Chapter 2: Gone (John)
There was an overcast of clouds that day. I could sense a raging snow storm coming in from the north, the air was extremely cold. The winter air biting my skin even through my thick hoodie The soft but unforgiving wind didnt make things any better. With every step I took, my muscles went numb with every breath I inhaled through my nostrils, a dry, burning sensation discomforted me. I hated every day of February it was the longest month of winter despite having only twenty eight days. The sidewalks were covered in a mixture of hardened snow, ice and crushed salt crunching under the weight of my boots. I started to increase the pace while trying not to slip and break my neck. My body aching from the intense workout Junior and I did earlier. My mind going crazy with millions of thoughts of school work and studying I had to do that would take all night to finish. I released a huge breath of air, letting all the stress building up inside out. The mile walk home seemed longer than usual, which was odd because I took a shorter route than I usually do. It didn't really matter to me because even though the bitter thirty six minute walk was a living frozen hell, I was down the street from my house. I could already feel the warmness of the house, my moms cooking almost finished my father helping her out conversating, laughing with each other welcoming me home.
No, what I was thinking or imaging was just a fantasy or nostalgia from when I was younger where we would eat together just like a T.V family. I'll just find myself home alone or with my father isolating himself from every and anyone. Ever since he got his promotion from his job he's been locked in his study all day coming out once or never. Moms promotion to the head surgeon made her stay at her job forever. She's one of the top surgeons in all of Southston, of course she wasn't going to see home for like a week. I was always alone at home, not that I chose to be, it just happened. People would think I'm an antisocial person if they saw how I was at home compared to out in public where I would talk to everyone I met.
I turned the corner and increased my pace again looking in front of me , about halfway down the block I noticed my fathers black Dodge Charger park crooked on the snow covered lawn. Which wasn't too odd because he would usually do that for no apparent reason. He became a show off ever since he got his new car. The driveway was big and long enough to park three full size pickup trucks, his car and my mothers Mercedes. All the snow was shoveled off, all the ice was melted off by the hundreds of pounds of salt we dropped on it.
It was just weird because he does that in summer not in the winter.
As I was making my way closer to the entrance of my safe haven from this harsh environment , an unpleasant chill suddenly runs through my nerves. It felt like a million spiders covered in ice running throughout my already sore, tense body. The feeling wasn't good at all, my heart rate increased for no reason, my stomach began to cringe not from my starvation but from the uneasiness or anxiousness of coming home. I arrived at the entrance of the driveway, everything was normal, more or less. Mom’s luxurious silver Benz wasn't there. I proceeded forward and noticed the front door opened ajar. It confused me a little for the fact my father would never leave the door open unless he was stepping right back out. I walked into the doorway slowly to find my house trashed. My mothers portraits and wall art were all lying on the floor with a mixture of paper. Small pieces of debris from golf ball sized holes in the wall were scattered all over throughout the house the further I walked in almost as if I just missed a police shootout with some drug dealers . I started to make my way towards the living room hearing the small cracking sound of glass crushing under my feet. The living room furniture was fine for the most part the whole place was in darkness. I turned around and looked at the wall and saw the holes from before inside. As I took my next step forward, i heard the sound of a empty canister rolling on the ground. My eyes locked on the the small red cylinder object rolling forward. When it finally stopped, i grabbed it and examined it for a few seconds. My eyes widened to what the conclusion of this mysterious object was, a shotgun shell. The fearful thought of what became of my father caused my heart rate to increase. Where was my dad? Why did someone break into my house? Was he still here? While all these thoughts ran in my head, I dug into my pocket searching for my smartphone then remembered that I forgot it upstairs in my room. "Shit." I whispered to myself. I didnt want to walk upstairs and find my surprise guess waiting for me with the bigger surprise of a 12 gauge in my face. I walked towards the kitchen looking around for the house phone, which for some reason when I needed I couldn't find it. I moved around the area crouched down, moving as quiet as possible not trying to bring attention to myself. I walked to one of the kitchen drawers, opened it carefully grabbed a fork and moved to the next set of drawers which were all empty. I sighed in disbelief and decided to walk back to the front entrance until a sudden a soft muffled voice came in the direction from my fathers study. I paused for a brief second, hoping I wasn't hearing things. Then, another muffled voice but this one sounded more aggressive, angry. I turned the corner of the kitchen and looked down the hallway which was demolished, and in ruins from the same golf sized holes from earlier. Shards of glass and papers shredded to pieces were scattered everywhere just like the front entrance. The dark hallway striked a slight terror in my heart causing me to tremble. Another muffled voice spoken again, the voice was clearer than before but I couldn't understand what he was saying. I hugged the wall, kept the pace slow even though my heart was hammering away at my chest, my skin tightened, my nerves jittered. I focused more on my breathing more than where I was stepping which I regretted when I finally reached the end of the corridor. My fathers study door was wide open letting the cold air in flow throughout the room. Peeking in, I saw one of his lamps were lying on the ground, the wall of perfectly aligned books were disfigured with bullet holes and scratches I feared the worst when walking in slowly I could feel the presence of another man in the room. Saw his shadow against the floor facing toward my father's desk. "This is your last chance Robert." The raspy deep voice said. While he said, that I moved in a little closer camouflaging my footsteps with every word he said.
I was about five feet away from him.
His whole entire view was focused onto my fathers desk. The man stood about six-foot three with an average build. He had an all black uniform and a black motorcycle helmet which glistened from the light on the desk. He had a black shotgun facing towards my father. I pulled in as much air as I could through my flared nostrils trying to contain all my rage and anxiousness. " The third file, I know you have it."
I stepped on top of one of my father trophies which were now covered in blood which snapped in half. Before I could even think to say shit, he swiftly turned around and pulled the trigger.
The last thing I remember was a loud hammer like bang, and me flying backwards into the wall with the sight of dark red all over. Then I was gone.