Page 37 of Jessica's Hero
I almost turn back. Almost. But then the image of a police officer pops into my head—not Kane, of course—glowering at me as he stands beside my broken shelf in the living room. Scolding me for wasting the police department’s time again.
Just as I’m about to make my way down the stairs, common sense drags me to a halt.
Check the security cameras first.They’re all around the house. Then I’ll know for sure if someone’s in here or not.
I skitter back into the upstairs hallway and pull up the security app. Thirty seconds later, I have confirmation that all the doors are still locked and no one is lurking outside the house.
At least, not now.
I check the cameras in the living room and kitchen, seeing only furniture and shadows and the glitter of something scattered across the floor.
Glass?
Did someone?—
Crap.
Did someone break my windows?
Anger surges, chasing away my fear. But it quickly fades, followed by a heavy despair.
Why won’t they just stop?
Tears burn in my eyes as I head downstairs. My nose prickles. A lump expands in my throat.
Why won’t they leave me alone?
Swallowing hard to keep from crying, I keep going.
To the bottom of the stairs and into the living room.
Where an icy breeze catches me, sending goosebumps rippling across my skin.
My heart lurches into my throat.
Moonlight pours in through the broken window, its silvery glow reflecting off the glass all over the floor. And in the center of the broken glass, a large rock, at least the size of my fist.
The tears I’ve been struggling to hold back burst free.
Why?
I’m not a bad person.
I didn’t hurt anymore. It was just a mistake.
Scanning the room again, I notice a second window broken, with another rock and puddle of glittering glass shards below it.
And there.
Just beside the end table, my mom’s favorite glass figure. The one she got when we went to Maine and shethought it was so funny to buy a glass lobster.It’s silly, she told me,but that makes me like it even more.
Now it’s broken.
Full-on crying now, I rush to the table, heedless of caution or logic. All I can think is,My mom’s figure is broken. It’s one of the things she loved best and it’s broken.
Pain shears into my foot, but I’m scarcely aware of it. The pain in my heart is so much worse than that.
I pick up a glass claw with a trembling hand.
