A/N: This is what I based my story Fall into Silence off of, and this is kind of the original journal style entry that I wrote before expanding upon it. Thanks!700Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlKThltZoch
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I was outside, tossing the ball to my dog, Bear, when the ball rolled under the fence. I told Bear to stay put and slipped through the gate. I was scanning the pavement and ran into Paul. He was holding the red ball that had rolled under the fence.
“Excuse me, sir, I think that’s my dog’s ball,” I said meekly, shrinking under his hard gaze.
“Where do you live, little one?” he asked. I pointed at my house and he walked over and tossed the ball over the fence before turning sharply and grabbing my arm in a tight grip.
“What are-“ I started, but he covered my mouth with his other hand and dragged me towards his car. He opened the trunk and pulled out a piece of rope as long as my arm. Holding my wrists together, he quickly bound them and picked me up over his shoulder before tossing me in his trunk. I passed out in the darkness, and when I came to, I was in a small dark closet-like space. There was a bucket to go to the bathroom in, a thin mattress, and a fold up chair. I was startled by the door opening and saw the man kneel beside me.
“Remember me? I’m Paul.” I scrambled away from him, knowing he was a bad man. “It’s alright Sarah,” Paul murmured to me.
“My name isn’t Sarah, its Hestia,” I said. He smiled and shook his head like he was entertained.
“It isn’t Hestia any longer. Now it’s Sarah. And you don’t have your old family anymore. Now you have me. I’ll take care of you,” Paul said gently, reaching over and running his fingers through my hair. Strands of it got caught in his fingers and he stared at them, a small smile forming.
“I just want to go home,” I whimpered.
“Your home is here now, Sarah,” Paul replied.700Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcqnlAXqgKj
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FOUR YEARS LATER700Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZcE67IvGL3
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Paul and I were on the rug in the living room, playing Spoons when the doorbell rang. It was storming outside and Paul’s wife, Dinah, went to answer the door. Paul glanced at me and I smiled, a signal that told him I understood.
“Stay here Sarah. If anything happens, you take the gun and go,” Paul whispered. I nodded and Paul went to join Dinah at the door. I went upstairs and leaned over so I could look into the solid metal art piece that hung above the dining table. I reached in and my thin fingers curled around the automatic we kept there. I slid it into my pocket, checking that the safety was on first, and pulled my shirt down so it was covered. I listened to the neighbor explaining why he’d come.
“The phone line was dead, and I need to call my wife to tell her I’ll pick up the kids next week instead of this week,” he explained, his voice muffled. I began to back up. If his phone line was dead, chances were that our phones were down too. I edged into the office and picked up the phone. The dial tone sounded in my ear. The neighbor had been lying. I froze and slowly crept down the stairs. I clung to the wall and watched the neighbor. Paul met my eyes and my lips formed the word “liar” silently. He almost imperceptibly nodded and turned back to our neighbor before pulling the gun out of his holster that he always wore. The neighbor smiled and shook his head.
So many things happened at once.
“You figured it out,” the neighbor said. The man moved quickly and knocked the gun from Paul’s hand before yanking his arms behind his back and cuffing them. When the gun skittered across the floor, the safety was off and a single bullet was released with a loud bang, hitting Dinah straight in the head, blowing it to bits. Paul had been looking at me, giving me a look that said “run away.” I watched as parts of my mother scattered and let a small shriek of “Mother” escape my lips before I spun and ran. Tears made the halls blurry, but I knew the route to the back door. I heard the footsteps of the man pounding behind me, but I got to the door first. As I was about to open it, his arms wrapped around me.
“I’ve got you, it’s alright. It’s over now,” he whispered. I struggled against his chest, then fell limp, slumping over, and small sobs escaped my lips. He held me until I relaxed, then set me down and turned me to face him. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Sarah Miller, sir,” I answered, staring into his kind eyes. He regarded me for a moment before shaking his head.
“What is the name you had four years ago?” he asked. I hesitated, trying to think of where I had been four years ago.
“Hex?” I said, the foreign word coming out sounding like a guess.
“Do you mean Hestia? Are you Hestia Blackwater?” he asked me. I froze and my eyes filled with tears. They began to trickle down my cheeks and I stifled a cry.
“I think… I think that’s me,” I whispered. The man knelt beside me.
“My name is Chris. I’m going to take you outside. There will be people that want to ask you questions, but you don’t have to answer. I’m going to take you to see your parents and sister,” he told me. I nodded and he led me to the front door with a hand on my back. He led me out into the dark night, which had been made lighter by the flashing of red and blue from police cars. He opened the door to his black truck and I clambered up into one of the leather seats.
“I’m taking you home,” Chris told me. I nodded and looked straight ahead, out the window.
I was going home, but my heart still felt broken.
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