Daphne Collins, a 21-year-old aspiring artist who is attempting to make her way in the world of the bustling New York City. Though when a new nannying job gets offered to her, she takes it, hopeful that it'll give her the extra money and nudge to ma...
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Chapter Song- Dancing With Myself by Billy Idol
Two stern knocks rattle against the front door, echoing through the quiet house. The girls are fast asleep and even if it's almost half past twelve, working on a business is time grabbing and leads to many late nights.
I get up from my desk and head to the front door. Jen' probably forgot her house keys again, she's always quite a forgetful woman when it comes to her keys.
"I'm coming!" I call out as two more stern knocks rattle against the front door, and I quickly rush my way to the entry.
I swing open the door, a frown creasing between my brows as I come face to face with two solemn police officers and flashing red and blue lights.
"Are you Mr Thompson?" One of the officers asks, his wrinkled face is inherently creased into one of pity and sympathy.
"I am, what's this about officers?" I ask, glancing between the two officers in confusion.
"I'm officer Millard and this is officer Grayson," Officer Millard introduces himself and his partner and I nod in greeting.
The other goes to open his mouth to speak, but hesitates. "Maybe you should sit down," Officer Millard says and it only increases the confusion in my mind.
"No officers, just tell me what is going on," I state firmly, just wanting to get back to work and figure out why they're here.
Officer Grayson sighs. "You're wife," he says and I pit of worry flames in my stomach.
"What about her? Is she alright?" I ask panicked.
They share a knowing glance. "I'm sorry sir, your wife was killed in a car accident an hour ago, they tried rushing her to hospital but her injuries were to extensive," Officer Grayson tells me and I freeze.
I'm stuck in time, incapable of moving my body, although as I'm frozen in time I realise my body is collapsing to the floor, but I don't prepare myself for the fall. The officers brace me, grabbing both my upper arms and placing me to the floor gently.
They begin talking, their lips moving but no words or sound is coming from them. I can't hear anything, it's all a blur.
The girls. The girls. How do I tell them?
I shoot up from my bed, jolted awake by the heart aching memory. My hand moistens as I wipe the sweat off the back of my neck and forehead. Thump, thump, thump my heart beats erratically as sequences of flashes from the nightmare - memory - flash in my mind.
That night. It was something out of a movie, one of those dramatic T.V shows. The red and blue lights flashing in whirls of colour blinding your eyes as your hand curls with worry around the door handle. You're faced with two solemn police officers, trying to avoid as much eye contact with you as possible.
