A/N First I want to say thank you so much to the people who helped edit this story, it means a lot! Because I've gone back and reread the story so much, I also decided to change Sara's name to Dawn.  (I also took your advice and ran this one through a text to speech program, so let's see how I did ;D)

"Fuck!" I mumble as I drop the pan and hear it clang on the countertop.

I hold my burnt hand and wince. I stare at the threadbare oven mit on my hand and rip it off. My hand is turning red. It isn't swelling, but it sure hurts like hell. I gaze on the glove I threw on the floor. It really is ripped up and stained-- I need to get a new one. Thanks to it, my right hand has a meeting with an ice pack.

Just then I hear the door swing open.

"I'm ho- what's that smell?" Sam asks, interrupting herself.

I smile as I turn my head in her direction.

"I met up with Dawn today," I start. "And she got me in the mood for brownies."

Sam throws her stuff on the couch and runs up to me.

"You're awesome!" She says, hugging me.

"I'd say I try, but I really don't." I say grandly.

She shoves me away and rolls her eyes.

"And so modest, too. Can I take a bite?" she asks, gesturing to the pan.

"Not yet, they just came out."

"Oh okay," she says, sounding disappointed.

She turns around and plops down on the couch next to her backpack and grabs the remote.

"Did you get your homework done?"

"Mhm." She replies, turning the television on.

"Are you just saying that to watch your show?"

"Mhm." She repeats, obviously engulfed with the screen.

I take a deep breath and let it out.

"Will you do all the laundry and dishes for a month?" I test.

"I'm not that zoned out!" Sam laughs.

I giggle and sigh again. Remembering the pain in my hand, I open the freezer and take out some ice. I close the door and open the cabinet. I reach behind some loose tin foil and grab a plastic bag. I drop the ice in the bag and fill it with cold water from the sink. I hesitantly place it on my hand and wince at the pressure. I look over to the TV to see what's playing.

Ah, of course. None other than her favorite drama show. Twelve seasons total. She's been binge watching it for two months, breaking only for food, school, and sleep. At first I tried to get her to go outside and do something active, but now I'm convinced she's super glued to that couch.

"You know," I say, walking over. "When I was your age, I ran all over the neighborhood."

I sit down next to her and swing my arm around her shoulder.

"My friends and I would make obstacle courses with the neighbors trash cans and fences."

"I know, " Sam replies. "You got in trouble with grandpa a lot for trespassing."

"Yeah I did." I chuckle nervously.

"You've told me several times, mom. I know, okay?" She says, still staring at the screen.

I sigh as I stand up and walk into the kitchen. On my way there, I reach into my pocket and take out my cell phone. I sit down in a chair and put my feet crisscross on top of the table. Scrolling through my apps, I tap on the "News" button and wait for it to load.

Immediately columns of articles lineup, each with varying titles. The article at the top is in red and labeled "important". I read the headline:

CHELSEA SERIAL KILLER SEASON: HOW TO BE PREPARED

A chill goes down my spine. Dawn was right. It's fall again, and based on the fact there isn't any breaking news about a murdered girl being found, there could still be a chance the killer is still stalking a victim.

I tap on the title and start reading.

It is the horrific time of year again where the unidentified serial killer known as "The Chelsea Killer" (formal: The Glasgow Killer) normally strikes. To ensure your child is safe this season, here are a few notes to consider before coming to conclusion your risk.

The Chelsea Killer appears in the months of September through November. The targets have thus far have been teenage females from the age of fourteen to seventeen.

I freeze in my place. I have to take in a deep breath before continuing.

If your child meets these standards, keep a close eye and make sure she is in a trustworthy group of friends when you cannot be with her. To date, most kidnappings are estimated to be in broad daylight, ranging from morning to evening, and one at early dawn during a morning walk.

To read the full article, go to our website.

I press the button on my phone and the screen goes black. I shiver again at the eerie message. I've taken care of Sam all my life now, and I'm not going to let that guard down, especially not now. Being fifteen and a girl, it's possible.

I shake my head. It would be one of hundreds, probably thousands. There's no way that she would be that percent.

"Mom, I'm hungry." Sam calls over.

"Well the brownies are cool now, want some?"

Same jumps over the couch and runs to the kitchen faster than I've ever seen her go.

"I was beginning to think you were strapped to that couch or something." I tease.

"Oh be quiet!" She laughs.

I cut out a piece for her and put it in a napkin, then hand it to Sam. She hesitates for a moment before taking a bite.

"Oh good," she says with her mouth half-full. "I was afraid you burned them again."

"What do you mean by that?" I say.

She bursts out laughing, trying to keep the brownie in her mouth.

"I did burn something though," I reply, lifting up my hand with the ice and water on it.

"Whoa, what happened?" She asks, sounding concerned.

"Our oven mitt. Its ripped, burned, and stained. We need a new one." I explain, cutting myself a small piece and popping it into my mouth.

"Okay homework chop chop!" I say clapping my hand against my wrist.

She groans and grabs her backpack off the couch, then sits down at the kitchen table to do her work.

As she works, I heat up some leftover spaghetti.

"Hey mom," Sam says, looking up from her page. "I forgot I needed to ask you something."

"Hm?" I turn to her, stirring the leftovers in the pot.

"So," She starts, her smile getting bigger. "There's this new game--"

"No." I interrupt.

"What!" She exclaims. "I haven't even told you about it yet! It's an RPG based around the butterfly effect, and what happens is you're a scientist who discovers a lethal virus that is air born--"

Sam continues describing the entire video game from the storyline to the graphics to things I didn't even know existed.

I watch her as she moves her hands while she talks. Her eyes are lit with enthusiasm, and the grin across her face makes her radiate her joy. She goes on for a bit, until she finally stops and looks at me hopefully, waiting for me to say I'll buy the game for her.

"Nope." I say after a while.

Sam stares blankly.

"What-- why not?"

"Because," I say, scooping up spaghetti and dropping it onto a plate. "You seem to know a lot about this game already. What more can you get out of it?"

Her face shows utter disbelief.

"There is nothing better than experiencing a video game for yourself!" She says. "Especially when it revolves around the butterfly effect!"

"Why are you so obsessed with the butterfly effect?" I ask, bringing two plates of food to the table.

She gives a little shrug.

"It makes me feel like I matter."

I see her face droop a little.

"Hey," I coo. "You matter a lot to me."

I rub her shoulder and smile at her. She returns the smile and sheepishly looks down at her plate.

We begin eating in a familiar silence.