Chapter One – Sweet Dreams

The front door slowly creaked open and a tall man, dressed in all black stepped through, into the house. No, oh please, please no, I don’t know him! Who is he? Why is he in my house? He shouldn’t be here! Get out! Please, please, please let him leave!

I’m lying on the couch, its high back the only thing still keeping me from his sight. I know I have to get away, and fast, but how? He’ll surely see me if I try to run, and who knows what his reasons for being here – and what lengths he would go through to keep me from running away – were.

I decided upon merely pulling the blanket that was covering my legs over the rest of my body and hoped with all of my might that he was just another one of those stupid robbers, who had a brain the size of a peanut.

I held my breath, not making a single sound. But, after a few minutes of complete silence, I decided to risk blowing my cover, and pulled the blanket away from my head. It was a stupid, idiotic move, and I did it.

The man was standing over me, and as I stared into his gleaming, red eyes, a blood-curdling scream escaped my lips. My eyes widened in horror as he cackled and placed one of his large hands around my throat.

He threw me across the room with all of his might and I cried out in pain as my back came in contact with a metal grate. One more evil laugh left his mouth before he grabbed me again and slammed my body into the marble above the hot, burning fireplace.

I sat upright in my bed, my eyes darting around the room, searching for the man. I sighed in relief when I saw that he wasn’t here. That was a good sign – it meant that the man was only part of my horrible nightmare.

But, even though he wasn’t here, I still felt insecure. I swore I could see the world falling apart around me, right where I sat. All of the murders, then the bomb at the white house, killing the President, and now this nightmare. What was happening to this poor world? Ugh.

I looked over at the clock and fell back onto my pillows with a loud, annoyed sigh. It was only 5:39 AM, and I had to get to work in less than three hours. I was sure I hadn’t gotten enough rest to keep me going throughout the day, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Every time I blinked, I saw the man’s face as clear as day on the inside of my eyelids, so I knew that if I went back to sleep, the nightmare would most likely play again. That was the exact opposite of what I wanted, so I decided upon going down stairs for a cup of nice, hot coffee.

I walked slowly down the steps, tying my soft, silk bathrobe around me as I went. As I reached the bottom of the small staircase, I opened the kitchen door in front that was positioned right at the bottom of the staircase. Whoever made this house must have been like me – the first thing I always want in the morning is my coffee, and I don’t want to have to walk too far to get it, so the placing of the kitchen was perfect, in my opinion.

I turned on the coffee pot, put the coffee grounds, water, and filter in, and pressed the start button. As I waited for the coffee to brew, I sat down at the kitchen table, staring out of the window. I gasped, my hands shooting to my mouth the muffle the sound of the shrill scream I was sure would come next.

There were two, blood-red eyes staring back at me, and they seemed to be glaring. But then they disappeared, but they weren’t going to get away until I found out who they were. I dashed over to the window, throwing it open and looked around for the body that those eyes belonged to.

But nothing was there. Not a human, not an animal, not even a car that you could normally see from my kitchen window, my house being right along the side of the road.

I sighed, sitting back down into the wooden chair. First the dream, and now I’m seeing things. Perfect. Just perfect. Good God, what will Marsha think? She already thinks I over-work myself and that I’m going crazy from all of it, and this certainly might prove to her point. Perhaps all of this was a result of me over-working myself, and not getting enough rest. Well, whatever it was, it was getting on my nerves and I was becoming tired and annoyed by Marsha constantly hounding me for not getting enough sleep. But I have to deal with both of those problems. Oh, joy, I thought to myself sarcastically before walking over to the coffee pot, pouring myself a cup of it, and then walking into the living room. I sat the cup down on the end-stand before flopping down on the couch.

I stifled a yawn and arched my back to stretch it out. God, I was so damn tired. How was I going to make it through the day without crashing from lack of sleep? Ugh!

But as starred at the wall – don’t ask me why I was starring at the wall, I just was, alright? – I automatically fell asleep sitting up.

I woke what seemed only mere seconds later to a rather loud beeping noise. I rolled over to see what time it was, forgetting I was lying on the couch, and fell to the soft, carpet floor with a soft thud.

I sighed, getting up and grabbing my phone.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Where are you?!” Marsha’s high-pitched voice screeched from the other end.

“I’m at home, and why are you yelling?”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t” I snapped at her.

“Well, check and find out then!”

I sighed and looked over at the clock. 11:34. Great, I’d overslept, big time.

“Look, I didn’t get enough sleep last night, alright? I came downstairs and crashed on the couch! Besides, you’re a good one to talk about not being on time! You’re late at least every other day!”

“Whatever, just get to work, and I’m hanging up now!”

The line went dead and I groaned. I didn’t want to move, but I knew I had to.

I trudged up the stairs, – after forcing myself to get up, even though my body was begging for more rest - still tired. I walked to my over-sized closet, and grabbed my work clothes – a black pants suit with a ruffled, bright pink blouse underneath it. I picked out a pair of black stilettos and walked into my bathroom. I took off my bathrobe, hanging it on the hook that I had put onto the back of the bathroom door, and stepped out of my nightgown.

I smiled at the beautiful crest that had been tattooed onto my back, same as it had been with the rest of my relatives. It was our family crest – a phoenix in the middle of it, with feathers formed into the shape of a unicorn on its left, and the shape of a heart on its right. It was said to bring strength to us, not like I believed it though. When the Henworth kids turn eighteen, we have the crest tattooed onto our right shoulder, so that ‘the strength of the phoenix, the courage of the unicorn, and the love of the heart would always be with us’. It was a pretty cool tattoo, but I didn’t believe a single bit of the meaning behind it.

I sighed and slowly changed into the new, un-worn clothes and looked into the mirror. Ugh, I look like a complete disaster I thought to myself as I starred at the tired face I was disappointed to call my own. I had dark circles under my eyes, and my total rats-nest of hair was falling around my face in messy, black and brown knots. I sighed and grabbed my hair-brush, undoing each tangle with a rough tug, resulting in me missing more than a few strands of hair by the time I was done.

Once I finished that, I attempted to pull it into a high-bun, but it was useless. I just had too much hair. I ended up merely pulling it into a low ponytail, which looked boring, but it was the easiest thing to do. Once I was done I walked out of the bathroom, grabbed my purse, and ran outside. I slid into my sleek, black Lamborghini, turned on the engine. I pulled out, and as soon as I was far enough away from the other cars, I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal, feeling the car shoot forward.

As I sped through the bright New York streets, I turned on the radio to full volume. Music blared throughout the car, literally making the car shake from the amazing base system I had had installed. I liked my hip-hop music, that was for sure, and wanted to hear it as loud as possible.

The lab wasn’t too far from here, so I reached it quickly. Once I was there, I locked the car, threw the keys into my purse, and ran inside.

“It sure took long enough to get here” Marsha’s voice grumbled from behind the main desk.

“I overslept, sue me” I glared.

“Well, actually attempt to be on time next time, alright?”

I just rolled my eyes at her before walking into my office, throwing my purse into the moon chair in the corner of the room, and sitting down at my desk. I opened the drawer that held the paperwork and cases that needed to be worked on. It was empty. Huh, I guess I finished all of it.

So, becoming bored, I ended up playing minesweeper for the next half hour until there was a loud knock on my office door.

“Come in” I said. The door opened and a muscular man in a police uniform stepped through.

“Are you Dr. Lillian Henworth?”

I nodded and said “Yes, that’s me. Can I help you?”

He looked around the room nervously before saying “well, um, there was a murder at St. Mathew’s Catholic Church downtown” strange, that’s the church I went to when I was little.

“Okay, what about it?”

“I was told to uh, come tell you that you are needed at the scene, its urgent”

“Urgent?” I was surprised at the word. Normally my colleagues went to the scene first and then brought the body back. Rarely was I asked to come to the crime scene.

“Yes, ma’am, right away”

“Alright, thank you” I smiled to him once again and he left the room with a small nod.

I grabbed my trench coat, put it on, and stepped left my office also, locking the door behind me. I walked out of the building, sat in my car, and sped off to the church.

As I turned around the last corner, I spotted the large, white church. It was surrounded by police cars – everywhere you looked, you could see one. There was police tape over where the entrance would normally be, and a police man was standing there.

I pulled my car over to where he was standing, rolled the window down, and told the officer “I’m Dr. Lillian Henworth, I was called to the scene by one of your officers”

“Do you have ID?”

“Yes ma’am” I nodded, showing her my name tag. She looked at it, then at me, and nodded, telling me where to park. I did as she said, and once I stepped out of the car, I was greeted by another officer, this time a female.

“Hello, Dr. Henworth. I’m Officer Amanda Samuel, I was told to explain everything to you. Follow me, please” she told me in a professional, yet kind, voice. I agreed and she led me into the church. There were huge white doors, which lead into the chapel, and as she opened them, she warned me “you might want to brace yourself for what’s inside”

I gave her a confused look and walked in. then I knew why she had said that.

There, in front of the podium, was a cross. I teenage boy had been nailed to it, just like Jesus was in the bible – or at least it looked like how it was described. I would have taken it much better, if I hadn’t looked at who it was.

I felt my heart skip several beats as I took in the sight of my little, fifteen year old brother, Jonathon, mounted upon a wooden cross, dead.