Connecting the Pieces.........

This is a story about a girl finding who she really is by a terrible event happening. Tell me what you think and if you have any suggestions.

1Likes
2Comments
293Views

1. Chapter One:

 

Connecting the Pieces...

By: Madison 

 

 

Chapter One

            Have you ever felt like a moment is so surreal that it feels like a dream? Well, I experienced that exact feeling. I watched my parents get murdered. There are no words to describe the sensation of what I saw. Someone else may say bloody or horrific. Those words are amateur compared to what I saw.                                                                                                            My name is Madison Reed. My parents were Charles and Sarah Reed. I never knew much about what they did for employment. All I ever needed and wanted to know was that they loved me. I would come to find out the real story of my parents.

***

            It was Saturday, January 12, 2013. I had woken up from a good night's sleep. The smell of chocolate-chip pancakes scented the house. My mother always made pancakes every Saturday. The noises of car horns filled the polluted air of Chicago. The place I had called home for fifteen years.                                                                                                                                                   I picked up my phone from my nightstand.  It was almost 9:00 a.m. I had slept in too late. I ran to my closet and picked out an appropriate outfit for the chilly winter day. After I got ready, I headed down the hallway to the kitchen. Both of my parents we already dressed. We had a busy day ahead of us. They had some conference to attend for the whole weekend, and I had violin lessons then I had to turn around and head to the police station for my internship.                                             Local police station in Chicago offer programs to help keep kids off the streets and away from gangs. My parents never had to worry about that with me, but I wanted something else to put on my college applications when I get older.                                                                                      I sat down on the barstool in our kitchen. My mother had already made a plate for me. I began devouring my plate. First thing in the morning, I am always hungry. "Good morning, Mom," I said.                                                                                                                                                         "Good Morning, Sweetheart. Did you have a good night's sleep?" she asked.                        

"Like I always do," I replied happily. I had a feeling that that day was going to be great. Boy was I wrong.                                                                                                                                                "Great. Today your father and I have a conference to go to across town. So you may be alone for a couple hours when you get home at 5:00," she said.                                                                    

"Ok, I need to get going to my lessons, I will see you later," I said.                                                 

"I love you honey," she replied. To my dismay that would be one of the last things, my mother ever said to me. I got my violin and backpack. I looked behind myself as I walked out the door and saw the smiling face of my mother.                                                                                                             The walk to my lessons were unusual. There was a crisp chill in the air, and everyone who I usually conversed with wasn't there.                                                                                                    

  My lesson went on as planned. During the internship, something was happening that shouldn't have. There was not many crimes occurring. In a city as big as Chicago, crime happens left and right. That day was different. It was a good thing for the police force, but I knew something was wrong.                                                                                                                              I walked into my apartment a little after 5:00. No one was there as my mother had told me earlier. I went to my room and put up my coat, violin, and backpack. I breathed a sigh of relief. That day had been great with the exception of those incidents.                                                     

  I heard the door slam open. I ran to my door and put my ear against it. "We need to tell her," exclaimed my father.                                                                                                                                     "If we tell her she will get curious and start looking around," she yelled back.                           

"So what if she gets curious? It's better than her not knowing at all," he said. I walked into the hallway.                                                                                                                                       "What's going on guys?" I asked.                                                                                                      

"Nothing Honey," My dad said as he rubbed his head.                                                                    

"Doesn't sound like nothing," I replied. I turned my head the other way to look at my mother. I heard a loud pop. It wasn't like a firecracker; it was more like a firework. My father dropped to the ground. Blood was pooling around his head.            I made a dash for the closet. I left it a hare open so I could see what was going on.                                                                                                            "I thought we made a deal," my mom sobbed.                                                                                  

"I thought we did too. But when you told that man about what was going on, everything went off," he said. "It's a shame," he said. I heard an ear-piercing scream. All the hairs on my body stood up. I waited to hear a door shut. When the door did, I walked out and saw my mother colorless and my father with his eyes wide-open. Both lying in massive pools of blood.                           

I thought fast. I got a converted cord for our phones. I uploaded all the information on their phones to mine. I got a flash-drive a uploaded the information from the computer and laptops also. I had to call 911 now.  I dialed 911 into the landline. My parents had never told me our house address. That should have been a warning sign.                                                                                  "911, Fire, Medical, or Police?" the operator asked.                                                                          

"There has been a double homicide. My parents were killed during a house invasion," I said.                                                                                                                                                               "May I ask who is calling?" he said.                                                                                                 

  "I am the daughter," I said. I put the phone in between the ear and my shoulder. I walked over my parent bodies and went into my room. I got my backpack and put my seven outfits in there, and extra pair of shoe, my chargers, and my purse. In addition, I put my stuffed unicorn in.                    

"How old are?" he asked.                                                                                                                  

"I am fifteen," I replied.                                                                                                                 

  "Are you in need of medical assistance?" he asked. There was a cut down my forearm.              

"I have a little cut and bumped my head, but nothing that I can't deal with," I said.                             

"Help is on the way," he said. I heard sirens rushing towards our house. I sat down in the corner of the kitchen right next to the door. I stared at my parents bodies. The door was kicked in.                                                                                                                                                     "Ow!" I yelped as the door hit me. It wasn't the smartest idea on my part to sit next to the door, but they could have at least knocked.                                                                                                  

"Come on sweetheart. Let's go downstairs and talk to some detectives," said Officer Mathews.                                                                                                                                                     "Don't call me 'Sweetheart'. Only my mom called me sweetheart," I said.                                       

  "Ok, Ok," he replied. He must have thought I had hit my head really hard because I was of the way I was talking. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. The way I was walking and the way everybody was looking at me. It was going at the pace of a turtle. I was walked to the back of the ambulance and sat down.                                                                                                                   "You seem to have hit your head very hard," the paramedic said.                                              

  "Police officers don't know how to knock apparently," I replied. The other medic looked at my forearm.         

  "You have quite a cut also. Do you want to go to the hospital?" the other medic asked.                 

"No, I will be fine," I said.                                                                                                                       

"Ok let me wrap up your arm then you can go with the detectives," she said. Moments later, they gave me to the hands of the homicide detective.                                                                               

"I am Detective John Ramirez. I will be investigating the deaths of your parents," he said.                                                                                                                                                                     "This is just another homicide for you," I said.                                                                                  

"You seemed to have it all figured out," he said.                                                                             

  "I really do," I said.                                                                                                                             

"Let's go back to the station so we can ask you some questions then we will put you into a foster home," he said.                                                                                                                                              "I am not going to a foster home," I said angrily.                                                                                   

"We'll see about that," he said. I sat in the back of his car. I plugged in headphones and started listening to music. I gathered what little thoughts I had. I don't know how I wasn't sobbing and begging for mercy at this point. It was the adrenaline I had initially thought, but later it would be really revealed.                                                                                                                        The station was all too familiar. For the good reasons though. I had worked the various units of the Chicago PD. I had done homicide in the summer.                                                                

The station was a cold and dreary as it was in the summer. No matter how many leads they seemed to have at the homicide unit everything was still so sad.                                           

Questioning went well enough as it could have. I could see their hearts melting from their chest. Watching your parents get murdered would do that.                                                                            

"Go and call up Social Services," said Ramirez. This was my chance.                                               

"May I go use the restroom?" I asked.                                                                                               

"Yeah, down the hall next to the back exit," he replied. I put my backpack on and went down the hallway. As I left, I swiped his card from his pocket. I looked behind myself and made a swift exit. I walked down the street casually. I walked into a nearby coffee. Soon they would be looking for me. After I ordered a cup of coffee, I changed into another outfit and coat. I sighed a breath of relief as I exited the coffee shop. I was ready to find who killed my parents.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...