Writing Anxiety

As I entered the hallway the sweet smell of orange and sugar filled the air. Exhausted from the day I set my bag down and lay my coat on top of it. I wondered to myself what Amber was cooking. It couldn’t have been my favorite, an orange meringue pie, because she didn’t know that I’d be over today. No, that’s impossible I told myself.

I snuck towards the kitchen as quietly as possible in order to surprise her, however there was no one there. I stopped in the doorway thinking that strange. I can clearly smell orange meringue pie as though it was just cooked. Where would Amber have gone?

I checked the oven; the familiar squeaking of the door and blast of warm air brought my nose good news. Pie! I checked the oven and it was turned off. “Now why would Amber leave the pie in the oven and walk off? Did she want to keep it warm?” Judging by the heat she hadn’t been gone for long.

I removed the pie from the oven and set it on the counter. I could already taste the warm and citrus sugar. But I just can’t cut into it without Amber being here, so I walked off in search of her.

First I went into the living room, which was right next to the kitchen. Maybe she had finished cooking the pie, shut the oven off, and realized that she had to go to the bathroom. I gently knocked on the bathroom door. There was still no answer after a few seconds. Ever so slightly did I start to perspire, where could that woman be???

Maybe she rushed upstairs to use that bathroom. That is the one she most often uses anyways. Walking a little heavier now, I climbed the stairs trying to make my presence known in the house. Something was wrong, and I could feel it.

I knocked on the bathroom door a little louder than I did on the one downstairs. No answer from behind this door either. “Amber?” I questioned as I slowly opened the door. There was no trace of her, so I opened the medicine cabinet. “I wonder if she left for the day.” I mused as I checked her pill separator. The pills for today were gone. So were the pills for tomorrow, and the next day.

I opened one of the bottles only to find that it was empty. “Maybe she realized that she was out of medication and went to the store for more.” I thought trying to calm my nerves. I closed up the pill bottle and the medicine cabinet.

Relaxing slightly I went back down to the kitchen. I sighed as I sat down at the table. How long would she be gone for? And how far is the pharmacy from her house? I can’t remember. It had been at least a year since I had come to visit. I should have been here for her birthday at least.

Guilt would get me nowhere now. I rose and went into the office of the small house. I didn’t know what I was looking for at first, but then I remembered that she had the games in the office closet. I grasped the handle and pulled slowly. Nothing happened. I pulled harder and the door finally folded open. “She needs to get that fixed.” I thought.

Sure enough on the floor under some boxes of paper no doubt, I saw the familiar words “Uncle Wiggly”. That silly little rabbit board game used to make Amber steam. I always managed to steal all of Amber’s luck whenever we played board games. Just as well that she stole it back whenever we played sports.

Picking the board game up I remembered how the other kids in our neighborhood like Johnny and Mike would tease Amber. One day they pushed the subject too hard, and she ended up clocking both of them in their heads. Amber was grounded for a week while Johnny and Mike never bothered Amber again.

I thought Amber might enjoy one last game, for old times sake. I heard that she was not often in a good mood lately, so I promised myself that I would not push the subject. I grabbed Uncle Wiggly and pulled it out, but the boxes and paper shifted. One lone sheet of paper floated down to the ground. I didn’t think I should look, but it seemed familiar.

I recognized it when I bent back down as the 20th High School reunion picture I took with Amber. She looked much younger than she does now, and in a small way happier. The lines on her face weren’t as deep as they are now. I picked it up to put it back on the pile, but under was something more surprising.

The 20th High School reunion picture was on top of a picture of the both of us from our graduation. “I can’t believe she keeps this crap,” I thought as I picked up the picture to get a better look. “What good could it do to keep thinking of us from that time,” I sighed as I put the pictures back down.

I walked into the kitchen and put the Uncle Wiggly’s cardboard box down on the table. As I stared at the box I thought of how difficult seeing her would be. “Maybe coming here was a mistake,” I thought. “There’s no possible way that she can know about what I do now though. No one in this town has any idea of what I do, and that’s the way it has to stay.”

I sighed as I looked at clock on the microwave. “I’ve already been here for too long,” I muttered to myself. “Where could that girl be? I was only supposed to be in this god-forsaken town for 3 minutes, 5 minutes tops.” I used to think that this town couldn’t get any worse than it was when I was a teenager, but it just keeps managing to ruin my life.

All of the same old people, living in the same old houses, and doing the same old things. I didn’t know how they could stand it. I’d only been in town for 11 minutes and wanted to kill myself. “You have a job to do,” I reminded myself as I put my head in my hands. “Come on and get yourself home Amber,” I prayed.

I slapped myself out of it. Why worry about things now, the gears have already been put into place and started turning. I’ve already been paid for god’s sake. I decided that I needed some air and went out to the backyard for a smoke.

Every time I smoked I felt disgusted with myself, but I couldn’t help it. I had vowed to Amber that I would never smoke back in middle school back when Johnny and Mike had started. When we were young everything was so simple and magical.

It wasn’t just me who had changed I reminded myself as I looked out over the backyard. The bushes hadn’t been trimmed nor had the lawn been cut in god knows how long. I decided I wouldn’t press the status of the house when Amber came back, just like what was the other thing I’m not supposed to mention to her?

I suddenly felt like someone was watching me. I looked to the left and to the right to find no one. Then I looked up. In the tree of the house behind Amber’s there was a young boy in a tree. I nodded at him, and he waived at me. I heard someone say a name, then the little boy climbed down, looking at me one last time before his head disappeared over the top of the fence.

I stomped the cigarette out on the concrete and exhaled the smoke before I went back inside. I was done waiting for Amber to get back home; I wanted some of that pie. I found all of the dishes and silverware still where it has always been. The designs had started to fade on all of the dishes, which made me sad for some reason.

I ate the slice of the pie in silence. Then it came to me, what if she knew I was coming and parked her car in the garage instead of in the driveway like she always did? I got up and ran to the garage, and sure enough the car was there. Her dad’s old mustang that was a mix between puke green and mustard yellow and had chipping paint. I had asked her a hundred times to change the color, but she refused knowing that it was worth more with the original.

Since the mustang is here, then that means that she is here as well. Why hadn’t she said anything or made some kind of noise? I started to get angry. She knows I hate this town, so if she knows that I was coming then why would she ignore me? Sometimes I think that she had started to loose her mind with age, though we were both in our 40’s.

I went back inside and decided to check the only rooms I hadn’t yet, the bedrooms upstairs. I checked the guest bedroom first wondering if she really had been prepared for my arrival. Alas the room was empty and set waiting for someone, but no one in particular.

There was only one room left in the entire house, the master bedroom where she now slept. I could never understand how Amber could stand to stay in that room, the one where her own father and mother were murdered in their sleep. Her parents’ death is what brought her back to this small town, and though she asked, I would not be persuaded.

As I crossed the hall I finally noticed that something was wrong. There was a paper trapped in the door. I tried to think of all of the possible situations that could lead her to leave a paper in the door like that. Maybe she wanted something more from me, but no she said we would never try to expand our relationship in that way again.

Maybe she was expecting someone else to come entirely for the same reason. What if there’s someone else in there now, and they thought I broke in? What if I interrupted something and she would never forgive me? I hit myself on the head, why do I care? It won’t matter soon enough. Once I leave the town tonight I am never returning.

The best course of action I decided was to just go in there and face whatever or whomever it was. Hands shaking and sweat starting to build up around my face I reached for the doorknob. I should have brought my bag upstairs just to be ready, but it was too late for that.

I loosely grasped the doorknob and forced my hand to be steady, a practice that I had mastered. The cold of the knob froze my courage and I was stuck there for a minute, unmoving. I can’t believe I’m about to confront her for what may be the last time.

No I shook my head, don’t think of that yet. The only question I need to ask myself now is do I gently and slowly open the door, or do I throw the door wide open in one burst? With my hand still shaking I opted for something in the middle of the two. “Amber?” I gently called out half hoping for a reply as I opened the door.

There was no one to be found. I stood there surprised for a couple of seconds. It was then that I remembered the paper. The only words on it were “Step in closer Matthew.” Oh god. She knew that I was coming. I had hoped to make this visit a surprise.

I took a step in cautiously looking around. There was nothing out of the ordinary except another note on the bed. This one read, “I knew that you were coming and why. I cannot tell you how, but just know that I do not take it personally. I am in the bathroom awaiting you.”

My heart was beating three times the seconds that were ticking away from the clock on her dresser, but my head was moving ten times slower. The page slipped from my hands, horrified at what I knew I would find in the bathroom. I knew I would not be prepared to see her, not like this.

Something was welling up in the corners of my eyes. I tried to shake them away, but they kept coming back. Just piling up to spill over the edge, to travel down my face, and land on my new suit I had bought just for today. I wiped them away with my handkerchief, “I must be strong.”

I didn’t have the dilemma with the master bathroom door that I had with the bedroom door, as the bathroom door was slightly ajar. I carefully walked over towards the bathroom, silent enough as to not disturb a mouse. Compared to the bedroom door handle, the wood on the door felt like fire beneath my palm, but that was mainly nerves and sweat. I slowly pushed the bathroom door open.

Being in my business for thirty years, and all those who have gone before me didn’t soften the blow for what I was about to see. I could see the shadow of her lying alone in the bath while the curtains blew softly in the breeze. I wanted to call out to her, to whisper at first and then to yell. The name Amber, her name, got so caught in my throat not even a whisper came from my gaping mouth.

I knew I should look around, but all my attention was on the bathtub. My legs turned to jelly as I forgot how to walk. I dragged my feet across the floor, pulling up the rug in the process; almost causing me to trip by the time I reached the bathtub. I stood there staring at the black shape on the other side of the curtain.

My hand reached up on its own, grasping the side of the curtain near her head. The simple act of me touching the curtain moved it so slightly that I saw a brown curl fall onto the outside of the tub. The tears came back and there was nothing I could do to stop them this time, so I let them fall along with my hope that everything would be okay.

“You shouldn’t have come back to town,” I told myself. “You could have done a similar job in any other town, to anyone else in the country.” I sniffed boogers back that had been loosened from the crying, as the knife inserted in my heart was forced deeper. “Just leave now, you already know what awaits you on the other side of the curtain.”

I couldn’t leave like this, and I knew it. Matthew Donavan has never walked away without 100% certainty that everything is accounted for. My hand that was holding the curtain shook slightly as I cried, which let more brown curls fall out. Just one quick motion, then I could run out of the house and speed out of this town.

I let my heart bleed as I carefully slid the curtain back. The only living being on this planet that could ever make my heart beat so quickly or bleed so profusely was Amber. It felt like days passed after I had pulled back a foot of that curtain.

Her eyes were closed. Her skin as pale as the moon, if its surface flattened and all craters covered. Her mouth was slightly open, the petal pink gone from her lips. Instead a trickle of blood spilled from the corner of her mouth. Her silly front teeth still had the giant gap between them. If I dared, I could swear that I can still fit the thick part of a toothpick all the way up to her gums.

I looked her up and down quickly, and then kneeled over her face. My tears had stopped. I moved her bangs from her eyelids and felt the knife push deeper remembering the life her eyes one held. I made sure to gently touched her neck and pushed down the slightest bit feeling, hoping, for a pulse. There was only the cold.

Amber had always been cold. She had even claimed to be cold in the summer, but I had always known that she was just self-conscious. She was skinnier and lankier than both of her parents, and if you didn’t know her you’d swear she was anorexic or bulimic.

The freckles still made her look young, as they always had. I noticed that she still wore her hair down. She had been doing that ever since college when everyone teased her for looking so young. She didn’t look right to me with her hair down, and I could never tell her how much I missed her pigtails.

I sat back on my legs, closed my eyes, and shook my head. I could already feel the headache from the dehydration. I opened my eyes and started to get up until I saw the slightest bit of paper poking out of her pocket. I took it without looking at it.

I also picked up the two other pieces of paper on my way out of the room. I have to think of a way to get out of here without them suspecting me. My fingerprints are all over the house. Then I remembered the boy. He had seen my face. Now the police will think I’d killed Amber for sure.

I went to the kitchen and opened the window over the sink. I needed some air. I snapped my head around after seeing Uncle Wiggly on the table. The pictures from high school! That’s my alibi.

From then on, I told myself, I’m just a visiting friend. I folded the two notes from the bedroom and put them in the inside pocket of my coat. I quickly gulped down two glasses of tap water, forgetting how weird the water tasted in this town, and called the police.

After only ten minutes with me the police were convinced that I was just an unfortunate friend. They bought that I wanted to check up on an old friend while passing through town once I had directed them to the pictures in the office closet. I could tell the officers didn’t know Amber or I, so they weren’t from Greenville.

A little over half an hour and I left the town, but not forever as I had planned. Since I had called the police, word would spread and I would be forced to attend the funeral. Normally I would call my contact who would call the client and tell them the job was done, but not this one. I wanted answers telling me who wanted Amber Baker dead and why.

As I entered the hallway, the sweet smell of orange and sugar filled the air. Exhausted from the day, I set my bag down and lay my coat on top of it. I wondered to myself what Amber was cooking. It couldn’t have been my favorite, an orange meringue pie, because she didn’t know that I’d be over today. No, that’s impossible, I told myself.

I snuck towards the kitchen as quietly as possible in order to surprise her;, however, there was no one there. I stopped in the doorway thinking thatit was strange. I can clearly smell orange meringue pie as though it was just cooked. (The sentences in this paragraph are awkward. I highly recommend a re-write.) Where would Amber have gone?

I checked the oven; the familiar squeaking of the door and blast of warm air brought my nose good news. Pie! I checked the oven and it was turned off. “Now why would Amber leave the pie in the oven and walk off? Did she want to keep it warm?” Judging by the heat, she hadn’t been gone for long.

I removed the pie from the oven and set it on the counter. I could already taste the warm and citrus sugar. But (I would avoid using the word †˜but’ to begin your sentences.) I just can’t cut into it without Amber being here, so I walked off in search of her.

First I went into the living room, which was right next to the kitchen. Maybe she had finished cooking the pie, shut the oven off, and realized that she had to go to the bathroom. I gently knocked on the bathroom door. There was still no answer after a few seconds. Ever so slightly did I start to perspire (Sweat? Why would they sweat because they can’t find their friend just yet?), where could that woman be??? (Never ever use more than one punctuation mark except for an ellipsis (…), and rarely use them. I only very rarely use them in dialogue only.)

Maybe (I am real iffy about using †˜Maybe’ to begin a paragraph. You’re probably fine, but it’s quite the informal word choice for narration, even when it’s internal dialogue.) she rushed to use the upstairs bathroom to use that bathroom. (You say “that one” implying its existence is already known. It is not to the reader. You should consider revising like I marked.) That is the one she most often usesd most often anyways. Walking a little heavier now, I climbed the stairs trying to make my presence known in the house. Something was wrong, and I could feel it.

I knocked on the bathroom door a little louder than I did on the one downstairs. No answer from behind this door either. “Amber?” I questioned as I slowly opened the door. There was no trace of her, so I opened the medicine cabinet to check her pill separator (I am placing this here because you make it sound like they opened the medicine cabinet looking for her, instead of clues to where she might be.). “I wonder if she left for the day.,” I mused as I checked her pill separator. The pills for today were gone. So were the pills for tomorrow, and the next day.

I opened one of the bottles only to find that it was empty. “Maybe she realized that she was out of medication and went to the store for more.” I thought, trying to calm my nerves. I closed up the pill bottle and the medicine cabinet.

Relaxing slightly, I went back down to the kitchen. I sighed as I sat down at the table. How long would she be gone for? And (Also try to avoid beginning your sentences with “and.”) hHow far is the pharmacy from her house? I can’t remember. It had been at least a year since I had come to visit. I should have been here for her birthday at least.

Guilt would get me nowhere now. I rose and went into the office of the small house. I didn’t know what I was looking for at first, but then I remembered that she had the games in the office closet. (I’m confused as to why the location of the games would matter when they’re looking for their friend.) I grasped the handle and pulled slowly. Nothing happened. I pulled harder and the door finally folded open. “She needs to get that fixed.” I thought.

Sure enough on the floor under some boxes of paper no doubt, I saw the familiar words “Uncle Wiggly”. That silly little rabbit board game used to make Amber steam. I always managed to steal all of Amber’s luck whenever we played board games. Just as well that she stole it back whenever we played sports.

Picking the board game up, I remembered how the other kids in our neighborhood like Johnny and Mike would tease Amber. One day they pushed the subject too hard, and she ended up clocking both of them ion their heads. Amber was grounded for a week while Johnny and Mike never bothered Amber (Amber’s name was already mentioned in the sentence. Being the only girl within the sentence, you should substitute her name.) her again.

I thought Amber might enjoy one last game, for old times' sake. I heard that she was not often in a good mood lately, so I promised myself that I would not push the subject. I grabbed Uncle Wiggly and pulled it out, but the boxes and paper shifted. One lone sheet of paper floated down to the ground. I didn’t think I should look, but it seemed familiar.

I recognized it when I bent back down as the 20th High School reunion picture I took with Amber. (Why would a photo be with games? If you’re organized enough to keep games in a closet, they wouldn’t likely be in the same place.) She looked much younger than she does now, and in a small way happier. The lines on her face weren’t as deep as they are now. I picked it up to put it back on the pile, but under was something more surprising.

The 20th High School reunion picture was on top of a picture of the both of us from our graduation. “I can’t believe she keeps this crap (On top of random games to boot.),” I thought as I picked up the picture to get a better look. “What good could it do to keep thinking of us from that time,” I sighed as I put the pictures back down.

I walked into the kitchen and put the Uncle Wiggly’s cardboard box down on the table. As I stared at the box I thought of how difficult seeing her would be. “Maybe coming here was a mistake,” I thought. “There’s no possible way that she can know about what I do now though. No one in this town has any idea of what I do, and that’s the way it has to stay.” (What? Don’t tell me this person’s an assassin or something.)

I sighed as I looked at the clock on the microwave. “I’ve already been here for too long,” I muttered to myself. “Where could that girl be? I was only supposed to be in this god-forsaken town for 3 minutes, 5 minutes tops.” I used to think that this town couldn’t get any worse than it was when I was a teenager, but it just keeps managing to ruin my life. (Ok, I get not finding your friend can be a downer, but ruining your life? Really?)

All of the same old people, living in the same old houses, and doing the same old things. I didn’t know how they could stand it. I’d (I would avoid contractions when narrating. It may be more acceptable when someone is giving an internal monologue, but it still is a tad informal.) only been in town for 11 minutes and wanted to kill myself. “You have a job to do,” I reminded myself as I put my head in my hands. “Come on and get yourself home, Amber,” I prayed.

I slapped myself out of it. Why worry about things now, the gears have already been put into place and started turning. I’ve already been paid, for god’s sake. I decided that I needed some air and went out to the backyard for a smoke.

Every time I smoked I felt disgusted with myself, but I couldn’t help it. I had vowed to Amber that I would never smoke back in middle school back when Johnny and Mike had started. When we were young everything was so simple and magical.

It wasn’t just me who had changed, I reminded myself as I looked out over the backyard. The bushes hadn’t been trimmed, nor had the lawn been cut in god knows how long. I decided I wouldn’t press the status of the house when Amber came back, just like what was the other thing was that I’m not supposed to mention to her?

I suddenly felt like someone was watching me. I looked to the left and to the right to find no one. Then I looked up. In the tree of the house behind Amber’s there was a young boy in a tree. I nodded at him, and he waived at me. I heard someone say a name, then the little boy climbed down, looking at me one last time before his head disappeared over the top of the fence.

I stomped the cigarette out on the concrete and exhaled the smoke before I went back inside. I was done waiting for Amber to get back home; I wanted some of that pie. I found all of the dishes and silverware still where it has always been. The designs had started to fade on all of the dishes, which made me sad for some reason. (This is really unnecessary. They gave us the reason, they don’t have to play it off like they don’t know or don’t normally feel that way.)

I ate the a slice of the pie in silence. Then it came to me, what if she knew I was coming and parked her car in the garage instead of in the driveway like she always did? I got up and ran to the garage, and sure enough the car was there. Her dad’s old mMustang that was a mix between puke green and mustard yellow and had chippeding paint. (Fragment.) I had asked her a hundred times to change the color, but she refused knowing that it was worth more with the original.

Since the mMustang (Capitalize †˜Mustang,’ it is a proper noun.) is here, then that means that she is here as well. Why hadn’t she said anything or made some kind of noise? I started to get angry. She knows I hate this town, so if she knows that I was coming then why would she ignore me? Sometimes I think that she had started to loose her mind with age, though we were both in our 40’s. (Well, there go my presumptions of late teens.)

I went back inside and decided to check the only rooms I hadn’t yet,: the bedrooms upstairs. I checked the guest bedroom first wondering if she really had been prepared for my arrival. Alas the room was empty and set waiting for someone, but no one in particular.

There was only one room left in the entire house, the master bedroom where she now slept. I could never understand how Amber could stand to stay in that room, the one where her own father and mother were murdered in their sleep. (Well, isn’t that just pleasant? It's brought up so casually.) Her parents’ death is what brought her back to this small town, and though she asked, I would not be persuaded.

As I crossed the hall, I finally noticed that something was wrong. There was a paper trapped in the door. I tried to think of all of the possible situations that could lead her to leave a paper in the door like that. Maybe she wanted something more from me, but no, she said we would never try to expand our relationship in that way again. (This paragraph is confusing. Where is the paper? Is in hanging on the door? The door knob? Was the door closed on it? Was it slipping out the bottom? Why would a paper near a door signify relationship status? Clarify and extrapolate.)

Maybe she was expecting someone else to come entirely for the same reason. What if there’s someone else in there now, and they thought I broke in? What if I interrupted something and she would never forgive me? I hit myself on the head,. wWhy do I care? It won’t matter soon enough. Once I leave the town tonight, I am never returning.

The best course of action I decided was to just go in there and face whatever or whomever it was. Hands shaking and sweat starting to build up around my face, I reached for the doorknob. I should have brought my bag upstairs just to be ready, but it was too late for that.

I loosely grasped the doorknob and forced my hand to be steady, a practice that I had mastered. The cold of the knob froze my courage and I was stuck there for a minute, unmoving. I can’t believe I’m about to confront her for what may be the last time.

No, I shook my head, don’t think of that yet. The only question I need to ask myself now is do I gently and slowly open the door, or do I throw the door wide open in one burst? With my hand still shaking, I opted for something in the middle of the two. “Amber?” I gently called out half hoping for a reply as I opened the door.

There was no one to be found. I stood there surprised for a couple of seconds. It was then that I remembered the paper. The only words on it were “Step in closer, Matthew.” (I honestly thought they might have been female up until this point.) Oh god. She knew that I was coming. I had hoped to make this visit a surprise.

I took a step in, cautiously looking around. There was nothing out of the ordinary except another note on the bed. This one read, “I knew that you were coming and why. I cannot tell you how, but just know that I do not take it personally. I am in the bathroom awaiting you.”

My heart was beating three times the seconds that were ticking away from the clock on her dresser, but my head was moving ten times slower. The page slipped from my hands, horrified at what I knew I would find in the bathroom. I knew I would not be prepared to see her, not like this.

Something was welling up in the corners of my eyes. I tried to shake them away, but they kept coming back. Just piling up to spill over the edge, to travel down my face, and land on my new suit I had bought just for today. I wiped them away with my handkerchief, “I must be strong.”

I didn’t have the dilemma with the master bathroom door that I had with the bedroom door, as the bathroom door was slightly ajar. I carefully walked over towards the bathroom, silent enough as to not disturb a mouse. Compared to the bedroom door handle, the wood on the door felt like fire beneath my palm, but that was mainly nerves and sweat. I slowly pushed the bathroom door open.

Being in my business for thirty years, (Since he was about 10? A teen?) and all those who have gone before me didn’t soften the blow for what I was about to see. I could see the shadow of her lying alone in the bath while the curtains blew softly in the breeze. I wanted to call out to her, to whisper at first and then to yell. The name Amber, her name, got so caught in my throat not even a whisper came from my gaping mouth.

I knew I should look around, but all my attention was on the bathtub. My legs turned to jelly as I forgot how to walk. I dragged my feet across the floor, pulling up the rug in the process; almost causing me to trip by the time I reached the bathtub. I stood there staring at the black shape on the other side of the curtain.

My hand reached up on its own, grasping the side of the curtain near her head. The simple act of me touching the curtain moved it so slightly that I saw a brown curl fall onto the outside of the tub. The tears came back and there was nothing I could do to stop them this time, so I let them fall along with my hope that everything would be okay.

“You shouldn’t have come back to town,” I told myself. “You could have done a similar job in any other town, to anyone else in the country.” I sniffed boogers (Such an informal slang to use. I would use †˜mucus.’) back that had been loosened from the crying, as the knife inserted in my heart was forced deeper. “Just leave now,; you already know what awaits you on the other side of the curtain.”

I couldn’t leave like this, and I knew it. Matthew Donavan has never walked away without 100% certainty that everything is accounted for. My hand that was holding the curtain shook slightly as I cried, which let more brown curls fall out. Just one quick motion, then I could run out of the house and speed out of this town.

I let my heart bleed as I carefully slid the curtain back. The only living being on this planet that could ever make my heart beat so quickly or bleed so profusely was Amber. It felt like days passed after I had pulled back a foot of that curtain.

Her eyes were closed. Her skin as pale as the moon, if its surface flattened and all craters covered. Her mouth was slightly open, the petal pink gone from her lips. Instead a trickle of blood spilled from the corner of her mouth. Her silly front teeth still had the giant gap between them. If I dared, I could swear that I canould still fit the thick part of a toothpick all the way up to her gums.

I looked her up and down quickly, and then kneeled over her face. My tears had stopped. I moved her bangs from her eyelids and felt the knife push deeper remembering the life her eyes one held. I made sure to gently touched her neck and pushed down the slightest bit, feeling, hoping, for a pulse. There was only the cold.

Amber had always been cold. She had even claimed to be cold in the summer, but I had always known that she was just self-conscious. She was skinnier and lankier than both of her parents, and if you didn’t know her you’d swear she was anorexic or bulimic.

The freckles still made her look young, as they always had. I noticed that she still wore her hair down. She had been doing that ever since college when everyone teased her for looking so young. She didn’t look right to me with her hair down, and I could never tell her how much I missed her pigtails.

I sat back on my legs, closed my eyes, and shook my head. I could already feel the headache from the dehydration. I opened my eyes and started to get up until I saw the slightest bit of paper poking out of her pocket. I took it without looking at it.

I also picked up the two other pieces of paper on my way out of the room. I have to think of a way to get out of here without them suspecting me. My fingerprints are all over the house. Then I remembered the boy. He had seen my face. Now the police will think I’d killed Amber for sure.

I went to the kitchen and opened the window over the sink. I needed some air. I snapped my head around after seeing Uncle Wiggly on the table. The pictures from high school! That’s my alibi.

From then on, I told myself, I’m just a visiting friend. I folded the two notes from the bedroom and put them in the inside pocket of my coat. I quickly gulped down two glasses of tap water, forgetting how weird the water tasted in this town, and called the police.

After only ten minutes (10 minutes? Highly unlikely, but whatever.) with me the police were convinced that I was just an unfortunate friend. They bought that I wanted to check up on an old friend while passing through town once I had directed them to the pictures in the office closet. (Oddly specific, suspicious behavior) I could tell the officers didn’t know Amber or I, so they weren’t from Greenville.

A little over half an hour and I left the town, but not forever as I had planned. Since I had called the police, word would spread and I would be forced (I doubt people would know or care enough to force him to do such a thing.) to attend the funeral. Normally I would call my contact who would call the client and tell them the job was done, but not this one. I wanted answers telling me who wanted Amber Baker dead and why.