Untitled-Unfinished Chapter 1

11

She raised the rocks glass to her mouth, tilted it, and swallowed slowly. She righted the glass but refused to pull it away from her lips, as if it would pull away her life force as well. Then, slowly, brushing the brim of the cold glass back and forth across her lips she began to cry. Uncontrollable sobs shook her body and she crashed to her knees on the floor. Placing her hands in front of her, she cut her hands on the broken glass that she did not even remember dropping. Blood smeared her face as she tried to cover it from any one that might see, although she knew she was alone in the house. She did not remember ever crying so hard; not when she got married, or when her child was first placed in her arms, not when her husband was diagnosed with cancer, or even as a new widow. Michelle Rader cried uncontrollably now. Tears wet her face as though she was standing in the rain, and mucus ran freely from her nose without a tissue to catch it.2

Slowly, she crawled into the hallway, hands burning as the deep cuts rubbed against the dirty floor. Grabbing the staircase railing she managed to pull herself up, with regretful speed as the surge of movement distorted her vision. "This is why I gave up the whiskey," she mumbled to herself, regaining her balance. Her hands moved from railing to wall as she stared down the hall at the door on the right. The bathroom was to the left, but she had not drunk that much alcohol. She wanted the door on the right. Side stepping, she shuffled down the hall, continuing to press herself against the wall for balance. The wall was strong, which was just what she needed, because no one is expected to be strong in this situation.3

The door was painted pink, and hung tilted only remaining on one hinge. Michelle placed one foot inside the doorway, and peered inside with one eye. The room was littered with stuffed animals that usually rested on the bed. The bed, however, was on its side and the headboard was on the opposite side of the room. Her second foot followed and the rest of her body leaned on the doorframe. Sitting on the rocking chair something crinkled beneath her. "No," Michelle whispered, "no." One hand reached beneath her and pulled out the piece of paper she had dropped their hours ago. She thought if she had walked away from the room, it would disappear from where she had dropped it, but it had not. Raising it creased piece of paper to her weary eyes the tears started fresh again. "We have your daughter," the scrawling read, "She's in a safe place." She wiped the snot from her nose onto her sweater sleeve and continued to read the note; "But if you want her back, we must finish some business first."4

There was no signature or name as to whom this evil could be. There was no one she knew who was capable of stealing her child due to a grudge against her. Business, what business, she was a doctor not a lawyer or account manager, what business could she possibly attend to. So much thinking was clouding her head, and it felt as if her brain was pounding against her skull, trying to escape. The last thing Michelle remembered before losing consciousness was viewing her lunch for a second time.5