In The Name Of . . . (Sequel to Fault Line) [Completed]

Chapter Two

The drive home sucked. Aunt Mallory said nothing. Nothing at all! She didn't even question why I wanted to be picked up. Nor did she ask about anything else for that matter I swear, ever since Jane's death and her divorce, she has been losing herself. Megan fails all of her classes, no word from Aunt Mallory. I get detention, Aunt Mallory doesn't notice that I didn't get off the bus.  Just not caring about anything.

Aunt Mallory parks the car in the driveway and shuts off the engine. I open the passenger door and exit the car. Slamming the door, I enter the house. I walk up the stairs to my room which is across the hall from Megan's. And to make matters worse, I am reminded that this wasn't even the house that we grew up in. Aunt Mallory and us moved about five years back. We stayed in the same town but moved to the other side of it.

Lying on my bed, I stare up at the ceiling. My mind wanders to Michael and his story about Jane. He made it seem like she was messed up in the head. He couldn't be anymore wrong. She wasn't messed up, she was just scared and . . . and. . . . 

She did something bad and she just wanted to forget it. We all feel that way about something. Everyone just wants to forget something. I know I do.

Feeling the urge to walk off my now present anger, I walk down to the first level. I open the front door, grab my set of keys, tell Aunt Mallory that I'm going out, I close the door behind me and walk towards the park.

The walk to the park was cold. I should have brought a sweatshirt. Instead of thinking about what I should have brought, I switch my mind over to the jerks who think they have the right to mess around with other people's stories. Which they don't. You don't see anyone switching George Washington's story over so that it looked like he was a serial killer or that Abraham Lincoln had slaves. No! People lie to make stories better. Unless they were famous like former presidents!

Jane was never messed up. She was too good for that. She was perfectly fine. She was my sister . . . she will never be anything less.

I am only a couple blocks away from the park. Just a couple more blocks of shouting of feelings out . . . even though there is no one to hear me. While I walk, I try to think of something else to think of. Nothing that I can think of. By the time I actually finish my argument of whether to complain about world peace or whether or not they should stop playing classical music, I reach the park feeling quite exhausted.

I take in the park, it hasn't changed, not even once in ten years. It's still the same and simple park that was built back in the early 2000's. The same swing set that it was originally built with. Some with the slide and the roundabout. Some benches were added and a couple picnic tables too, but nothing too extreme like a seesaw. One time, I made a petition to get it upgraded for the lack of safety.

Nobody even thought about signing it. Nobody did besides Aunt Mallory, but she didn't even care. Just if it keep my self esteem and happiness up. Megan wasn't old enough to sign at that time, I was apparently thinking older for my age of eight. Shaking the memories of my past, I walk over to the tree that stands near a bench. Standing under the tree, I look upwards, trying to make out the tallest branch on this cloudy day. Shaking the weird feeling off of my shoulders, I grab the lowest branch and pull myself up. I continue to grab different branches and replacing my foot onto new ones, before long I have climbed as far as the tree would let me.

I love this tree, it was the last time I saw Jane. She fell out of the tree when Aunt Mallory took us here one afternoon. I didn't know that it was her at first but once I got close . . . I just knew. Then she ran, I didn't want her to, I wanted her to stay, to talk with her again. The memory of the event presents itself, wanting to be remembered again.

I am pushing Megan on the swings.

"Higher! Higher!" She exclaimed, giggling along with me.

The sound of someone falling caught our attention. I help slow the swing down before running over to the tree with Megan on my tail.

"Are you okay?" Megan asked, we both stop in front of the girl.

"I'm fine."  The girl replied, looking up briefly at us before returning her gaze back to her hands. I studied the girl. She seemed oddly familiar . . . Oh! How could I be so silly?! It's Jane! But to be sure, I should ask, I might be mistaken.

"Jane?" The girl froze, her green eyes looked straight into mine and I knew. "Jane!" I exclaimed, stepping forward to hug her. I wrapped her up in a hug and I cried into her shoulder. "Why did you leave? You didn't even tell me!" I said, not wanting to let my dear sister go.

Jane didn't get a chance to say anything before Aunt Mallory started screaming. "Megan! Lana! Get away from that person. You don't know where they have-"

She stopped when Jane turned to look at her, I know she figured out that who Jane was.

Jane broke my grip around her and sprinted away from us. I wanted to call out to her but Megan was holding me back, literally, she had an iron grip on my arm, pulling me back to the playground.

I watched Jane run as far as I could before she disappeared from my view for good. I knew that I would never see her again . . . until in ten years, that is. 

I stop thinking about that. Jane had to leave, Aunt Mallory would have called the police . . . but another part of her would've stopped and thought about it. I start to climb down the tree, the sun seems to be getting low and Aunt Mallory would want me home before it gets to late. At least she cares a little about our safety.

I leave the park, double-checking my pants pockets to see if my phone is indeed in one of them. I check my back pockets and my hand runs over its smooth back. The temperature went down since I left the house. Now I really wish that I had grabbed a sweatshirt.

Feeling like I dropped my something, I turn around . . . only to find someone in a dark sweatshirt walking a block away from me. Creepy. I didn't drop anything so I continue to walk back to the house. I have a feeling that something is off, so I turn around again. I have walked a couple blocks and the mysterious person is still one block behind me.

I believe that the person is following me . . . but there is only one way to be sure of that. I read online that the easiest way to determine if someone is following you is to turn right around the block four times so that you go in a complete circle and if they are still behind you then they are following you.

So, I do just that. I turn right on the next block and check behind me. The person is still one block behind me. I take the next two rights on the block and check behind me . . . the person is still one block away. Always one block away. Always. Now I decide to act somewhat natural and actually walk home instead of doing following tests. No matter how hard I try I keep on looking behind me, I guess I'm hoping that the person will stop following me and just go home already. Or maybe I'm hoping that the person will just disappear and I can walk home in peace. Finally I am a block away from my house and my pace quickens a little. Seeing how it's getting really dark out and the sun is basically about to set. I need to get home before Aunt Mallory throws a fit. When I am a couple steps away from the driveway I decide to make a run for it. I run up the driveway and up the stairs. Taking my keys out of my pocket, I flip through them to find the house key and I stick the key into the keyhole.

I twist the key and the door knob afterwards. Opening the door, I throw my keys onto the table by the door and quickly make my way to the stairs.

"And what kind of a time do you call this?" Megan asks from the living room. I ignore her and run up the stairs to my room. Entering my room, I lean over my desk to look outside my window, not bothering with the light.

I look outside the window and see the person that was following me just standing at the end of my driveway. After a minute of not moving, the person walks away from the driveway and I see a part of their hair.

It was a very familiar shade of brown.

"Jane?" I whisper.

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The picture above is Megan. Isn't she purdy? She also has pink highlights but I didn't add them . . .