Heather (standard:Psychological fiction, 2195 words)
Author: Devin B. Wieland	Added: Oct 13 2005	Views/Reads: 3447/2160	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Heather went missing three days ago. Ellen wants to search for Heather, but the man that claims to love her is holding her back. Can she trust him? Can she trust herself?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

waking up next to Jack. Somehow, he had made her sleep in the same bed 
as him. But as soon as she had woken up, she had darted out of bed and 
made it as far as the door before he stopped her. That was at two 
o'clock. They had been fighting like this for 2 hours. Ellen half 
listened while Mark continued to try and calm her. 

"Honey, you don't know what's wrong, I can tell. Do I need to tell you
what happened again?" "Don't talk to me." "Ellen, stop it!" She didn't 
care what he said, and her anger burned fiercer than ever, but somehow 
she was beginning to drift off. "Stay with me." he said to her from 
somewhere about a mile away. "We can't keep going on like this. We need 
to settle this tonight. Don't fall asleep, I need you awake for this." 

His word echoed around in her head. He wanted her awake for something;
was he going to kill her? If he was, she knew she needed to stay awake. 
Not because he was asking her to, but in order to protect her self. She 
wouldn't let him take her like he had taken Heather. She started to 
stand up. Mark didn't restrain her this time, but he was ready to move 
if she tried to run again. Ellen swayed drunkenly as she got up from 
the floor. She put her hands on the countertop to steady herself. 

"Are you feeling better now?" Mark asked, "Do you remember?" He was
still sitting on the floor, but he reached up and put his hand over 
her's. "How can you touch me?" "What are you trying to say?" "You know 
what I'm talking about. Did you forget what you did?" She stared deep 
into his eyes and saw the guilt she had been looking for. But was it 
guilt, or sympathy? Either way, she couldn't stand to look at it. She 
pulled her eyes away from his and looked around the counter. To her 
right, within reach, there was a knife. She took this as a sign that 
she had been right about everything. Mark had done all the things she 
had accused him of, and that knife was there for a reason. She reached 
for the knife and slid it across the counter, toward herself. 

But Mark heard the metallic sound of the blade scraping on the
countertop. He jumped to his feet and pinned her arm to the counter 
with his fist. Pain shot through her arm, and her fingers lost hold of 
the knife. Mark threw it across the kitchen. It took a piece out of the 
drywall, but fell, with a clang, to the floor. 

So he would use violence, Ellen thought. This didn't surprise her when
she thought about what he had done to Heather. He better not have hurt 
her. How could he? 

He was a monster, and she would escape. But not now, tomorrow, maybe.
She was too tired now; the effort of standing up had drained whatever 
energy she had left. 

In her exhaustion, Ellen was losing focus of what she needed to do. She
began to feel like she had gone through these steps before. She looked 
at Mark and tried to hate him as much as she wanted herself to. But his 
light blue eyes were true. She began to feel like she was the one to 
blame, even though she knew that this was what he wanted her to think. 
Her head swam, worse than ever. Now was not the time to fall asleep, 
but there was nothing she could do. She would try to sort this out in 
the morning. Maybe she could forgive him. It could have been an 
accident. But what kinds of thoughts were these? She hated him, didn't 
she? 

Maybe Heather would still come back. Mark was touching her cheek, and
she was falling asleep, thinking of the last time that she saw heather. 
She stumbled to the floor. Mark caught her and lowered her down. They 
lay down on the wooden floor. She fell asleep against his chest. 

Part 2 

Sunlight came through the window and warmed her spot on the floor. Mark
wasn't there. He must have gone off to work. She realized that she 
could now leave if she wanted to, but this was only a thought left over 
from last night's events. 

She saw everything clearly now. She remembered what had happened during
the night, and she remembered how the last three mornings had been just 
like this one was shaping up to be. Each time, she had woken up here, 
in this spot on the floor. How long would Mark take this from her, she 
wondered. 

The night after she had lost Heather, when she woke up at two in the
morning, Jack had made her write down what happened. This way, he told 
her, when things got bad, he could show it to her and make her read it. 
And when she saw that it was written in her own handwriting, she would 
know that it wasn't a lie. 

Ellen sat up on the kitchen floor and stretched to get the notebook she
had thrown across the room during the night. The notebook was lying 
face down and the pages were wrinkled inside. 

She opened it to the first page and fought back her tears as she read
what she had written down just three days earlier. She hadn't wanted to 
write it down, it was so hard just to think about it. But Jack had 
forced her, saying that it was for her own good. So, in act of 
defiance, she had been as blunt as possible, foregoing any attempt at 
eloquence. She propped herself against the kitchen stove and followed 
Mark's instructions, reading the pages out loud in between periods of 
tears. 

- 

Yesterday, I got in a car accident. My daughter was in the car with me.
She died. My daughter's name was Heather; her funeral is in one week. I 
am writing this because I have been trying to convince myself that my 
husband, Mark, is responsible for Heather's death. But I know that that 
is not true. My husband loved Heather as much as I did, and he would 
never do anything to hurt her. 

- 

She didn't want to read the rest, however, trusting Mark, she made
herself. The next section of the letter she had written specifically to 
herself. It was meant to be read when she got confused and angry, like 
she had last night. 

- 

To myself, If you're reading this now, you've become unaware of reality
again. Mark did not take Heather from you. Don't blame him, and don't 
blame yourself. You can move on with your life, and not forget Heather 
at the same time. Do it for her. Believe him. Heather will be buried in 
seven days. If Mark has to make you read this after her funeral, you 
have failed. Your failure would be on the behalf of Mark and Heather, 
who have loved you unconditionally. 

- 

Ellen now had three days before the funeral. Each night since she wrote
that note, she had woken up believing that everything was Mark's fault. 
In these moments, when she actually understood what had happened, she 
couldn't believe what she had accused him of. She shuddered as she 
remembered reaching for the knife during the night. As Ellen closed the 
notebook, a loose page slipped free and floated to the floor. She 
picked it up; it was from Mark. 

- 

Ellen, 

I had to leave for work. As hard as it was to leave you laying on the
floor, alone, I know that I have to keep supporting you physically as 
well as emotionally. And lately, any sleep you get is precious, so I 
didn't wake you. You haven't been yourself lately, and I know that 
you're aware of this. Don't be ashamed of yourself when you read what 
you wrote in this notebook. I know it's hard, but we'll work through 
this. This notebook will help remind you of what's real. 

- 

Ellen paused to wipe tears from her eyes. Everything Mark said was what
she needed to hear. She was having trouble controlling herself, but she 
read Mark's final sentences anyway. 

- Don't cry, Ellen. I want to be with you while you deal with your loss.
Helping you through this is my gift to our Heather. Don't take that 
away from me. 

Love always, 

Mark 

- 

Ellen had three days till she would say goodbye to Heather. She was
convinced that she would not run away from Mark again, at least for 
now. 


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