By 3 Drops of Blood
It is just another normal day. The sun is there bright and yellow, bleeding through the plain white netted curtains. The horrendous beeping of the alarm clock forces me out of the bliss of my covers and to step onto the hard and grey flooring.
Making my way to the cold granite walled kitchen, I hum the tune of the song my daughter had been listening to lately. It is some new boy band that she had fallen head over heels with and wants me to join into her obsession.
I get myself a cup from the dishwasher and fill it up with steaming coffee. I make my way to Andy’s bedroom and knock on the door and do not get any response, I follow my knock with the Morse code, me and she had invented. Still, I do not get any response. I make my hands to the knob and force the door open.
Then I scream. Not the little scream coming out of my mouth when she stands behind the door and scares me. Not the short scream I give when I see a bug. But a piercing, deafening and ear shilling scream which soon brings my world to crumble.
The pillows on her pink bed were slashed, her curtains lay in shreds, and the glass window was shattered. I can see three drops of blood on her snowy marble floor. The room is a complete mess and my mind was a greater peril than that.
My Mija is nowhere to be seen and my mind isn’t running properly. I quickly dash towards the balcony and look down towards the ground; there, I see a hooded figure near a black van wave at me after they bring their index fingers to their lips. I sprint towards the main door and rush to the gate but the vehicle or the person was nowhere to be seen.
Calling 911 is the safest option right now, but I never make any motion towards the phone. I do not want to do anything risking her safety. The police will no doubt ask if there would be any motive for this abduction but, I cannot let them know about anything.
Instead, I run towards Andy’s room and look for anything related to the kidnapping. I move the glass shards and remove the blood stain from the floor. I leave the bed and curtains as it is.
I rush to my room and take the files near my dresser and bury it under the bathroom tiles. Then I rush to the study table and take the papers tucking them away in the safe behind the painting.
Panting, I phone Andy’s father.
“Hello.” He responds. My mind cannot form words and I just stay on the line breathing heavily.
“Dear, what is wrong?” He asks in a worrisome voice.
“They took her,” I say but it is barely audible
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“THEY TOOK HER,” I shout on the phone.
“What are you talking about? Who has taken who?” He replies confused.
“Andy is not here. They took her Alan. Oh for god’s sake they took her.” I finally say.
The line gets silent for a while then he decides to speak up
“Call the police. I will be there in 5 hours. I hope you have locked the files and papers away?” He asks.
“Yes, I have. I locked it away. They will not know. Just get here please, I need you.” I reply and cut the call.
Following Alan’s advice, I call the police and brief them about the situation. Then the doorbell rings; I dash towards the door. Much to my despair, I do not see the authorities but a white envelope is lying on the doormat. I pick it up and open it.
And inside was Andy’s hair clip with a lock of her hair. A note fell off and it read:
“We are not done with her. :)”
Read More From Shreeansha:
Outside the Window | Shreeansha Bhattarai | Offline Thinker
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