place.
A man I had never met, who had never even checked in on me or Josh the whole time we were growing up, the whole time we were in the foster system, despite the fact that he obviously knew we had no one.
What kind of uncle does that?
As I slowed the car outside the cabin, I had visions of this Frank character telling me to turn around and drive back the way I came, to leave him alone and not bother him ever again. Then I’d be truly alone, with no one to help me. Not a good prospect to be thinking off, so I forced it out of my mind and pulled myself into the present.
I climbed out of the car, taking the laptop and journal with me. Unlike in the city, night was really night up the mountain. The only light came from the moon high above in the star speckled black sky. The blanket of silence that surrounded the place I found disconcerting to say the least. My stomach fluttered and my heart beat irregularly as I stood by the car and looked over at the wood cabin. It was quite small but looked foreboding in the darkness. It had windows on either side with a front door in the middle. No lights were on, even though there was a car parked out front. I hoped I hadn’t come all this way only to find no one home.
Then I heard a deep growling noise. I looked to the left and saw a big black dog edging its way towards me, baring its teeth. It was a Labrador, a breed of dog that I always considered cute and friendly. Not this one it seemed. I jumped when it barked at me. “Good dog,” I said in a shaky voice, readying myself to jump back in the car if it got any closer.
As I stood half frozen trying not to make too much eye contact with the snarling dog, I heard a clicking sound right behind me and then a man’s voice. “Nice car you have there.”
I slowly turned around to find a gun pointed at me. The barrel looked huge in front of my face. “Frank?” I asked, raising my arms slightly.
“Who wants to know?”
“My name’s Leia Swanson. My mother said you’re my Uncle. I need your help.”
The gun was lowered after a moment and I relaxed, though not much. The man who I assumed was Frank took a step forward, his dark eyes checking me out. He certainly looked like the man in the picture, though obviously older and more worn down. Something about him also put me on edge and it wasn’t just the fact that he held a gun. I got the impression he was dangerous enough even without a weapon. “You look like her alright. What are you doing here?” His voice was gravelly. I thought I could smell whiskey on his breath. Was the relatively fresh-faced young man from the photo now a bitter drunk? I hoped not. The scar on one side of his face didn’t help put me at ease either. I expected him to have aged, and he had. His hair was grayer; he had more lines in his face. It wasn’t just the aging that made him seem different to the man in the picture though. The younger Frank in the photo had a light in his eyes, like he still had much to live for. The man in front of me had no such light in his dark bloodshot eyes. The man in front of me gave off the impression that he was thoroughly tired of life at this point.
“I told you,” I said. “I need your help. My brother has been taken.”
“Taken?”
“Kidnapped. Whatever. He’s gone and I need your help to get him back. My mom said you would help me. She told me to come here, said you owed her.”
His eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to one side. “Really? When exactly? She’s been gone for eleven years.”
“I know it sounds crazy, and I know my mom is dead practically, but she left me this video along with her journal and in the video she told me to come find you up here, that you could help me—help both of us actually—my brother and me—but I got home earlier and my brother was gone and my foster mother was dead—murdered in the bath and there was a message written in blood on the bathroom mirror and it said…it said they were coming for me as well
A man I had never met, who had never even checked in on me or Josh the whole time we were growing up, the whole time we were in the foster system, despite the fact that he obviously knew we had no one.
What kind of uncle does that?
As I slowed the car outside the cabin, I had visions of this Frank character telling me to turn around and drive back the way I came, to leave him alone and not bother him ever again. Then I’d be truly alone, with no one to help me. Not a good prospect to be thinking off, so I forced it out of my mind and pulled myself into the present.
I climbed out of the car, taking the laptop and journal with me. Unlike in the city, night was really night up the mountain. The only light came from the moon high above in the star speckled black sky. The blanket of silence that surrounded the place I found disconcerting to say the least. My stomach fluttered and my heart beat irregularly as I stood by the car and looked over at the wood cabin. It was quite small but looked foreboding in the darkness. It had windows on either side with a front door in the middle. No lights were on, even though there was a car parked out front. I hoped I hadn’t come all this way only to find no one home.
Then I heard a deep growling noise. I looked to the left and saw a big black dog edging its way towards me, baring its teeth. It was a Labrador, a breed of dog that I always considered cute and friendly. Not this one it seemed. I jumped when it barked at me. “Good dog,” I said in a shaky voice, readying myself to jump back in the car if it got any closer.
As I stood half frozen trying not to make too much eye contact with the snarling dog, I heard a clicking sound right behind me and then a man’s voice. “Nice car you have there.”
I slowly turned around to find a gun pointed at me. The barrel looked huge in front of my face. “Frank?” I asked, raising my arms slightly.
“Who wants to know?”
“My name’s Leia Swanson. My mother said you’re my Uncle. I need your help.”
The gun was lowered after a moment and I relaxed, though not much. The man who I assumed was Frank took a step forward, his dark eyes checking me out. He certainly looked like the man in the picture, though obviously older and more worn down. Something about him also put me on edge and it wasn’t just the fact that he held a gun. I got the impression he was dangerous enough even without a weapon. “You look like her alright. What are you doing here?” His voice was gravelly. I thought I could smell whiskey on his breath. Was the relatively fresh-faced young man from the photo now a bitter drunk? I hoped not. The scar on one side of his face didn’t help put me at ease either. I expected him to have aged, and he had. His hair was grayer; he had more lines in his face. It wasn’t just the aging that made him seem different to the man in the picture though. The younger Frank in the photo had a light in his eyes, like he still had much to live for. The man in front of me had no such light in his dark bloodshot eyes. The man in front of me gave off the impression that he was thoroughly tired of life at this point.
“I told you,” I said. “I need your help. My brother has been taken.”
“Taken?”
“Kidnapped. Whatever. He’s gone and I need your help to get him back. My mom said you would help me. She told me to come here, said you owed her.”
His eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to one side. “Really? When exactly? She’s been gone for eleven years.”
“I know it sounds crazy, and I know my mom is dead practically, but she left me this video along with her journal and in the video she told me to come find you up here, that you could help me—help both of us actually—my brother and me—but I got home earlier and my brother was gone and my foster mother was dead—murdered in the bath and there was a message written in blood on the bathroom mirror and it said…it said they were coming for me as well
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