I know that shouldn’t have hurt, but it sort of did. Her daughter didn’t know that I existed until I was useful. Typical.
“Your mother and I were best friends when we were children. Actually, we were best friends up until our early twenties. I was closer to her than anyone else in the world. Perhaps that was why I was so protective of her.” I paused then, trying to assuage the guilt I felt for leaving out a few important details. “I never liked your father. I knew he wasn’t good for her. But she just didn’t listen.
I could tell by the feral glint in his eyes and the familiar set of his jaw that it was Rachel’s husband – Tracy’s “father” – come to visit
“It came to a head when she accepted his marriage proposal. She and I got into a big fight and… we both said a lot of things that we couldn’t take back.” No, that was wrong, I said something, just one thing that I couldn’t take back. But I continued, “After that, I never saw her again. I was leaving town and moving away, anyway, so we just sort of went our separate ways.”
But looking at Tracy’s open, guileless face, I knew I couldn’t keep the truth from her any longer
We’d allowed ourselves to feel secure. I continued putting off calling the police about Tracy – it was selfish, but I liked her presence. She and I had settled in as roommates, and I was beginning to feel like her mother more and more each day.
Everything happened in the span of 15 minutes. That seems so short, doesn’t it? But, to us, it felt like hours. I startled out of bed when I heard the pounding. I shrugged into a robe and stepped out into the hallway, only to see Tracy opening her door as well.
For some reason, this whole situation wasn’t sitting well with me. I could feel that something bad was going to happen. I motioned Tracy over to my room.
“Hide,” I whispered, pointing under the bed. I didn’t want to scare her, but the urge to protect her was too great. She scurried off to do as I commanded as I walked towards the door.
I didn’t have time to open it before the lock was blown off. I stood there, paralyzed, as a man barged in.
It had been a long time, over a decade, but I could never forget Harold Miller’s face. He was a hulking brute of a man, every atom of his body radiating deadly energy. He looked at me with utter hatred as I tried my damnedest to look confused. It was easy to look scared as my eyes fell on the shotgun in his hands.
“You filthy fucking son of a bitch,” he hissed at me. My heart pounded hard in my chest, so hard I thought my breastbone would crack. “Where is she?”
I remained as calm as humanly possible while looking down the barrel of a gun. “What are you talking about?” I asked. He raised his hand and slapped me hard against the left side of my face. I practically flew into the kitchen table and slumped to the ground, my cheek on fire as I gasped for air.
“DON’T YOU FUCKING LIE TO ME!” he screamed. “She sent her here, now you give her 
to me and maybe I won’t blow your FUCKING BRAINS all over the goddamn wall!”
