Who Would Have Thought

She Remains Anonymous

The dining room was embodied in a glowing light glinting from crystals of the chandelier. The light moved across the long silk covered dinner table glinting off the surface off the silver cutlery and china, shining in all four corners of the room. It was a brilliant glowing light that you could have seen outside of the Lain manor.

"So how was your day Sarah?" My father asked.

"It was a rather fine day actually."

"Any plans for this weekend?" Father asked her.

"Well, Father, Megan invited me over to her house tomorrow morning."

"Sounds nice, what show shall you be watching this time?" Mother asked her.

"Oh, we are going to be catching up on Glee maybe order pizza."

It seemed I was unneeded in this conversation. So I moved into my realm of thought. All dinners seemed to go like this. My parents would always talk about something that didn't concern me so I found the matter unimportant. However even as unimportant as it was I still wanted to be included in the conversation. During these conversations I always found myself glancing over at the smiling ball of joy that was my sister. We had the same hair, the same eyes and nose even posture. The only difference was Mother and Father paid more attention to her than me. It's been this way since I was born so you would think I had gotten used to it in all the fourteen years of my life but I could not help but feel a little hurt.


"Hi Meg." he sighed. My father came through the front door hanging up his gun belt and police coat on the wood rack, next to the front door, of our little house on King Street. I was standing in the kitchen by the gas stove to the right of the door.

"Hi, Dad. Anything new at work?" I asked.

"Sweetheart," he took in a deep breath, " I think you should sit down." His words seemed to carry weight with them as they traveled to my ears. I knew this wasn't going to be good.

"What happened this time?" I asked, "Dad......?"I turned away from the stove to look at my father. I knew that look, all too well. He got that look from grandma.

"Sarah won't be coming tomorrow." He slid onto a chair himself and sat there slouching as he stared down at the table.

"OH, you got me scared there, I thought it was something serious. It's okay, she can always come over next weekend." I answered going back to cooking.

"No Meg...she won't be coming over...ever." He said hinting at something, but I couldn't quite grasp what he was getting at. I turned to face him again.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He brought his gaze up to meet my eyes, "Megan...she won't be coming over...she's gone." For a moment I just stood there staring at my father who had moved his gaze back down to the table. Then the words hit me, I stumbled back and my left hand flew out to grab something to support me, as the other pressed on my chest. It took every drop of my strength to not immediately start bawling. My left hand gripped onto whatever I was holding harder and my hand started to grow warmer. At first, I thought it was just the pain from my breaking heart, then I looked over at my hand...on the stove...my hand. It took me a minute to fully register the pain.

"Ahhhhh" I half screamed half gasped. My dad shot up from the chair.

"You okay?" He was standing next to me looking over my shoulder. My right hand left its position on my chest to caress the burn on my palm.

"I'll be fine...my hand not so much." I breathlessly laughed at my own joke, trying to lighten the mood but one look at Dad and I knew my feeble attempts at humor were not going as far as I hoped. I had a habit of masking my emotions with my terrible jokes, that came from my mom.

"Dad, really I'm fine. Maybe a wet cloth and a bandage wrap?" I offered. That seemed to satisfy his aiding mind. He went to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit.

"You're taking this surprisingly well." He called from the bathroom. "I thought you would be sobbing your eyes out and eating ice cream or something."

"Well thanks, Dad, it's good, to know you think I am some emotion overtook 18 years old." He walked out of the bathroom with the first aid kit. When he got to me he took my hand and ran it under some cold water then started wrapping it.

" Its second degree so you'll have to keep it in a wrap for a couple days."I nodded.

"So she's...gone," I gulped,"gone?" My eyes started to water so I diverted my gaze to his hands as they worked slowly and confidentially on my hand. It's not that my dad couldn't handle crying but more that I didn't want anyone to see me cry, not even my dad. I hated the idea of people to knowing Megan Woods the daughter of Officer Woods cried.

"Yes Megan, gone, gone." He finished my hand, giving me nothing to fix my gaze upon.

"When's the...when's the...the-" God, now I was stuttering! My eyes darted around the room avoiding his, and I finally found sanctuary in looking out the window.

"The funeral?" He finished my sentence. I nodded.

"The bodies in the morgue at the moment. Until we find out what happened we can't bury her." I tore my gaze away from the window.

" What do you mean, what happened?" I stared at him now. I did not feel the pricks of tears anymore.

"Nothing sweetheart," He kissed my forehead, "But if you would like you can come to work with me tomorrow and pay your respects to the Lain family."

Olivia M. Mires

#619 in Mystery
#4739 in Romance

Story about: romance and mystery, bestfriends, cutie

Edited: 20.01.2019

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