On Monday, we got to school. It was P.E. period — me, Maxwell, and Sammy were in our shorts for sports.
"Hey, did you watch the news?" I asked Maxwell, who was bouncing a basketball.
"Yeah, I saw it. Warp is back. Honestly, after all that's happened, why would someone do something so messed up? It makes me sick."
"They'll probably get caught," Sammy added. "Probably just some gangs, using a little money to get social media attention."
We all sighed. "Let's just hope it's that simple."
Later that day, we met with Emily during break. We sat together in the cafeteria for lunch. We talked about our weekends, trying our best to forget about Warp as much as possible — as much as needed.
Time flew faster than we could predict. Sammy was right, Warp actually quieted down a bit. Everyone had probably forgotten about the news already. After all, it had been a year since it came out.
We were already in our final years. We'd shared crazy times together. Emily had started becoming an integral part of the group — we were teammates in almost everything. But since Sammy was in another class, it was hard. Except during competitions, where we had a chance to team up. Still, even though we barely saw Sammy, he always made it feel like he never left. Sometimes we met on the way to school, or after school.
It was a month before my graduation. Naturally, it wasn't something I used to look forward to — back then, I had no friends to share it with. But now… now I did. I wanted to laugh with them, and smile.
My mom was already getting my clothes ready. She couldn't afford much, but she knew how to use a needle and thread. She'd even gotten a rusty old sewing machine from an old woman back in Brooktown. She had it repaired, but it was still slowly falling apart. With the way she got it back then, it was never going back to normal.
I got home that day, hoping to tell my mom about the clothes I'd like her to make. I even had a new pair of shoes from my Uncle Alan last Christmas — shoes I hadn't worn yet because we had nowhere to go. Or correction: we had no money to go anywhere. Now, finally, I had an occasion to wear them.
But when I came home, something felt different. Our outside light was switched off — and my mom never switched it off.
The room was scattered. The house was a mess. The kitchen was worse, broken plates littered the floor. Hundreds of torn files covered the living room.
Fear crawled up my spine. I ran to her room, begging God that it wasn't what I thought. I opened the door. The room was dark, so I flicked the switch. Everything was in disarray. Not a single thing was in place.
I ran outside to the bathroom window. My mom always left a note there if she knew she was going to be out.
Why doesn't she keep it inside? If someone breaks in and finds it, they could track her… or worse, lure me.
I checked. And there it was.
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The Note
*"My dearest Fred,(4:18)
I love you more than words can ever possibly say,
If you're reading this, then they've already come too close. I can't stay here anymore.
Please don't look for me. If they find me, that's fine… but if they find you, I could never forgive myself.
I'm sorry for the mess. I'm sorry I won't be there to finish your clothes. I wanted to see you on that stage, smiling, free of all this. But it seems fate doesn't want me there. Still, I promise… somehow, some way, I will see you on your special day. Even if it's the last thing I do.
Remember, no matter what you hear about me, no matter what anyone tells you… I love you. Always.
— Mom"*
I stared at the note, praying it was a dream. Tears blurred my vision until I couldn't even read the words anymore.
I gently cleaned my eyes with my hands.
"Mom… Mom… why does it have to be my mom?" I whispered.
I had to reach out to the police. There was no use crying. She wasn't dead. That was good. I'd do anything to keep it that way. I needed to increase her safety, even if I couldn't fully assure it.
Knock. Knock.
I froze.
"Who's there?" I called out.
Silence.
Knock. Knock.
The sound came again, louder this time. My heart pounded. Now I was getting scared.
What the hell could that be?