AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Dad!” I dropped to my knees, not caring that his blood now soaked my jeans. “Dad!” I screamed again and again—willing him to answer. I rolled him over, choking on a sob as his lifeless eyes met me. There was so much blood. God, it was fucking everywhere, seeping out of a series of knife wounds on his chest.
I released him, running for my parent’s room.
“No!” I yelled, when my eyes took in the sight of my mom lying on a blood soaked mattress, her eyes focused on the ceiling. There were cuts and slashes all over her. I couldn’t mistake the sound of her blood dripping from the bed onto the hardwood floors.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I ran to Cayla’s room next, praying that she had hidden and was okay—or better yet, hoping I’d wake up and find this to all be a nightmare.
“Cayla!” I shouted, clutching my stomach as it heaved violently.
Like my mom, she was lying in her bed. Her eyes stared straight at me—the color so light it was almost white. Her normally rosy complexion was now a grayish blue color. Her throat had been slit open, the blood coating her, the bed, and the floor. Her mouth was open in a never-ending silent scream.
I fell to the ground, sobbing hysterically.
“Cayla,” I cried, crawling on my hands and knees over to her bed. “Cayla, please! You can’t die! Cayla!” I smacked her cheeks, shook her, yelled at her, and none of it did any good.
She was gone.
They were all gone.
I pulled my phone out, fumbling to press the right buttons.
“911 what’s your emergency?”
“Help! You have to help me! They’re dead! They’re all dead!”
“Who’s dead, sir?” The calm voice asked me.
“My family! They’re dead! God, they’re all dead!”
“Sir, what’s your address?”
I couldn’t answer the woman. I had lost all capability of speaking. A strange noise was escaping me—half crying, half screaming.
I shook Cayla some more, hoping in vain what I saw would disappear and she’d wake up and tell me I was crazy.
I’d rather be losing my mind than face this reality.
When I knew that Cayla wasn’t going to wake up I sat on the floor beside her.
I rocked back and forth, sobbing, my blood-covered hands running through my hair. I kept muttering under my breath, “This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real.”
That’s how the police found me.
Even five years later, I still felt like I was stuck in that room rocking back and forth beside Cayla.
Only now, I said, “This is real.”
CHAPTER 1
Sutton—five years later
I strode into my apartment, clutching the last cardboard box tightly in my hands, and kicked the door shut behind me.
