The Risks

PROLOGUE: FEBRUARY 10TH, 2012

I thought I'd known real fear before, but as I stood at the front door of my best friend's house on that brisk morning in February -the last somewhat normal morning of my life- I realized that was bullshit.

The door was locked and through the crack in the drawn curtains, I could see the glow of the kitchen light. I pursed my lips. The Breuers only locked the doors when they weren't home, but I'd checked the garage when I'd arrived. All their vehicles were accounted for.

I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Hallie's mom's number. No use in trying to call Hallie; she hadn't answered her phone since yesterday morning, which was exactly why I was here. Hallie and I had been friends since the fourth grade. We were completely inseparable. She got her first cell phone in the sixth grade and hadn't put it down since. So the fact that I hadn't heard from her in more than twenty four hours worried me.

As I swiped Mrs. Breuer's name, I turned back to the Jeep. I could just see Oakley's nose and anxious eyes staring at me through the glass. I gave her a pacifying smile which quickly faded when I realized I could hear Mrs. Breuer's phone ringing -some cheery default ringtone- inside the house. I stood, numb, as I listened until the ringing stopped and went to her voicemail.

Something is not right.

Beneath a rock beside the sidewalk was their spare key. I stooped, picked it up and unlocked the door unhurriedly -like it was intricate work.

Why are you moving so slowly?

Because you're terrified. You know something's wrong and you're fucking terrified.

I exhaled an unsteady breath and pushed the door open.

"Hello?" My voice was tight. I cleared it softly.

I scanned the open floor plan of the living area and kitchen like a detective at a crime scene. The couch was askew and pushed against an end table. The lamp that normally sat there had fallen and now lay on the hardwood floor in a mess of glass and ceramic. The lamp shade had rolled all the way over to the TV stand on the opposite side of the living area.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Breuer's cell phone sat on the bar's counter top. One of the stools was knocked over. On the floor was a huge, dark stain. It almost looked like someone had dropped a can of maroon paint onto the floor and then dragged something through it. I wished that was what it was, I wished it more than anything, but I knew it was blood.

The beating of my heart seemed overpowering. It was like I could feel it thumping in my throat, knocking uncomfortably against my esophagus. The clawed fingers of Fear were wrapped around my throat and the grip only got tighter as I followed the dark smear down the hallway.

It led me to Hallie's parents' bedroom, the stain disappearing beneath the closed door. I felt my scalp prickle, watched as every light hair on my arms suddenly stood at attention. I raised a trembling hand and knocked on the wooden door, knowing full well no one would answer.

"Mr. and Mrs. Breuer?" I croaked, unaware my throat was so dry. I swallowed before continuing. "It's Claire. Is... is everything okay?"

I pushed the door open slowly, its creaking hinges the only sound in the whole house, and- a mix between a gasp and a scream clawed its way up my throat.

Mrs. Breuer had been dragged onto the bed. She lay with her eyes wide and mouth gaping, soaking in a pool of her own coagulating blood. Her stomach was ripped wide open, exposing a messy display of inner organs. A length of her small intestines hung off the side of the bed like a discarded jump rope.

Mr. Breuer was in a chair with the barrel of a hunting rifle resting against his chest. Most of his bottom jaw was replaced with a mess of flesh and bone.