A sense of urgency pressed against her chest upon and she wondered if this was how her father felt as she tried to catch her breath. Sarah quickened her pace, almost to the car, when she was stopped again by Johnny. Turning to face him, she tried to conceal the worried expression etching its way onto her face. If her mother was texting her, it was important. The woman didn't like technology; she abhorred it. Sometimes Sarah believed they were the only house still in possession of a land-line. It was only at her insistence that her mother had gotten a cell phone and this was many years ago. She'd never upgraded from the flip phone and refused to, but she was aware that the best way to reach her was through a text message. The skill was learned reluctantly and only used when essential.

“A little bit,” she confessed. “I'm really not trying to be rude. It's just my father-” The woman paused and scolded herself for breaching the topic of parents. It was no secret around town what had happened to the Blackburns. The plane crash and their deaths had been front page news when it'd happened. Sarah hadn't known them well enough to go to the funeral, but she'd thought once or twice of sending her condolences before deciding that she hadn't really known Johnny well enough to do that either. She knew some folks however that had attended, not to pay their respects, but for the reprehensible act of catching a glimpse of fame. “He's sick. And my mother's not herself lately.”

It felt like too much personal information to divulge, but she felt she owed him an explanation all the same for her sudden departure. Sarah often felt she needed to explain her actions. The curt way she spoke and excused herself from conversation due to her shyness was commonly misconstrued as a superiority complex. 

Taking the tickets from his hand, she stared at them. “My sister...?” It shouldn't have surprised her that he wanted to see Lena. Her sister had a way of getting into someone's mind and never leaving. People asked about her often, especially her old conquests, or reminisced about how much duller the small town of Fairburrow seemed now that she was gone. 

Sarah would have been lying if she said she didn't want to go, but in truth she didn't know if she could. The second ticket in her hand was also an issue. She didn't want to go alone, and there were many who would have appreciated the extra ticket as rarely did any type of special event come here, but she'd lost touch with all of her friends ages ago and the thought of contacting them out of the blue to ask if they wanted to attend a concert with her made her uncomfortable. “Thank you,” she said after a moment. “I'll try to make it.”

It was something she considered more on the long drive home. 


Back at the house, Sarah dreaded the worst. A silence welcomed her as she called, “I'm back.” She expected her mother to greet her, informing her of why she'd sent her such a cryptic text. Her stomach churned at the bottom of the steps in the foyer as she glanced up to the second story where the bedrooms were located. “Mom?” 

The cars were still untouched in the driveway. They had to still be here and she wondered why no one was answering. A sigh of frustrated, she wished things could just be simple once in a while. Sarah wondered where Lena was, what she was doing, and if she ever felt any remorse for abandoning her to care for their aging, ailing parents on her own.

Arriving at their bedroom door, she gave a knock of warning before her hand moved to the handle.

Thud!

Sarah jerked back in surprise as something collided against the door. From the other side she could hear raspy breathing and she assumed it was from her father though he hadn't been out of bed in weeks. A scratching coming from the other side, she pressed her shoulder against the door using her weight to push back the force on the other side. “What is going on in here!” she exclaimed. Her mind drew a blank, having no idea what her mother and father could be doing to make so much racket.

The door didn't get half-way open before she stopped. Recoiling away with her hands over her mouth, she shuffled backwards into the wall.

Blood.

It gathered in the fibers of the carpet, fresh, shining where it pooled together. Her first instinct was to check on her parents, but she found she couldn't move. Paralyzed with fear, she wondered who it was—her mother or father—before she noticed a corner of the yellow quilted blanket peeking out beside of it and the slender bend of her mother's wrist beside it. Along with the fear was anger and confusion. Why hadn't her mother chosen to text her of all things rather than call the police? Just as she found the strength to take a step forward, to peek into the room to see what happened, someone slowly shambled from behind the door. Their head was turned away, but she could tell instantly who the frail figure was.

“Daddy?”

His head whirled towards her and she shrieked as she noticed his face was covered in blood. He stumbled, but moved with more life than he'd had in months as he was fueled by little more than animistic instinct. Sarah dodged out of his grasp, but that didn't stop his pursuit. She tried to appeal to him again. “Daddy! Stop! It's me! Sarah!” 

But there was no recognition behind his glossy eyes. They glazed over, staring at her, past her, and soon he lunged towards her. Pushing away her assaulter, he fell backwards and she heard the sickening crunch of a bone crack. Sarah hesitated in horror at what she'd done. “I'm so sorry,” she managed to choke out, eyes watering at the events happening. Again, she tried to get through to him. “What's going on? Why are you doing this...?”

The old man refused to stay down. Standing on his broken leg, he moved with the same speed and intensity as before. If he was in any pain, he wasn't letting him slow it down. Doing the only thing she could think to do, Sarah ran. 

Down the steps, she hurried out the screen door without bothering to shut it before locking herself in her car. With shaky hands she fumbled for her phone before calling the police.


They arrived within the hour. Sarah sat in the car watching as they brought her mother out in a black body bag. They'd tried to take her father, but he refused to go quietly. Ignoring their demands for him to freeze, he continued forward, ready to go against their guns with his bare hands. It wasn't until he'd bitten a man in the prescient, taking a chunk of flesh from his neck, that they'd fired. Her father was dead. The police seemed to think he'd lost his mind. She heard someone propose that he was trying to go out on his own terms. Sarah didn't believe either of these; she hardly believed that those were really her parents and if she hadn't seen them with her own eyes then she wouldn't have.

She couldn't stay in the house. Not after that. After hours of what seemed like endless interrogation she rented a hotel room. Reporters were calling her phone wanting the details of what had happened. Certainly in a small town such as this news would have quickly spread and by now everyone would have known what had happened.