Chapter One - A Death In the Family

The sound of a clay platter shattering on the kitchen floor tiles echoed in Lynn Andari's ears. The clattering of her cell phone also hitting the tiles was drowned out by the shards of the serving plate falling around her feet. She stared dumbly down at the mess, took one wobbling step back, and fell to her knees. One stray shard slipped easily through her tattered sweatpants and into her skin, but she didn't feel it. Her eyes found the phone, spinning on its back, tiny sounds emitting from it as though in indignation at being dropped. Her father was on the other end, probably shouting something about breaking plates, but he was too far away for her to hear. Before dropping the plate, she had been pacing around with it, waiting for the casserole in the oven to finish baking when her phone rang. She had answered it normally, expecting some ridiculous demand of her time that would end up with him dissatisfied regardless. Instead, he had told her that her mother was dead, that something had happened at her workplace, and that the police were working on it.
Reaching out and unintentionally pushing the chips of plate further into her flesh, she shut her phone. Her fingertips felt numb and clumsy, and they picked up a slight tremor that seemed to shake her body. It just didn't make sense; her mother, alive just last night, now dead? Her father hadn't even explained how, just that simple statement. Your mother is dead. Not a gentle, She has passed away or There was an accident. His stupid flat voice just belted out the harsh words without any second thought or precursor to prepare her. She had listened to him quietly, and when he asked if she was even listening, she had lost all sensation in her arms. All was silent in the big kitchen until a small moan of despair broke the stillness.
Lynn didn't remember much, looking back. Her mind went blank, her vision dim and fuzzy. Stumbling around like a drunkard, she pried scarlet-splattered blue plate shards out of her skin and swept the rest into a crooked, uneven pile. She didn't register the idea of a dust pan and proceeded to scoop all the of the pieces into her hands to dump them into the trash. Shaking and dripping blood from her knees and now her hands, she shambled towards the stairs, a quiet, keening whine rising in her throat. Once in her personal bathroom, she collapsed on the rug in front of the bath tub and turned the faucet on, as well as the shower head plug. She ducked her head as the water began to pour down and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. This is really real. I don't know what the hell happened or why, but unless that b*****d is playing some sick joke, she's really, really dead... Lynn began to sob, pressing her cut palms into her eyes. After a few minutes, she clambered into the tub, disregarding the shower curtain and the fact that her clothing was getting drenched.
Some time later, when the blood stopped flowing, she stripped and crawled back to her room. Slumped over on her floor, she wiped her eyes unsteadily and looked up at the dark ceiling, hands limp and still in her bare lap. Sniffing pathetically, she half-sensed a burning smell. It didn't register in her mind until the fire alarms began going off. Her head whipped sideways, eyes on the stairs, hair flying in wet clumps. First the kitchen, then the dining room, then the hallway, then the alarm right above her consecutively began blatting. She jumped as if goosed and tried to leap up, falling to her sore knees once before getting to her feet. The casserole was burning away in the oven when she dashed in, cold water running down her back. She slammed a fist over the 'off' button, carefully opening the oven door. She was greeted by billowing, thick smoke that had a harsh odor. Coughing and stepping back, she squinted in at the ruined casserole. It was no more than a black, crusty mess. She stared at it, then let out a short, hoarse laugh.

Lynn only managed to get the blackened brick out of the oven and onto the granite countertop before she had to sit down, dizzy and sick. The kitchen was swelteringly hot and fogged up with dark gray smoke, and every time she looked around, she would see flashes of her own memory, of her mother cutting something, opening the fridge, turning from the stove to smile at an unseen, younger Lynn. Finally noticing her lack of clothing, she turned on the fans to air the room out and crept back upstairs. The ruined meal could wait until tomorrow to be cleaned, she supposed. It didn't really matter anyway. Slipping into her favorite oversized tee-shirt and sweatpants, she fumbled at the window, stopping occasionally to clear tears from her vision. The house smelled foul and she needed air, clean air. She also had to get out of the house and clear her head.

The cold September air caused her to break out in goose bumps when she fought the window open. The side of her parents' house had a thick wood lattice, meant for vines and ivy to grow on. After a few years' consideration, Lynn had taken vine cutters and cut away small sections of the foliage to make a sort of ladder up to the roof. She now used this to get herself onto the roof to sit with her back to the chimney. Drawing her knees to her chest and resting her forehead against them, she covered her nose with the collar of her shirt, inhaling that special deep-scent that was her own scent. She had meant it to be comforting, but it only made her think of the smell of her mother's perfume and shampoo and soap. Putting her arms over her head, she sobbed into her sweatpants and let the wind howl around her.

Bridget Andari was standing in the middle of a long hallway, staring down at the foot of silver metal poking out the front of her uniform scrubs. This section of the hospital was unnaturally silent and empty; it was a main hallway and the rooms on either side should have held the usual short-term patients. All of the white beds were empty and at the far end of the hall, the emergency door was propped open. A single paper fluttered before her. Something hot and wet began pouring down her stomach and lower back.

“You thought you could hide something like that away, didn't you.” a soft, growling voice announced the location and identity of her attacker. She turned around slowly, the metal rod catching the light and reflecting tiny sunbeams. She felt a faint itching at the tops of her head and base of her ears, a sensation she used to be so familiar with. She bared her teeth and hissed at the person, who was holding another rod limply by his side. Her blue-green eyes flashed neon and shone like cat's eyes, and her ears, now furry and poking through her black hair, lay flat against her skull. The tail that had sprouted simultaneously was trying to lash in fury, but it was contained for the time being. She made as if to step forward and challenge her assailant, but her vision suddenly went blurry and she grunted as her knees hit the floor. Her mint green nurse scrubs were dyed red from the waist down to her mid-thighs and it was spreading fast. Her shaking fingers touched the cool metal. She felt no urgency and no pain.
“You thought you could pretend to be normal and just...” the attacker threw down the remaining pole. The clattering sound echoed deafeningly in the long hallway. “Just trick me like I was never special enough for you. Isn't that right?” the words echoed as the voice grew louder and louder.

“Are you trying to explain yourself to me?” Bridget croaked, spitting to the side when blood began to rise in her throat and drip from the corner of her mouth. Rage contorted the person's face and Bridget's vision shuddered at the impact of fist to face. She felt nothing. She was floating, a little Bridget-Balloon over her dying body. She fell to the side, coughing. She wanted to retaliate, say something clever and haunting, but she was done. There was none of her usual strong, resilient wit about her. She groaned, blood pooling around her body. The glow in her eyes dimmed, and she numbly reached up to her head with one weak hand. As long as I die how I was supposed to be, she thought, infinitely lucid. As long as I die like this, I don't care how dishonorable. I don't give a s**t about my old allies. Our secrets can be spilled. I just need to die with more dignity than this son of a b***h has given me. Her eyelids fluttered once, her hand thumping to the tiles before her face. I will hide no longer. I am flawed. All was still in the hallway until the murderer stepped over the cold body and stormed out through the emergency exit. Then the silence resumed, unearthly in its calm.

Author's Note

I apologize for its... crappiness.. =J