Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 2
SOFIA
“Danny?” I say, calling out to the empty room.
I just arrived home from college to celebrate my brother’s birthday. He’s turning twenty-five, so it’s a big deal. One quarter of a century. He’s practically old, and I can’t wait to give him a hard time.
I drop my keys into the little dish by the door. It’s green glass, something my mother picked up at a yard sale somewhere. I take my jacket off and hang it on a hook, dropping my backpack on the floor.
“Danny?” I repeat.
It’s the middle of the day, and both Mom and Dad are busy. They haven’t retired yet, even though they’re both counting down the days. Pretty soon there will be a big party for each of them, but they still have a lot to do at their respective jobs. Dad works for a phone company, and Mom is a librarian. I want to be a journalist and follow in Danny’s footsteps.
He works at a newspaper, a real one, not a local one either. He promised to get me a job, or at least an interview once I graduate. I’m so excited about this project I’m working on. I can’t wait to tell him all about it. There’s a scandal happening in the wrestling team at my university. One student was caught using performance-enhancing drugs. I’m the one they brought in to write a story on it, and I’ve been collecting interviews for the past week.
I want to show Danny all the progress I’ve made, and I’m sure he’ll geek out about it with me even though it’s probably nothing close to what he’s reporting on. We’re so close, and I can’t imagine anything coming between us.
I think I smell something, but I’m not quite sure what it is. It’s pungent, and it infects the air with a coppery scent that sets my nerves on edge. I already know something’s wrong and I haven’t even stumbled on what’s causing the smell.
“Danny?” I call out, this time a little hesitantly. He could be out with some friends, but I have a sinking feeling that’s not the case.
I walk into the living room and find him lying on the couch. There’s a gun on the floor and blood soaks the white linen sofa. I can hear myself scream as I stagger toward him. I drop to my knees, cupping his face in my hands to bring him back to life.
His eyes are closed, and there’s a hole in his forehead. I can’t decide whether to cry or throw up. I want to hug him, but at the same time, I’m repulsed. I fumble in my pocket for my cell phone and call the police.
That’s when I wake.
My chest is damp with sweat. My heart is pounding, and my mind is racing. The dream is the same every night. It hardly deviates from the real memory. Sometimes I can see Danny’s killer slipping away into the kitchen, but when I try to follow him, he vanishes.
Other times Danny is still alive when I get there, as he tries to tell me something. But that gaping wound in the center of his forehead makes it impossible for me to concentrate on his words. Most of the time, however, the scene plays out just like it did in real life.
I take a moment to collect myself. “It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream,” I say out loud until my heart rate slows and I can focus once again. For the thousandth time, I wish I wasn’t the one who found my brother.
When I check the bedside clock, it says it’s four in the morning. I let out a sigh. It’s too early to get up, but too late to go back to bed. After a nightmare like that, I know that all I’m going to do is stare at the ceiling in the dark and see Danny’s body repeatedly. I can’t handle that.
I get up, walk to the bathroom, and brush my teeth. I comb my hair and get dressed. Nothing fancy, just a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt. A change of clothes signals to my frightened mind that I’m not trying to sleep anymore. The day has begun and I don’t have to worry about reliving the worst day of my life for at least sixteen or seventeen hours.
I leave my bedroom and close the door, another signal to myself that I’m putting the dream behind me. I pour myself a cup of coffee and open my laptop. It’s too early to go for a jog, and I’ve got at least two hours to go before the stores open up. It’s the perfect time to get some work done.
I check my email, but nobody has been in touch. With determination, I open the folder labeled Danny on my desktop and sort through the contents. I know Danny was working on a story when he died. He didn’t tell me much about it, but he was sure it would bring certain people to justice. Even though the police were convinced it was a suicide, I know better. He was working on something big, and that’s what got him killed. Someone didn’t want their secrets revealed, and they weren’t above committing murder to keep him quiet.