Walk a Mile

Chapter 2

Brooklyn's POV

Police lights flashed outside, shining through the windows. It was hard to see through my tears though.

Riley, who was sitting next to me on the couch, had her head between her knees. It wasn't hard to tell that she was crying too. The loud sobs that came out of her mouth was evidence enough without being able to see her tears.

A police officer, a middle-aged brunette with wrinkles etched into her skin, tried to coax her up. I could see her frustration and desperateness in her eyes which over-powered how calm her voice sounded. It wasn't working though. Riley refused to even look up at her. Or me for that matter.

"Honey, you need to stand up. The paramedics need to make sure you're okay."

She kept crying, her sweatpants wet from her salty tears. "N-n-o," she croaked.

"Please, Riley. You need to calm down," the police officer begged. "Just take deep breaths."

Riley refused to listen to her anymore. Her shock was too over-whelming for her to pay attention. She just sobbed louder than before, hoping it was all a bad dream. She would wake up, and it would be a bad dream. I wished that to, but I was too tired to focus on anything else.

I was hoping that too, but it was too real. I had seen my mother's dead body. It couldn't be fake. It was too awful to imagine on my own.

Unlike myself, I had done what they wanted me to do for once. I had saw the paramedic, answered their questions as much as I could without breaking down, waited for Riley to be examined.

Another man in a uniform walked towards us. "Sara, their aunt is here."

The lady tried to hide her thankfulness as she walked away. I couldn't blame her. No one wanted to deal with us right now. We were a mess.

Aunt Karla rushed into the room, still dressed for bed. Her plaid pajamas looked wrinkled and slept in, and her denim jacket had been button wrong. "Girls," she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around us.

I closed my eyes as my breathing became shallow. "I-I-I-"

"What is it, darling?" Aunt Karla questioned quickly, her morning breathe on my face.

My head felt like bricks, heavy and weighing my body down. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

She pulled me against her, her perfume suffocating my airways. I didn't want her to hug me. I didn't want her at all. "Of course not, Brooklyn. You're fine, just a little frightened."

"No!" I cried. "Daddy's going to kill us too!"

"Calm down. You just need some sleep. It's almost four, you know."

That was one of Aunt Karla "catch-phrases" as she put it. I thought of it as more of an unnecessary phrase she put at the end of sentences to drastically fail at making a point. Never the less, it would be a "catch phrase" we heard much more often after our mother's murder.

After I had slept a few hours, all of my things, mostly clothes and makeup products, had been packed in cardboard boxes. I'll never forget all the boxes being tossed into the back of Aunt Karla's pick-up truck, taking me away from the hellhole I was raised in.

George came to see me before I left. He was traditional the boy next-door who I wasn't allowed to talk to but did anyway. I guess we had a relationship, but I couldn't tell anyways. It was George who took me to my first party. He was my first kiss and the first boy to get mad when I wouldn't go all the way.

He walked across the unkept lawn, dragging his feet. "What's going on?" he asked, curious about police sirens and loaded truck.

I looked up at him since he was at least a half a foot taller than me. "Something happened last night. Something... really bad."