THE WINDOW

Nicolas was afraid. Very, very afraid.

My traumatic encounter with the masked man left me trembling when I thought about it. That was who killed my mother. The only problem was he had no idea who it was. It was so dark he couldn't even attempt to. I caught the sight of the gas mask in my phone's flashlight. That was all I had to go on. Not much, he thought. He or whoever they were, was still out there, that was what scared him the most. I went to my bedroom window, my heart beating like a drum. The street was abandoned, just as he thought. I was scared for Jemma too, he had went after her too after all. He was after me though, he thought. I honestly didn't know why. I had always been a respectable, generous and quite frankly normal teenage boy. But then again, we all have secrets, and I was no exception.

In my second year at Regmont, I got a teacher sacked after I cheated on my exam, I said that the teacher gave it to him. Of course his friends backed him up, and soon thirty pupils were blaming poor old Mrs Reeves for giving her class test answers. The school bought this story, as the year before, only ten of her pupils passed their exam. So Mrs Reeves left the school and everyone passed the Chemistry exam that year.

So he wasn't perfect, but was anyone? In truth I didn't think so. I never thought about God, it wasn't that I didn't believe, I just didn't take the time think about it. Now I had more important things to think about. I sat at the window, staring at the street, like I expected the road to disappear or something.

My dad still wasn't home yet, and that worried me. Maybe something had happened to him. I doubted it. I thought about going over to Jemma's, but I decided against it. I couldn't bring myself to go outside, at least not alone. He wasn't ready, not yet.

I ended up going to Jemma's. I had an airsoft pistol tucked into the waistband of his tracksuit and he wore a green hoodie, zipped up to his neck, the hood shielding his hair from the harsh wind. It was freezing, large puddles had frozen over and a layer of ice, coated the road's surface. I tread slowly and cautiously. My trainers, soaked in a combination of mud, snow and rain, cracked the icy path. I loved that sound. It was a sound of destruction, but destructive that was constructive. No one liked ice, I concluded.

The sun was faint in the horizon and the sky was free from the dark clouds of winter. I could see his breath in the air, a wispy cloud bellowing in front of me, a distraction from the beautiful snow covered mountains to his left and the grand frozen lake to his right. It was eerily silent, there was not a bird in the sky and no one was around. I had the whole world all to himself. Or at least it felt like it.

I arrived at Jemma's, the pretty brick house stood guard over the frozen lake, it was like something out of a movie. Her old, rust -invaded Toyota lay in the frost covered driveway. The grill had a menacing smudge of red covering it, the blood of the masked man. I was proud of her. I owed her immensely. I pulled myself together, you'd be dead anyway if it wasn't for her, he thought. I quickened my pace and headed to the front door. Then I heard the rapping of the window and looked up to see Jemma pointing to the back gate. The metal was cool in his hand, snow covered his hand and he wiped it on his track bottoms. The back garden of her house was sparse in comparison to its entrance.

A small hot tub and a few trees and plants accompanied the stone slabs covering the dirt. The trees swayed forcefully in the gale, leaves cascading, seemingly slow motion into the stepping stones. A wooden brush leaned against a wooden fence. The back door was made of mahogany, the wood crafted into a smooth and sturdy surface. The door handle was sculpted from metal, this too was cold to the touch. I pulled it and to his surprise the door leaned open, inviting him in. I took a last look back at the snow covered garden, and slammed the door shut.

The house was well lit, homely and as you can probably imagine, massive. A set of stairs, covered in a grey, wooly carpet greeted him. He took them two at a time, his long legs finding the edges. I reached Jemma's room, a white door greeted him. I knocked twice, she called him in. Before she could say anything, I blurted, we're going to catch him. Pack your stuff and meet me at my house in two days.