Author: SummerMindset PM
Fourteen year old Avril's life is flipped upside down when her father is murdered, and she and her family are forced into the witness protection program. Better than it sounds. =)Rated: Fiction T - English - Tragedy - Words: 1,590 - Published: 04-15-06 - id: 2154294
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Snuggled down, in deep sleep, under the navy blue comforter in the bedroom that my brother, sister and I shared, I never heard the front door being forced down. I was suddenly shaken awake by Paul, my 17-year-old brother. He rushed my 18-year-old sister Kelly and I into our closet and motioned for me to climb into the attic through the minuscule doorway. "What's going on?" I whispered into the darkness, once we were safe inside the small crawlspace. "The house is being broken into." Paul replied breathlessly. I replied with a soft whimper. I felt around in the darkness for my brother and finally found his shoulder. I crawled over and huddled up next to him. " Avril," he snapped "don't get so close to me! It's really hot in here." "Sorry," I murmured as I scootched a couple inches away from him. "Here Avril, come sit with me." Kelly said in a whisper. We sat in silence for what seemed like hours. "Ok," Paul spoke up suddenly, "I think it's safe to come out." Paul, Kelly and I cautiously lowered ourselves down and peered out into the hallway, where our mother stood, horror-stricken, starring at our father's lifeless body. I let out a gasp. "Go...go...back to your room..." she whispered. Paul, Kelly and I quickly obeyed. I sat down Indian style on my bed next to Kelly. Paul began to pace around the room. "This is crazy!" He yelled. "Our father's lying out there dead, and mom tells us to go to our room!" "Maybe we should call the police?" I asked. My question was answered when sirens and flashing lights pulled into our driveway. A minute later, a police officer was standing with my mother in the kitchen taking notes on what she was saying. I snuck out into the living room and began to eavesdrop. "It was John Yelveck. I'm sure of it." My mother was saying. "He was the man my husband had overheard at Starbucks. John had been going over a plan to blow up the White House with some other man. My husband had overheard them and went straight to the police." "I remember that case," the officer replied. "John was anonymously bailed at fifty-million dollars." "John must have known Mitchell, my husband had turned him in. His reaction in the coffee shop was a give-away." The officer stopped taking notes and asked, "Did John say anything to you?" My mother's face turned pale. "Yes, yes, as a matter-of-fact he did." "He told me, 'You're next'." "Do you want to go ahead and go through with your first plan, now that you and your family seems to be in real danger?" The officer asked, eyeing mother curiously. She sighed and said, "Well, as much as I hate to, I suppose we'll have to." The officer nodded in agreement. "I think it's the best choice. I'll have an agent stop by first thing tomorrow morning." And with that, the officer left, and a stretcher came in and took my father's body away. I hurried back to my room and told Paul and Kelly what I had just heard. They were as confused as I was.
An hour later, mother came into our room and told us everything that she had told the officer. Paul and I acted as if we ad never heard the story before. Then she gave us possibly the worst piece of news we had ever gotten in our lives. We were joining the Witness Protection Program. No amount of arguing, yelling, or pleading changed her mind. She left me in tears and Kelly and Paul furious. We went to bed without saying another word. The next morning we awoke early so that we could greet the agent coming from the WPH (witness protection headquarters) The agent, Sicilia explained the procedure, and then began giving us our new identities. Mother was no longer Mary Rose Moody. She was now Philipina Anne McCoy. Paul was no longer Paul Brent Moody. He was now Ben Steven McCoy. And I, was no longer Avril Mariah Moody. I was now Amy Lee McCoy. Paul hated his name. I actually kind of liked mine, coincidently, Amy Lee was the name of the lead singer in my favorite band. Next, our appearance was changed. My mother's hair was cut and dyed blonde. She was given a whole-new wardrobe which contained lots of colorful dresses. Paul, or Ben, or who ever my brother is hair's was dyed brown as well. He was given a punkish wardrobe. And I, well, defiantly had the biggest make-over. My waist-length brown hair was cut up to my chest and dyed black, with pink tips. My preppy wardrobe was replaced with gothic clothes. Black, baggy pants and black shirts. Anna was no longer Anna Kelly received the same make-over as I did. After Sicilia was done creating the "new us", she explained that we would be moving to Arkansas. That was a shock. We lived in California. Arkansas was like, on the other side of the world! Sicilia gave us some more information and then left. We would be leaving the day after my father's funeral, which would be tomorrow.
The reality and sadness of my father's death never really hit me until his funeral. Kelly sat to the left of me and Paul to the right. Mother sat about five rows in front of us. The Priest began his speech. I was trying so hard not to cry. Mom was crying, Kelly was crying, and even Paul, who was always known as Mr. Tough Guy. I finally gave up a half an hour into the speech. I laid my head on Kelly's shoulder as tears silently fell down my cheeks. She put her arm around me for comfort. I stayed that way for the rest of the service. Afterwards, everyone drove to Quiet Hills Resting Place, a little north of our hometown in Los Angles. It was a beautiful place. Endless fields and hills covered in green grass and flowers. I think Dad will like it here. Kelly stayed in the car for some reason. The priest began to give another speech. My legs were beginning to hurt so I joined Kelly. For the first few minutes we said nothing to each other. Then, Kelly spoke up, "Why did it have to happen to Dad?" I sniffed. Kelly had been Daddy's Little Girl from the start. She was the oldest, so she was dad's first little girl. A year later, Paul came along. Then, three years later, I did.
"I dunno," I finally replied, "I think everything happens for a reason." That was the wrong thing to say. "BUT THERE WAS NO FRIGGEN REASON FOR DAD TO BE THE ONE KILLED!" She yelled. "WHY COULDN'T OF BEEN SOMEONE ELSE?! DAD NEVER DID ANYTHING TO DISERVE THIS! HE EVEN SAVED THE STUPID PRESIDENT, EVEN THOUGH NOBODY EVEN LIKES HIM!" I just started at Kelly. "You're right." I said. "You're absolutely right." At that moment, Kelly burst into tears. I moved over next to her and gave her a hug.
The next day, as we packed for the move to Little Rock, Kelly was like a stone. She didn't respond to our hugs and gentleness. Her heart had been broken. I did the liberty of packing all her stuff for her. While we were loading stuff into the moving van, Kelly pulled me aside and thanked me. "You might as well be my age," she said with a laugh. "Most 14-year-olds would have gone complaining to their mother that their sister was being lazy." I smiled and went back to loading boxes.
Paul rode with mom in the moving van. I rode with Kelly, in her car. Kelly was the only one who let me listen to my Evanescence CD. I popped it in the CD player and it automatically began playing Going Under. I turned the volume up full blast and rolled down my window. Kelly did the same. We must have looked pretty funny. Kelly and I dressed up in our Gothic clothes, Evanescence blaring, speeding down the highway. Kelly and I rarely ever got the chance to do this type of thing. Back home she was Ms. Pretty, Popular, Smart, Loved-by-everyone, Social Butterfly. I had no friends. I was an outcast.
That night we drove to Utah and stayed in the Holiday Inn. The next day we were on the road at 4:00 AM and drove straight to Arkansas. We arrived so late, we slept in our cars. The next morning, Sicilia arrived to help us un-pack. Our house was beautiful. It was three stories and sat on four acres of land. Paul, Kelly, and I would be able to have our own rooms.
This story was written by me in eighth grade, and, well, that's as much as I have written! When I have some free time in the future though, I'll try and update it some. )