Emma Walker sat on the porch, looking into the backyard. Her black hair was pulled back into a messy bun. Emma wore a gray cardigan over her blue polo shirt. She wrapped the cardigan tightly around her as a chilly winter breeze blew. It was usually a quiet house. With Emma’s roommate, Abigail, at work every weekday, it was peaceful. Emma stood up and walked around the house to the brown mailbox out front. She opened the cover and grabbed two envelopes. One was a water bill but on the front of the other was handwriting Emma thought she’d never see again. The handwriting of her brother.
Emma walked into the house and set the letter on the table; She could read it at a later time. Emma sat on the couch and stared off into the distance, the TV rambling from in front of her. “Breaking News!” Mr. Ronson, the news reporter called, “Rose Brown escaped from prison and is allegedly the cause of a mass murder. The murder involved-” Emma switched the TV off. She didn’t need anything else filling her mind. She lay down and closed her eyes. Soon, she drifted off to sleep. “Em? I’m home!” a sing-song voice called from the front door, waking Emma up. She opened her eyes to see Abigail, setting her small orange purse down on the chair next to Emma. Abigail’s blonde hair was pulled into two, low, tight pigtails. She wore a white and black striped shirt and a black skirt. “Hey, Abby!” Emma said, sitting up, stretching, and rubbing the tiredness from her eyes, “How was work?” “Same as usual,” Abigail replied, heading into their small kitchen and grabbing an empty pot out of the cabinet. Emma got off the couch. “No, I’ll make dinner. You made us spaghetti yesterday anyways,” she said, ushering Abigail away from the cabinet, “You had a busy day at work.” She indicated the silver pin on Abigail’s shirt which read, "Abigail Smith, Junior Librarian" Emma walked over to the pantry, opened the door, and grabbed a box of Crunchy Oats and Wheat cereal just to prove her point. Abigail sighed and left the kitchen. “On one condition…it can’t be breakfast food,” she teased, eyeing the box in Emma’s hand. When Emma tensed and held the box harder she added, “I’m just kidding! Make whatever you want.” She turned and walked into her bedroom, her hands loosening her tight bun in her hair. “Any interviews today?” Abigail called from the bedroom. Emma sighed. “No,” she said, gently setting the cereal box back in the pantry. Emma had lost her job as a waitress at the diner down the block a year ago when her brother, Josh, had a seizure and no one else was in town. She had to leave her summer intern job early to take care of Josh. But her employer was not accepting of the “awful excuse to leave but still get paid”. When she lost her job, and struggled to get another one, her mom kicked her out. Emma was only seventeen at the time. She moved in with Abigail-who had turned 18 and moved out of her parents’ home a few months before-almost immediately after. Emma had then finished high school and couldn’t afford college. She looked back at the spot on the table where Josh's letter sat. Maybe he’s come to apologize! Emma thought with a flicker of hope “You should go back to writing,” Abigail shook Emma from her thoughts, walking into the kitchen wearing purple sweatpants and a gray hoodie, “You had a good thing going for ‘ya there.” Abigail gave her roommate a look that made her recall all the times in school, and even outside of school, where she would just sit down and write stories. Sometimes for hours at a time. Emma shook her head, some of her hair falling out of her messy bun, “We’ve talked about this, Abby. It’s not an actual career. It’s just stupid fanfiction. It’s not like it's an actual good story.” Emma sat at the table and rested her head on her hands. Abigail sighed, “Well, that ‘stupid fanfiction’ could get you a job. And it’s something you enjoy doing!” She sat next to Emma. Emma shook her head again. “It’s just a phase,” she whispered. Abigail nudged Emma on the shoulder. “No, it’s not,” she said confidently, “You got this. I’ll even help you if you need it.” When Emma didn’t respond she added, “Look, let’s order pizza tonight and watch some TV. Then we’ll try again later.” “Sure,” Emma replied, walking over to the couch, where she rested her feet on the ottoman. Abigail walked over a few minutes later, setting her phone down on the small table next to the couch and picking up the remote. She pressed the red button and the TV flickered to life. “-Brown had been seen walking around town in a white hoodie and shorts,” the news reporter said, “She went into the plaza around 2:00 and left around 4. Now to Tim with the weather.” “Have you heard about this?” Abigail asked, her voice shaking and eyes glued to the screen. Emma sighed. She knew how much Abigail hated murders. Ever since her mother was murdered at age six, she couldn’t stand even the talk of murder. “No, not that much,” Emma lied. There had been news about it everywhere. Abigail took her eyes off the TV and turned towards Emma. “You’re a bad liar,” she said, forcing a chuckle. She opened her mouth to add something but was interrupted by the doorbell. Startled, Abigail jumped up. “It’s fine, I’ll go get it,” Emma said, nodding for Abigail to sit back down. She walked over to the door and added, “It's probably just the pizza.” She opened the door and saw a girl in black hair which was tied up in a ponytail. She was wearing a red and white apron. She had a hat on with a pizza symbol and was holding a white box in front of her. She wore a pin that read, "Suzan Stane". “Here’s your pizza. Did you pay online?” the girl asked. She couldn’t have been older than Emma or Abigail. Maybe a college student? Emma thought, grabbing the pizza box. “Yes thank you!” Emma said, closing the door as the girl skipped away to her car. Emma noticed something was different about the car. She looked out the window and saw there was nothing on the car that mentioned pizza. There was no sign or logo or anything. Just a plain black car. Emma shrugged it off and turned to set the pizza on the kitchen table. Abigail was still watching the news, her eyes fixed on the TV screen. An image appeared that was labeled “The Car of Rose Brown” The sight made Emma almost drop the pizza box. It looked identical to Suzan’s car.
Emma stood up and walked around the house to the brown mailbox out front. She opened the cover and grabbed two envelopes. One was a water bill but on the front of the other was handwriting Emma thought she’d never see again.
The handwriting of her brother.
Emma walked into the house and set the letter on the table; She could read it at a later time. Emma sat on the couch and stared off into the distance, the TV rambling from in front of her.
“Breaking News!” Mr. Ronson, the news reporter called, “Rose Brown escaped from prison and is allegedly the cause of a mass murder. The murder involved-” Emma switched the TV off. She didn’t need anything else filling her mind. She lay down and closed her eyes. Soon, she drifted off to sleep.
“Em? I’m home!” a sing-song voice called from the front door, waking Emma up. She opened her eyes to see Abigail, setting her small orange purse down on the chair next to Emma. Abigail’s blonde hair was pulled into two, low, tight pigtails. She wore a white and black striped shirt and a black skirt.
“Hey, Abby!” Emma said, sitting up, stretching, and rubbing the tiredness from her eyes, “How was work?”
“Same as usual,” Abigail replied, heading into their small kitchen and grabbing an empty pot out of the cabinet.
Emma got off the couch. “No, I’ll make dinner. You made us spaghetti yesterday anyways,” she said, ushering Abigail away from the cabinet, “You had a busy day at work.” She indicated the silver pin on Abigail’s shirt which read, "Abigail Smith, Junior Librarian" Emma walked over to the pantry, opened the door, and grabbed a box of Crunchy Oats and Wheat cereal just to prove her point.
Abigail sighed and left the kitchen. “On one condition…it can’t be breakfast food,” she teased, eyeing the box in Emma’s hand. When Emma tensed and held the box harder she added, “I’m just kidding! Make whatever you want.” She turned and walked into her bedroom, her hands loosening her tight bun in her hair. “Any interviews today?” Abigail called from the bedroom.
Emma sighed. “No,” she said, gently setting the cereal box back in the pantry. Emma had lost her job as a waitress at the diner down the block a year ago when her brother, Josh, had a seizure and no one else was in town. She had to leave her summer intern job early to take care of Josh. But her employer was not accepting of the “awful excuse to leave but still get paid”. When she lost her job, and struggled to get another one, her mom kicked her out. Emma was only seventeen at the time. She moved in with Abigail-who had turned 18 and moved out of her parents’ home a few months before-almost immediately after. Emma had then finished high school and couldn’t afford college. She looked back at the spot on the table where Josh's letter sat. Maybe he’s come to apologize! Emma thought with a flicker of hope
“You should go back to writing,” Abigail shook Emma from her thoughts, walking into the kitchen wearing purple sweatpants and a gray hoodie, “You had a good thing going for ‘ya there.” Abigail gave her roommate a look that made her recall all the times in school, and even outside of school, where she would just sit down and write stories. Sometimes for hours at a time.
Emma shook her head, some of her hair falling out of her messy bun, “We’ve talked about this, Abby. It’s not an actual career. It’s just stupid fanfiction. It’s not like it's an actual good story.” Emma sat at the table and rested her head on her hands.
Abigail sighed, “Well, that ‘stupid fanfiction’ could get you a job. And it’s something you enjoy doing!” She sat next to Emma.
Emma shook her head again. “It’s just a phase,” she whispered.
Abigail nudged Emma on the shoulder. “No, it’s not,” she said confidently, “You got this. I’ll even help you if you need it.” When Emma didn’t respond she added, “Look, let’s order pizza tonight and watch some TV. Then we’ll try again later.”
“Sure,” Emma replied, walking over to the couch, where she rested her feet on the ottoman. Abigail walked over a few minutes later, setting her phone down on the small table next to the couch and picking up the remote. She pressed the red button and the TV flickered to life.
“-Brown had been seen walking around town in a white hoodie and shorts,” the news reporter said, “She went into the plaza around 2:00 and left around 4. Now to Tim with the weather.”
“Have you heard about this?” Abigail asked, her voice shaking and eyes glued to the screen.
Emma sighed. She knew how much Abigail hated murders. Ever since her mother was murdered at age six, she couldn’t stand even the talk of murder. “No, not that much,” Emma lied. There had been news about it everywhere.
Abigail took her eyes off the TV and turned towards Emma. “You’re a bad liar,” she said, forcing a chuckle. She opened her mouth to add something but was interrupted by the doorbell. Startled, Abigail jumped up.
“It’s fine, I’ll go get it,” Emma said, nodding for Abigail to sit back down. She walked over to the door and added, “It's probably just the pizza.”
She opened the door and saw a girl in black hair which was tied up in a ponytail. She was wearing a red and white apron. She had a hat on with a pizza symbol and was holding a white box in front of her. She wore a pin that read, "Suzan Stane".
“Here’s your pizza. Did you pay online?” the girl asked. She couldn’t have been older than Emma or Abigail.
Maybe a college student? Emma thought, grabbing the pizza box. “Yes thank you!” Emma said, closing the door as the girl skipped away to her car. Emma noticed something was different about the car. She looked out the window and saw there was nothing on the car that mentioned pizza. There was no sign or logo or anything. Just a plain black car.
Emma shrugged it off and turned to set the pizza on the kitchen table. Abigail was still watching the news, her eyes fixed on the TV screen. An image appeared that was labeled “The Car of Rose Brown” The sight made Emma almost drop the pizza box.
It looked identical to Suzan’s car.