered the nervousness in her tone. She looked so frightened, so scared, like she hadn't seen a person at her door in years.

But there was something about her, that I couldn't place my finger on, that forced me to keep my gaze on her. Looking at the door now, I imagined her standing there, in that white dress, with her olive skin glowing in the sunlight. Then I blinked-and she wasn't there. I blinked once for twice more, and then looked away from the door. I had no reason to, but I felt like going up to her door again, and waiting for her to come out. For some odd reason, my eyes yearned to see her again, to hear her voice.

And then, another thought pushed into my head. That man-the one who came up behind  her, when she was talking to me. Who was that? Was she married? Did she live with him? I had to find out. I kept staring at the red door, as the sun dipped below the horizon behind me.