Mallory Barlow used to think everyone had skeletons in their houses. Her growing up certainly wasn't lonely and what she believed to be normal at the time. However, when the police randomly knock at her door and take away her grandma from her life, she is forced to join a school. But, Mal has other plans and she starts uncovering secrets. Secrets that have been buried for the past 13 years. The charectars and incidents in this story are fictional and purely for entertainment purposes.
__Chapter 1___ " 5,4,3,2 and 1. We're live. This is the morning news, my name is Patricia Martins and we have here with us today, Mallory Barlow. Mallory, so what are your views on the Barlow case? I understand that your parents were victims involved in the shooting." " Well Pat", I say false confidence masking my adreneline rush, " You are right with the fact that my parents were lost and it was hard to cope with for a very long time. That kind of grief doesn't go away of course and from when I was a child, I aspired to find the truth, even more so after that unfortunate happening. I always try not to let my relation to the victim get in the way of solving this cold case and others but whenever I am struggling or hitting walls on end, that graveyard penetrates my thoughts and it says this is what you were made for. You were made for finding justice, you were made to be the voice of those who are long beyond thier days. You were made to fight for the right thing and that thought fuels everything, for me really." Listening intently, Pat nods but when she speaks, it is not her voice coming out of her mouth. "Lorii!", she shouts. "Lorii!!", but this time louder. Her paper thin, matte lips open again and- " Mallory!" A sharp voice snaps my eyelids open. My heart is racing as I check my tattered alarm clock. 10:08. I have slept in. Again. Oh, Selen is going to kill me. I rip of my duvet and take the metallic, glimmering hoops from the skeleton hand that rests on top of my drawer, and bracing, pierce them through my earholes. As expected, within a few seconds, the weight catches up. Selen says I must wear these and her earholes are collosal from how long she has been wearing them which is probably from birth. Sometimes, I wonder how old Selen is and whenever I ask, she says old enough and that I should worry about my own life. But right now is not the time to be wondering about her age. Because, Selen has called me thrice. Once, which means she just wants me to get up. Twice, which means she is quite frustrated and I might not get enough at dinner. Thrice and with my proper name which means I officially am dinner. Taking a deep breath, I run downstairs and nearly trip over Lana on the way. Lana is my skeleton not my sister. Not that anybody was wondering because the only people in this house are me and my grandma, Selen. Except, she hates me calling her grandma. So, panting I reach the bottom of the steps and Selen is staring into my eyes. You see, Selen is a very passive agressive type of person. Nonchalantly, with hidden fire she asks me what the time is. " t-t-ten,o , ei-eight?" " 10:14 now. What time where you supposed to be up?" "t-tten?" " So, how much did you waste?" I stay silent. "Nearly 15 minutes. And that is not very good because you will be missing a part of our lesson. Although, I'm sure I can just extend the lesson and cut a part of your outdoor break. Am I clear?" "y-yes." " Very good." The thing is when Selen scolds me, after she has, she doesn't mention it. Only, she stares with her pale gray eyes into me, brushing away wisps of her aging, thinning hair with her bony fingers, seemingly gliding in her black robe and silently beconing me to follow her. Without objection, I do.
