Happy Wednesday Everyone! Welcome to Fiction Wednesday!
If you haven't been following along with Fiction Wednesday this is the third installment of the story called Last September.
I would suggest you read Part One and Part Two by clinking on the links before you continue!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Door
"Please, I need to talk to you about last September!" I sobbed at the empty door. I turned and pressed my back against it and looked out at the red truck parked in the drive. Someone has to be here somewhere. That truck wasn't here before. "Please", I whispered one last time as my knees gave out and I slid down the door and landed on the wet porch.
I just sat there. I didn't have anything left in me. I didn't even have tears left to cry. I've been looking for Amy without the police for the last two months and I am no closer to finding her. There had to be something. Someone had to know what happened to Amy. She didn't just run away or disappear. Maybe I missed something. Maybe I should start over.
Sitting against this door reminded me of another door. A door I knock on not so long ago. The first door of many to come.
Two months ago I decided that I was going to start my search for Amy by retracing my steps. That meant starting at the house with the lady in the pink housecoat.
It took me awhile to find that house. I was a little disoriented the last time I had been there and I was also a little hysterical, after talking to the police for four hours, by the time I had left. I don't know how many country roads I drove down around those woods, but I finally found it. It was farther out that I would have expected. I knew it was the right house the moment I laid eyes on it.
Before I started I couldn't remember a thing about the house, not the size, the color, nothing, but driving up to it must have triggered some repressed memory from that night. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The surroundings seem to blur around the edges and the dull white of the two story farm house stood out against the bright red of the front door. This was the house. This was the door.
I pulled into the drive way and walked up to the front door. I stopped and took a deep breath before I knocked on the door.
The woman opened the door. I saw her standing there in her pink house coat and curlers, identical to that night. My eyes welled up with tears. I tried to hold them back as I stood silently starting at her. It took a moment for recognition to register in her eyes. "Oh, Sweetie, why don't you come on in and have a seat. I'll put on a pot of tea." All I could do was nod and follow her as the tears started to run down my cheeks.
She escorted me into her kitchen and pulled out one of the chairs from her kitchen table. I sat as she put the tea kettle on the stove. She turned back to me with a sad smile on her face and held out her hand to me, "Sweetie, I don't believe we have been properly introduced. My name is Wendi Prescott."
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