Guilty

Chapter Two: The Calm Before the Storm

        Tristan fell asleep again so I put him in his little racecar bed with one of his stuffed animals. Then went to look for Abby. She said he hasn't been feeling well, and that's the only reason I can think of for a four year old to still be sleeping at five o'clock on a Saturday.

         Stepping into the hallway I notice that there is a pile of broken glass and dead flowers sitting next to an end table. Which leads me to believe that there used to be flowers on the tables downstairs.

        I know it's not right, but I never claimed not to be a nosy little sister. And my senses were telling my that this house had a story to be told. So I started snooping, and discovered that there was more holes on the wall that look like they had been replastered by a three year old.

        Also as I look closer at the railing that stops Tristan from walking out of his room and falling straight down to the bottom of the stairs, I notice it's broken.

        Now onto the rooms. There are six doors on this floor. One belonging to the destroyed master bedroom, another that leads to Tristans room, one to a guest bathroom. And one door that leads to the room that I stay in during the summers when I come to visit. The last door, a door that I remember from my previous times here as my sisters painting room was locked.

        Looking at the dust around the door I can guess that it's been a while since the door has been opened. It might not have been weird to an outsider, but to anybody who truly knows Abby would have thought hell had frozen over before she put her paint brush down for more than a day.

        All of this leads me to the conclusion that something is not right with Abby.

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"So where did all the pictures go? You used to have so many, all over the walls." For the past hour since Tristan fell asleep I have been trying to get her to answer at least one of my questions. So far, not so good!

        "Nothing Emily! Now leave it alone!" It's obvious I wasn't getting anywhere. I've asked her questions ranging from what happened to her arm, why her painting room is locked, how has her job been.

        Nothing.

        All of this questioning had been going on while I watched her power clean the house, like a Pro. When I asked her if I could help she told me to sit down and tell her what has been going on with me, and telling me that she didn't need my help because I was a guest in her house and guest don't do chores.

        Which I then argued that I was her sister and she should never treat me as a guest.

        When I started asking about Tristan, and Marcus her husband, she refused to even look at me."Emy enough! No more questions." Obviously I was getting nowhere with my questions, because before she begged me to stop questioning her, now she was telling me.

        We were standing in the kitchen, and she was fixing supper. With her left hand of course, because her right arm and hand were covered in a dirty white cast. I asked her what happened?

        She said nothing happened.

        Of course.

        I asked her if I could help her cook.

        She said she could do it herself.

        This conversation was exhausting and she kept giving me the same answer.

        Nothing is wrong, now how about you? I was getting nothing out of her. And she kept trying to take the focus off of herself. But there was no need to fret because I will get my answers and I still have all summer to get to the bottom of things.

"It's almost seven o'clock are you ready t-"

"What!? Almost seven? " She interrupted me before I could finish what I was saying. Which usually would upset me because I personally think it's rude.

        However this time I didn't care, because sheer panic was laced into my sisters voice.

       "Hey Abby! What the hell? Calm down." She wouldn't listen to me. She was to busy bustling around the kitchen stopping to scrub imaginary spots on the counters, all the while muttering to herself what sounded like a to-do list.

"Finish cleaning the house, get Tristan dressed, finish supper, fold the laun-"

"Abby!" I didn't want to yell! It didn't even work, so I grabbed her arm.

"Ahh." She screamed as she fell down, but I didn't grab her hard. In fact I didn't really grab her at all. Just a mere touch. Yet she cried out as if I'd struck her.

"Abby oh Abby! I'm so sorry!" I crouched down so I could see her face and noticed she was shaking. Almost as if she was scared.

        Of me?

        Surely not.

        But who?