The Hardest Puzzle || Death Note

1-Prodigal

Chapter One * Prodigal -
You walked home slowly.
This happened everyday, but today was especially bad. You really didn't want to go home; you never wanted to. But today, for some odd reason, your instinct was loudly screaming for you to get away and run while you still could.
Your street corner came into view, and you could see your normal, boring house in the distance.
The house didn't show a thing on the outside about what went on in the in.
Every day you would stop there on that street corner, out of pure habit.
You would stare down the street and at the house that was boring to others yet looming and frightening to you.
Every day you'd look at it and wonder if you should turn around and run or get help. You'd wonder if they would hit you when you got home, for whatever reason they concocted. You'd count the days since he last...violated you, and you'd fervently pray that it was the last time.
Your legs wanted to run, but your body couldn't follow them.
They'd be crushed if you went away forever, and furious if you became a prodigal daughter. Even if they just used you as a punching bag it was better being like that than like the kids whose parents completely ignored them.
So you would never turn tail and leave. You just couldn't.
You really could do it, you assured yourself as you walked down the street with stiff, leaden-down legs. You really could run. You'd make it on your own. You had to. You just had to.
And that was that.
You turned up the driveway, the sun's warm rays behind you and urging you on, planting a seed of hope that maybe, just maybe, they'd be nice for a change.
It couldn't be so bad; you shouldn't dread it so. All parents berate their children; it was a parental instinct. Your parents just went over-the-top with it all.
You stared at the blue door; the door that would've looked warm and nice and welcoming had you been a stranger. Ha! Well, you certainly knew better.
"I can do this," you murmured. You got through it every other day, anyways, so you had to make it through today, too.
You placed a shaking hand on the doorknob and turn it.
You stepped inside.
"I-I'm home," you whispered softly to the walls.
As expected, your parents were nowhere in sight.
You took off your shoes and leave them right next to the door.
You tiptoed upstairs, quiet as a mouse. Hopefully you could get to your room, and even have the door locked before they noticed you were here.
But as you hurried past your parents' bedroom you heard agitated voices come from behind the closed door.
"We have to get rid of it!" your father's voice thundered. "We can't get one pinned on us after all these years of being in the business!"
"Yes, but where are we supposed to dispose of it?" That voice was your mom's. "We can't exactly throw a gun in the trash can! It's a gun!"
A...gun?!
You stopped, wide-eyed. What exactly were they talking about?
You gently pressed an ear to the door and kept listening.
Your mother was ranting.
"And then what? We leave?" she ranted on, voice rising. "That just raises suspicions! And what would we do about ______, anyways? Leave her, take her? Either way she's a slight problem!"
"I'll just take care of her, then," your father answered in a hard tone.
A clicking sound could be heard from in the room.
"Oh, good." Your mother sighed. "She's such a goddamn pest it's frightening. But you have to make it look like an accident or robbery or something."
"Doesn't matter," he replied in an even tone. "We dispose of the body and leave; saying she left before us."
Your parents...were plotting to kill you?!
You gasped and swayed, accidentally bumping the door and sending it creaking open.
You found yourself staring at your parents, wide-eyed.