(Present)
The hinges of the door grated, apprehensively, as I prodded at the door's hatch.
Oh no... The door's unlocked.
"Somebody inside?" I muttered, prying inside my residence. My heart exhilarating with headlong anxiety and agitation, as I proceeded forward.
I tinkered around the wall; searching for a finger plate installed near the doorway of my house. My finger-tips stroking the jaggy, un-polished wall surface, until they reached a metallic predicament.
"Oh, thank Lord."
I pressed against the switch, and the bulb's radiance unfurled all the damp corners of my house.
Finally, I let out a sigh of relief.
Even though I was comforted with the level of clarity, I stood hushed; tip-toeing behind a sofa, where I sought my temporary refuge. There was nothing peculiar or out-of-sorts. I shoved my hands underneath the carpet, reassuring myself, I hadn't left a spare key behind. Luckily, I hadn't.
I glanced around the room once more, inquiring for any lost items; but nothing seemed to be pilfered or removed from its place. Wasn't that weird? What if no one entered my house, and I was irrationally anxious?
I withdrew my hand from the carpet, and touched my chest to feel my palpitating heartbeat. It was fast and rapid. With each beat my mood transpired; high and low.
Then suddenly it hit me.
There are no esteemed or extravagant valuables in my house; nothing someone would be aroused to pilfer; but what if it was something secluded? 'What if it was Jamie's parcel delivered to me after she passed away?' It did contain photographs and a self-written note. What if the parcel had a written account of the acquired facts of the murderer; or perhaps someone she reckoned?
HOLY MOLLY! Did someone infiltrate my house to steal the package?
My head buzzed with a lot of possibilities, as I thought of entering my room for the parcel; two of them being sinister. If someone did come inside my house; they must be hiding somewhere in my vicinity. So... Is the person still here? And if his/her presence isn't detected on the first floor, then this pickpocket may likely be upstairs. No one's stupid enough to leave the house door open after committing the malicious conduct of stealing.
I'm so stupid. I've been following strangers, not remembering codes, or if I left the house door open or not. Then, I made the wise decision of penetrating this house, too. There's no police, and no friend to accompany me. But, why should I agonize my friends who've got better things to do, or nothing with the certitude of this case? Why bring them to the consciousness of a ruthless killer?
With an outburst of emotions, I jumped up and rushed upstairs to my room. This was the last place I left the parcel. I instantaneously scavenged under the bedsheets and the unkempt blankets lying bare. I should clean my room, once this mishap concludes. But, sadly, the parcel is nowhere to be found... What is this monstrosity?
I turned around frustrated. "UGH!" I hit one of the cabinets, and it unbolted; revealing a brown parcel stuffed inside a book. "Oh..." I callously caressed the parcel, feeling dull-witted and stupid.
"The book... I was supposed to read it." I took the package out eventually; bare to all eyes. Nothing was inside, except a note written briskly with unclear words. It read:
"I saw him on the second floor."
My heart rate increased undeniably; Saw who?
I patrolled to the bedstead, and sat on the edge of my bed, carrying the parcel with dread. "Who did this, Jamie?" A tear left my eye, as I lay down on bed, straightening my arched back.
Things have the potential to accelerate rather quickly. Sometimes I feel like I have a grasp over everything, just to lose it like a fistful of sand. The clock ticks by and I'm still paralyzed with tyranny and unfavorable confusion. "You saw 'him' in your house? Who?" My stomach convulsed with trepidation. Could it be... The man who has been stalking me? No... If it were the crook; why would he hand over the predominant traces of Jamie's suspicion? Unless, he's taken something like the... THE PHOTOGRAPHS?!
There are no photographs! SHOOT!
All at once, I scrutinized my room like an angry buzzard, but as soon as I lay a foot on the floor; the sonorous sound of the landline resounding perturbed my thoughts.
"Who'd call this late?" I enunciated, dandling my furrowed eyebrows.
Soon enough, I leaped to my feet, and disentangled the landline. This made me let out a chortle. "This... Felt ferocious."
I pranced around my room towards the cabinet I had previously tampered with, but to my dismay, the bell rang again. My pupils dilated as I spun around. There on the table stowed beneath the table cloth was my phone. I reached for it, and saw the caller ID:
'Principal'
"Shit." I murmured under my breath.
I decided to acknowledge this one call, so I tapped on the attend button, resentfully.
"Chenilyn."
"Hey, Sweetie. It's the Principal."
"Good evening. Yes, ma'am?"
"I'm so sorry for bothering you again. We need you at the school office; 9AM. For quick inspection."
"Ah." I thought.
"Was anything found? Has the killer been-?" I asked.
"The police are working on it. Nothing so far, though."
"Alright. I understand." I said, sulkily.
"Don't worry, dear. We'll find the culprit responsible."
"Yeah?" I asked; contemplating the contend in her persistent tone.
"Has this news been disclosed to the public, yet?" The hesitation sagged beneath her words made me register something climacteric; I didn't trust the Principal, or the law enforcement officers.
She answered; "No." Disheartened with the response, I practically slammed the phone to the ground, but stopped. What does she mean? Does no one recognize the probable peril they're intricated in?
Suddenly, unmoved by the conversation, and the mounting rigidity inside of me; I was compelled to analyze my room instead. Inspecting once more, a bombing realization rolled over me, as I saw a pair of unidentified brogues boots.
"I'm on the second floor."
"What, Sweetie?" The Principal asked perplexed.
"I'll see if I'm available tomorrow, goodbye."
I cut the call.
This was my queue to dial the police. I stared; estranged by the boots behind the curtain. Flashbacks incurred as they soon became recognizable.
"Dad?"
I marched towards them, sniveling quietly. "How did you find me?"
I wailed silently on discerning the shoes as my own. The boots I ordered online. These were supposed to be gumboots, but were delivered to me as ill-favored brogues boots. What a surprise? I punched the air furiously.
I'm not staying here for the time-being.
I'll return early morning for clothes.