The Door

Chapter 2: Welcome, Miss Wolf

"Please don't kill him!" is what my mother had said, pleading and begging the intruder, as he held a gun to my head. For a moment, the other intruder held my mom down, forcing her to drop to the floor. Her tears and deep sorrow didn't persuade them to let us go.

I could feel the barrel of his gun at the back of my head; my life was in his uncaring hands. How impulsive was he? Would he shoot to prove his point to my mother? He had no remorse, only hatred, anger, and a delusional look on his face from the drugs. He was bigger and stronger than me. I saw my blood smeared over his brass knuckles. He had punched me several times; my cheek was throbbing, and I couldn't open my left eye.

"Nothing personal, kid," he said. Then he pulled the trigger. I closed my eyes and waited for the end. What would wait for me on the other side?

***

I awoke abruptly from the horrific nightmare, my breathing fast and heavy. I hated having those nightmares; reliving that night in my dreams was so damned stressful. I pressed my forehead into my right palm and wiped away my sweat. My alarm clock sounded, and I quickly hit the off button.

I tried my best to relax and said to myself that it had just been a nightmare. Saying this made my breathing normalize. I sat on my bed, my legs sprawled out, my shoulders tense.

"When will the nightmares stop?" I asked myself. I looked at the window to my left and noticed the horrible weather outside. It seemed so gray, dull, and lifeless. Staying home would be a good idea, but I couldn't. I had to go to school; also I had so much to get through. I needed a shower, and I had to change my sweaty bedsheets. Gross.

I stepped outside my room, walked down the hallway, and noticed the rain hitting the stained-glass windows. Each window had different-colored flowers on them. Sometimes they reflected vibrant shades down the winding staircase, and I'd be covered in rainbow colors.

As I walked downstairs and quietly made my way toward the kitchen, I could smell something delicious brewing, and my stomach rumbled. I opened the kitchen door, and Mom was cooking a yummy breakfast. She placed fresh juice, toast, scones, and scrambled eggs on the table.

Before the attack, Mom had never prepared breakfast for me. This must have been her way of comforting me. Since moving to the new house, we'd always have breakfast together in the kitchen. That night had changed her; I guess it had changed everyone, including me.

"Good morning, honey," she said, still in her pajamas. She wore her usual pink dressing gown and slippers, her blond hair in a messy bun.

"Morning," I replied, noticing that she was staring at me. I wondered for a second whether she could see the look of exhaustion on my face.

"You don't look too good. Did you have another nightmare?" she asked.

"I'm fine, Mom," I replied, not wanting to continue talking about it as I sipped my juice.

"How did your session go yesterday?" she asked, breaking a scone in half.

"All right," I muttered, but before I could continue, we both heard a tapping sound coming from the second kitchen door that led to the backyard. It was Dad; he had managed to lock himself out, again. "I'll get it," I said, as I quickly went to open the door. When I opened it, I was disappointed to see how much it was raining. Our swimming pool was almost overflowing.

"It's pouring out there," Dad said, unzipping his yellow raincoat.

"What were you doing out there?" I asked.