CHAPTER 4




For the rest of the day, I floated. Students’ glares didn’t bother me. I felt like I was dreaming. Could I really have a friend? It had been so long…

I was still smiling as I walked out the school doors and over to my mom’s car.

“You seem oddly happy.” She mused, appraising my face curiously.
I shrugged.

“Anything interesting happen today?”

I had completely forgotten about Casey. Had that really happened today? It seemed like so long ago.

“Oh.” My face quickly fell. “Well, something did actually happen in first period class. Remember that Casey girl that I don’t like, that I’ve told you guys about. She, well, tried to strangle me this morning, in class.”

“WHAT?!?” My mom screamed, slamming on the brakes. I winced as I was jerked against the seatbelt across my chest.

“Oww.” I complained, rubbing my hand across my collarbone.

“Mom!” I quickly yelled, pointing out that we were in the middle of the street.

Glaring out the window shield she started driving again.

“Explain.” She almost growled.

Hurriedly I explained what happened. Once I was done, my mom sighed deeply.

“Honey, how do you always get yourself in these situations?”

“I don’t know mom.” I grumbled, crossing my arms. “It’s not like I can help it.”

We drove in silence until we pulled into our driveway.

“So, why were you so happy earlier?” My mom asked, her dark brown eyes appraising me. I shrugged. John’s sudden impulse to talk to me didn’t sound that important anymore.

“Honey, c’mon, you know you can tell me.”

Not looking at her I got out of the car and marched towards the house. I reached into my back pocket for my house key and opened the front door.

I didn’t turn around as I walked through the hallway and up the stairs to my room. I knew I had hurt her by leaving like that, but honestly, I didn’t really care right now.

As I walked into my room my eyes (as usual) glanced over at the one mirror in my room. It was about six feet tall, and two feet wide. Over the top a blanket was pinned, in case someone came into the mirror that I didn’t want to see. What I saw made me jump.

It was a man’s face. He had pale skin and straight black hair. What scared me was his expression; a cruel smile was upon his lips and his black eyes gleamed with horrifying thoughts.

Shuddering, I quickly dropped the blanket over the mirror and went over to my bed. I plopped down on it, the man’s face filling my mind.

I knew who he was. His name was Jacob Ryer, and when he was alive he was a serial killer and rapist. He was sentenced to death after murdering a young family just for “fun”. I’ve seen him in mirrors hundreds of times over the years. It took me weeks to muster up enough courage to talk to him and figure out why he was always there.

I really wished I hadn’t asked.

Jacob Ryer is my grandfather. He raped my grandma when she was twenty-two, right after she had married my granddad. Thus, producing my mom. At first I convinced myself that he was lying. But once I looked at the facts, I knew it was true. Honestly, it seemed almost obvious now.

One, my mom has pure black hair, when both of my grandparents have dark brown. Her eyes are extremely dark brown, when they should be hazel. She was born eight months after my granddad returned from the army, but she wasn’t a preemie. Both her and Jacob raised their eyebrows when they talked. I knew in my heart he was telling the truth.

I also knew my mother was clueless. I mean, she had noticed that she was different form her parents, but she figured it was an odd gene problem. If only she knew.

But I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. How could I do that to her? What would I say?

“Oh Mom, guess what? Your real dad was a serial killer and rapist, who raped your mom. He spent his life in prison before he was sentenced to death!”

No, I could never tell her. She deserved to know, but I could never bring myself to do it.

I’ve never told anyone who he was. When I was little I described him to my parents, saying there was a creepy guy watching me. But no one knows he’s Jacob. I could never tell anyone I was his granddaughter. I’m made fun of enough as it is. I didn’t want to add to the list by saying my grandpa was a convicted murderer.

This was my secret, and my secret alone.