No Where To Go: Chapter 1

The soft pattering of the rain on my window is calming. Storms like this are always nice. The repeating pattern, tap, taptap, tap. My breathing is slowed; my heart is heard through my ears.  I look down at my folded legs, my golden hair falls into my view.
My eyes go back to the window. I see a mosquito fly near. I clench into fist and punch the bug into the glass. A little shoot of pain, and guts on my finger are all that proves it happened.  I swerve and grab a tissue, clean off my fist.
I take a moment to read my watch. Eleven thirty, I wince. My essay is due in nine hours and I haven’t even chosen the title. And to make it better, Katherine hasn’t come home. She said just meeting some friends three hours ago. I search in my pocket and fish out my cell. I dial Kat’s number. A minute passes and no one picks up. Ignoring my calls? Is she running away again, I think. Last time, she ran to Grace’s house. This time, I’ll catch her.
I jump off my bed, and shrug on a sweater. I leave my comfortable room and go out into the pouring rain. Within seconds, I'm soaked to my underwear.  I break into a sprint, down the street looking for my sister.  I pass neighbours sitting on their porches watching the wind and cats hiding under cars.
I think to myself, “When I get my hands on her…”  She knows how I prefer watching the rain from my room; she knew I wouldn’t realize she was gone until it was too late. I bet she waited for a storm like this one to try it again. I still don’t understand her. She felt unloved so she left? It just doesn’t make sense.
I see Grace’s house and increase my speed. I jump over the white picket fence. When I reach the front door, I ring the bell and knock. Ten long seconds later, Grace answers.
“Kristen?” she asks, “It’s late, why are—“ I cut her off and push into the house.
“Where is she?” I ask, “Katherine?” I call. I look back at Grace. She has a look on her face that reads ‘psycho’.  “She isn’t…here?” I whisper, now I'm scared.
Grace walks over to me, “No,” she says, “I haven’t seen her since P.E.”
“Crap,” I curse and run out of the house.
The rain has picked up, now pelting me. It causes pain on my bare skin. If Kat didn’t come here, where is she? I jump the fence and pause. Where do I go now?
They always say you should think if I were Katherine where would I be. I find that stupid, if I were Katherine I’d be home. I’d be almost asleep, about to dream about my perfect boyfriend. Boyfriend! The realization hits me like a train. Somehow, an excruciating shot of pain engulfs my left arm. My breathing hurts, I cry out in pain. And then, it’s all gone. Everything’s normal. I return to my last thought.
Griffen, Katherine’s newest boo, lives downtown. She’d want to live near the malls, streetcars, buses, and hangouts. But the real question is where is Griffen’s?
I think I vaguely remember a subway station. I growl, this is going to be a long night. I rummage around in my pocket and pull out enough change for here and back. I begin running again, this time towards the subway station. It is a 15 minute walk, I make it there in 6.
I jump down the flights of stairs, head south. The train’s doors make the ding and I slide through with seconds to spare. I take a seat near the map, and I wait. Minutes pass, and I feel anxious. I want off this slow machine, I need to find Katherine. I notice a homeless man curled up near the front of the car. I inspect my pocket again. I find a cheese stick.
I walk over to him, “Sir,” I say. The man looks up at me with bloodshot eyes, I hand him the stick. “It’s all I have, sorry,” I finish and walk back to my seat.
The announcer’s voice calls out my stop. I jump to my feet and leave quickly. I sprint up the stairs and out onto the street. I now realize I have no clue where to go. I look both ways. I head toward the flashing lights.
An accident is the last thing I should be worrying about. I have to find Katherine. I walk over to the car.
“Stay behind the yellow line, Miss,” says the officer. I look over his shoulder to a totaled vehicle and a fire truck, an ambulance.
“What happened?” I ask sternly. He turns to me.
“You the sister?” He questions.
I need to know what happened so I respond, “Yeah.”
He steps over to my side of the yellow line, “Two teens, drunk driving from a party. They were speeding to the guy’s place to do God knows what, hit a tree at 100.” Tears fill my eyes, poor family.
“Is anyone hurt?” I ask. He shakes a nod. “Oh God,” I think.
He hesitates then finally says, “The boy, Griffen Willoughby, was dead when we arrived. The girlfriend, Katherine…” he trails off.
My insides are all screaming. WHAT! NO! IMPOSSIBLE! SHE JUST RAN AWAY! The reality of what happened is too much.
I thought I was lying but I am the sister. I am the “poor family”. I am the one who is passing under the tape. I am the one who is being called back. I am the one on her knees looking in the mangled vehicle for her sister. I am the one fighting off the officer. I am the one rushing towards the ambulance. I am the one watching it leave before I can get to her. I am the one who collapsed to the ground. I am the one sobbing. I am the one the cops carry to the Police Car. I am the one being taken behind the ambulance. I am the one still in denial. I am forever broken.
It seems like hours before we reach the hospital. It seems like minutes ago I was just worried about finding an address. It seems like seconds ago, I stopped breathing.
The car stops and they let me out. They’re smarter and both have a firm grip on me. I can’t run. The ambulance is turned around and I can’t see Katherine. Somehow they get her inside without me seeing. I'm thinking of all the ways I could break loose. My small size is a pro and con. My fierce attitude, a pro. My out-of-my-mind state is a con.
I finally decide staying with the officers is the best thing for us all. I'm only fourteen, Katherine is sixteen. I'm always the responsible one.
What if she’s dead? What if she’s dying? What if they can’t save her? What if? These ‘What Ifs’ probe my mind, wrapping themselves on every surface. What if I'm left, again?
Mommy died in a car accident when I was seven. She was dead when he cops arrived, like Griffen. The bloody horror of what it must have looked like has always haunted my mind, like the ‘What Ifs’. It was late, just like tonight, and foggy. Mom didn’t see that truck speeding at her. They say she probably didn’t feel anything. That night I remember being in my bed, and a sharp pain jabbed in my gut. I gasped out and heard Mom say “Everything’s going to be alright, Kitten”. It was at the estimated time of impact. I never told anyone about it. Nowadays, I believe in facts not begin psychic or calling out from the dead. What happened earlier, could it have been Katherine?
Thinking about Mom reminds me of the silly pet names we were given. After Katherine, she wanted a Kristen.  She called us “Kit-Kat” when she wanted us both. I was also “Kitten”, “Kris Cringle” around Christmas time, and “Krispy Crunch”, my favourite candy bar. Katherine was “Kat”, “Ms. Pierce” from some book Mommy loved, and “Cat-Snack” from that one time she ate cat food. So much has changed since I was seven, and so much has changed since seven today.
The policeman and woman half-carry, half-escort, me into the emergency ward. They ask me my age, address, and ask for my parents’ phone numbers.
“Fourteen, 124 Maple Avenue, and my Dad’s phone number is in my contact list,” I respond.
“And your mom’s?” The woman asks, I decide I don’t like her.
“She’s dead,” I say sternly hoping the woman feels bad. I pull out my phone, again, and find the number. I hand it to the guy officer. I look at the woman clearly expressing my hate. She returns the look easily. Nice poker face, I almost say.
The man walks away, calling Daddy. Minutes later, he’s back. He mumbles some code to the lady, and they lift me off my feet.
“PUT ME DOWN!” I protest. The woman sticks her hand over my mouth and I spit on her.
She whispers in my ear, “I wouldn’t try that again if I were you,” and slaps her hand back on my mouth.