EMILY BRONTE AWAKE AT NIGHT as drawn by Joan Hassal
I awoke from a deep sleep by the loud knocking sound that came from downstairs. The pounding at the front door came long after midnight. My husband was working the night shift this week, so I was alone. Pulling the covers off of me, I dropped my legs to the side of the bed. I found my slippers by feeling for them with my feet. The air was chilly. Why was it chilly? I know I bumped the heat up on the thermometer earlier tonight. The weather forecasters on the nightly news said a cold front would arrive in the am hours. I didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night shivering. Who could it be at my front door? Finding my housecoat, I wrapped it around my shoulders, arms, and tied it at the waist. Trying not to make a sound, I exited the bedroom and walked down the hall to the stairs. Why was I being so quiet walking down the stairs? It’s not like anyone outside the front door could hear me. I believe my quietness was fear. I was fearful of my midnight visitor. Who could it be? Why’s it a reason to pound on anyone’s doorway after midnight? My breathing was shallow. Shallow like my breath during a panic attack. I felt I wasn’t getting much air into my lungs.
Would I lose the ability to breathe? “Stop panicking”, I told myself. “Take in slow, steady breaths. You will be okay.” Although my legs felt like jelly, I managed to place my body weight on them. Despite this, my feet touched the foot of the stairs. Outside, I saw a silhouette of a person I didn’t recognize. I noticed that the figure stopped pounding on the door as I stood before it. He must have noticed me from the glow of the lamplight that was in the foyer. I say “he,” but I didn’t really know the figure’s gender. It just appeared to be a male from the figure’s build. The only thing between us was a locked door. Should I call the police? Maybe I should call my husband. He would leave work and be right over. Until my midnight visitor spoke. Then I melted. It was my father. I squeezed my eyebrows in the direction of my nose. In confusion, I unlocked the door and asked, “Why are you here, Daddy?” I said. “I wanted to see my baby girl,” he said as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I inhaled the familiar scent of his shaving cream as I took in a deep sigh of relief. That relief turned to confusion as I again wondered why he was at my house… after midnight. For some reason, I knew it to be so; my father had an ulterior motive for his midnight visit. Although I was unaware at the time, I would eventually find out the reason for his visit.
But first, let me tell you about my mom. Born the youngest daughter of farm owners, she was always known as a sweet, well-mannered young lady. At least she was “uneventful.” That was before she met my dad. Once she met him, it was one event after another. One day, when I was much older, my father revealed to me that he worked for the secret service. He wasn’t allowed to reveal his whereabouts. Which explained his odd behavior. For whatever reason, my father was on again/off again with his presence for years. I never understood why. Like I said until I was much older.
I told you all this for a reason. I thought knowing my father worked for the secret service would explain his odd behavior. It would also clarify why he acted that way in the past. It would also explain his visit at the odd hour after midnight tonight. What I didn’t know was that I was being stalked. “Stalked,” I said to my father. How can that be? Who in the world had a reason to stalk me?
I woke up. It was morning. I was in my bed. Huh? How on earth did I get here? Wasn’t I at my front door talking to my dad a little after midnight? Yes, I thought. I was so confused by all this. He was there, at my front door, telling me I was being stalked by someone. Who? I didn’t know. I couldn’t deal with this now. “I had work to do today,” I said to myself. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom cabinet to place on the towel rack. I also picked up a washcloth to throw in the tub of running water. I took my pajamas off after I used the bathroom. I stepped into the shower’s steaming warmth. I stood there and thought about my dad, the midnight visitor. More importantly, I thought about how I ended up in my bed, like the midnight visit never happened. What was the point of my dad’s visit? Why did he say I was being stalked? Would the stalker harm me? How did I not remember going to bed?
The woman’s body lay in the alley on the darkened street, as yet undiscovered. On my morning walk, in my neighborhood, over by the huge bush of a neighbor’s yard lay a woman’s body. My neighbor, who was on an extended vacation to Jamaica, wasn’t home and would not be for weeks. It was my duty to contact the police. Or at least I thought. While I waited for an emergency response, I thought it was necessary to look around. I wanted to see if I found any clues to the fate of this woman. I was curious but knowledgeable that I should not touch anything that would contaminate any evidence. My father taught me a few things from his secret service training. He always advised me not to touch anything at a crime scene. It was evidence in solving the case. After a quick glance over my shoulder, I look both ways down the street. I felt confident that no one is around the area. When I face the young woman lying behind the bush, I saw it. A glint of sparkle, shining as the sun hit it with its beams. Walking closer, I see that the object is a key. A key? But to what, I thought. What is taking the police so long to respond? I am sitting on the curb of the road. Always glancing at the surrounding area. The woman’s body is behind a bush in my neighbor’s yard. I am afraid to move. I fear the unidentified unsub like my dad used to say, returning to the scene of the crime. So, I constantly jump at every sound of a broken twig. I feel like someone is watching me. I can’t seem to relax. I’m ready to run off in a sprint if I were to see someone who looked suspicious. Then I hear it. The sound of sirens in the distance is coming my way. As soon as they reach the house, the cops park their car. It seems like they stop only inches away from where I was sitting. Out walks two middle-aged men from the police car, with both officers placing their hats on their heads. I introduce myself as Miss Walker, the daughter of John Walker, a secret service agent of thirty years. The second one extends his hand to me. The first one asks if I was the woman who called in the body that was found. I point them in the direction of the body. We all walk over to it while Hubert, the first officer, starts to ask me questions. Questions like Did I know who the woman was? What was I doing when I found the woman? When did I find her? Where were the people who owned the house? And how?… The officer stopped in his tracks and also mid-sentence when he saw that the woman obviously was already decomposing. A fact that told us both that she had been there for a while. I gasped. I took in all the air my lungs held. My hand covered my mouth to stifle a scream. I knew the identity of the woman. She was the daughter of the neighbor. At the young age of sixteen, there she lay, decomposing. In her own yard, only feet away from the safety of the front door. But also, why was she here? I was told the family was going on vacation to Jamaica.
Corky Sullivan leaned over the pier’s railing. Sipping her coffee, she thought about the fight she had had with her dad before he left for vacation. She was scheduled to go with the family on vacation, but at the last minute, she declined. She backed out, all because her bestie wanted take her riding around town this weekend. Her dad wasn’t happy about her staying home while the family was on vacation. He finally caved after a heated argument they had the night before her family left for vacation. Corky is getting anxious. Where is Cameron?, she said to herself. The bugs were horrible also. She got bites on her arms and legs. These bites swelled up into blisters that not only itched but also hurt and felt warm to touch. She decided to go inside to wait for Cameron. Corky didn’t know that Cameron would never show up. She would not pick her up to drive around town and get a bite to eat. As soon as she reached the beautiful bush her mom had planted, she fell to the ground. Her mom had planted it years before Corky was born. The bush was a gift from her mom’s dearest friend. It had grown into a beautiful addition to their yard. So far, the disease had cropped up in five different towns. Unfortunately, Cameron was, at this very minute, a victim of this horrible spreading disease. Cameron’s whole family including her mom, dad, brother and two sisters, were passed out in their individual rooms. They are unaware of their surroundings and completely unconscious to this world.