That Summer: 1989
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- Parts 2
MatureOngoing6m
Last published Tue, Oct 15, 2024
It's been four years since the mysterious murders of Elizabeth, Bruce and Zoe Matthews and Brittany Lind. Even though the murders were unrelated (or so we thought) and in different places of the city, it was suspicious at that time since there wasn't any criminality or murders in Laurelville, Maine. It was four years of agony. Four years of sadness, of bad experiences, of bad choices. The middle Matthews swore she would get to the bottom of it considering Zoe was her older sister and Brittany was her childhood friend.
Now four years later, in the final summer break before the end of high school, Olivia wants to go back to the original place of her parents and best friend's deaths and find out what really happened to them.
Will she always uncover the truth behind her family's deaths?
Is there a secret she doesn't know about?
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'The night was alive with silence. I moved through it like a shadow, black leather gloves tight on my hands, boots soft against the grass. My gas mask hid my face, leaving only darkness where my eyes should be. The world narrowed to a single point: the house ahead. Tonight, it would belong to me. The farmhouse rose stark and white beneath the moonlight, silent except for the occasional grunt of a pig or the low hum of a cow. They were unaware. They were insignificant. I crouched behind the hedge, eyes scanning, senses alert. Every detail mattered: the flicker of light across the curtains, the faint rustle of movement inside, the way a shadow shifted across the floor. She was there. Oblivious. Popcorn in hand, murmuring to herself as the television flickered. Every motion was a note in tonight's symphony, and I was the conductor. I studied her, cataloging. Timing. Patterns. Fear. She didn't notice me yet, and that was perfect. Patience was everything. One sound, one misstep, and it could all unravel. I rang the doorbell once. Silence. Again. Still nothing. She flinched slightly, just enough to make my pulse quicken. Her small reaction was delicious. A sudden movement in the yard caught my eye-a neighbor's dog barking at some unseen intruder. Its voice was loud, startling, but contained. I froze. My breath slowed. Patience. Observation. The dog's curiosity would pass. I remained still, hidden in shadow, letting the moment stretch. The animal lost interest and padded away. Perfect. I moved to the back of the house, hammer in hand.' ...
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