Duo's Revenge

Chapter 4: A Distraction

"Last evening, a massacre took place at Duolingo Headquarters in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. One employee, who had left early after he began to feel sick, returned to his workplace after discovering that he had left his wallet there. Upon entering the building, he noticed that it was eerily quiet, and the receptionist was not there. He discovered her body behind her desk, and immediately called the local police department. It was discovered that every single person working there had been murdered—a horrific total of 175 deaths. If viewers have any information that could help law enforcement officers discover who committed this atrocious act, please call them as soon as possible to help bring closure to the families of the victims." The young blonde woman paused, looking away from the camera for a moment and feigning sadness, then smiled, looking at the camera once again and displaying her perfect white teeth. "And now, the weather!"

My mother shook her head sadly, shoveling a spoonful of Cheerios and milk into her mouth. "My Lord," she said through a mouthful of the cereal. "That's absolutely horrific. 175 people, dead. They all expected to go home that night and see their families–their wives, their husbands, their sons and daughters. Now, they'll never see them again. I can't even fathom what the families must be going through. I'll keep them in my prayers, God bless them."
She brought another spoonful of cereal and milk to her mouth, and chewed and swallowed it quickly so she could continue speaking.
"And who on earth would do something as terrible as that? How much hatred and malice do you have to be filled with to even think of doing that? How indifferent, how unfeeling–how cold-blooded–do you have to be to do that without feeling a single droplet of remorse? No human being could commit an atrocity like this. This is animal-like behavior. It's sickening."
She stared at the marble top of our kitchen island, seemingly entranced by it, then looked at the remaining milk in her bowl of cereal, swirling it around with her spoon.

It was silent for at least five minutes, then my father spoke.
"The young man we spoke to last night," he said quietly.
My mother looked up at him, letting go of her spoon, which hit the side of the bowl with a clang. "What, darling?"
"The young man we spoke to last night," he repeated. "When we called Duolingo Customer Service. He said all of those odd things, then screamed and hung up."
Her eyes widened in realization as the fear she was feeling became evident. "Oh dear God," she whispered, mostly to herself.
"He was murdered," my father said, continuing to speak in a low tone. He stood up quickly and pushed his chair in, its legs screeching on the floor. "We have to call the police. Now."
"And tell them what?" my mother asked him. "That we spoke to an employee who was murdered? That won't lead them closer to the murderer, dear."
"No," he said. "That won't help them much. But what he told us may. It's extremely probable that when he was saying those things–things like 'the demons of Hell are rising, and he commands them'–he was speaking about the murderer. So we'll tell the police everything he said, how he described this...disgusting creature. And besides, they'll know that the murderer is male, since the employee described him as 'he'. That will help them narrow down the suspects."
My mother nodded, standing up as well and pushing her chair in. "You're right, dear. Anything that will help them catch that monster...let's go in the living room and call them." They left the kitchen.

I sat at the island, alone, blinking.

Well, that escalated rather quickly.

My parents hadn't even acknowledged me at all after the news report, and before that, they had simply said 'good morning, dear', and that was all. I had a feeling the rest of the day would be exactly the same. Not that I was upset at them for it. They had a lot on their hands at the moment, their biggest problem, of course, being the fact that we haven't a clue where my sister is. Now, there was...this.
This had all happened so fast: my sister vanished just yesterday afternoon. They were the personifications of stress and worry, and I felt awful for them, wanting nothing but for things to get better so they could relax (and so my sister could come home). I wanted to comfort them, but I also feared getting near them because of how anxious they both were.
I also wanted to seek comfort from them. I was worried sick about Lola. My parents were allowing me to stay home today, and possibly tomorrow, knowing how stressful of a situation this was. I had difficulty falling asleep last night, and after reading the news article about the massacre, 0 hours of sleep was basically guaranteed for me. And that's what I got. So, that morning, I felt nauseous, worried, and utterly exhausted. I must've looked like a wreck. I couldn't bear to look at myself in the mirror, because I knew I'd see a unusually pale, sleep-deprived sixteen-year-old with bags under her eyes and hair like a bird's nest.

Luckily, my cat, Tabitha, didn't judge based on looks. I felt her rub against my leg, her tail curling around it. A small smile appeared on my face as I got up from my seat and crouched down to pet her. She purred; after a few minutes, however, she became irritated and meowed. My parents must have not given her breakfast. I usually did, since I got up early, but I got up after them today because of how tired I was.
I walked over to her food bowl, and she eagerly followed me. She only runs for food, I thought, rolling my eyes. I poured her unappetizing cat food into her bowl, and she began eating as soon as the first piece of kibble fell into the bowl.
I stood there, watching her, but my mind was somewhere else. I was listening to my parents talking to the police on the phone. As soon as Tabitha finished eating, I picked her up.
"Come on," I said. "We're going in my room." I was tired of all this serious business–death and murder and disappearances (even though it had only been a day). I wanted to relax and think about other things for a while.

I gently closed the door to my room and set Tabitha on my bed, where she immediately curled up upon my brown blanket. I picked up my phone, and went to Messages. I clicked on the group chat my friends and I had. I loved being in that group chat, but it could be hell sometimes. My friends loved to spam it with memes. Well, I suppose I shouldn't complain. I did, too.
I urgently needed a dose or two of their ridiculousness right now, though. A distraction from what was going on.
I knew they were all at school, but I texted them. (Who pays attention in class, anyway?)
As expected, all of them answered immediately, some asking why I wasn't at school. I explained my current situation–Lola was gone, I was exhausted and anxious, and I needed a distraction from the stress, which was why I was texting them.
They sent me their condolences, saying they would pray for us and for her, and suggested that we hang out at one of their houses–it would likely be Kate's, as that was always where we ended up–and just talk and have fun. I thought this sounded like a fantastic idea, so I accepted their offer, then told them that I'd see them later and let them go back to focusing on class (ha!).

I put my phone back on my nightstand, and lay on my bed. I stared at my ceiling, letting out a small sigh. Maybe things would get better. Maybe my sister would come back home. Maybe they'd find the murderer. Maybe things would go back to normal.

Maybe.