enmity by e.j. andrews - chapter sampler

8/12/2019 Enmity by E.J. Andrews - Chapter Sampler

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16 E.J. Andrews

a stream of deep yellow fur. She is gone in an instant. Through theback door and out the front, running from something, but fromwhat?

‘Hello? Is anyone home?’ I call as I turn back to the house aroundme, the feeling of unease starting to grasp me.

Both their cars are in the driveway, as usual, but everything feelswrong.

I call her name last, knowing there is no way she wouldn’tanswer me.

‘Olivia!’ I scream.After a long moment of intent listening, trying to hear even the

smallest breath, there is still nothing.I start to panic and rush like a deranged person down the hallway,

looking through the rooms that lead off it, almost knocking over theside table and vase my mother loves. The light is getting dimmer; itwould usually make the house feel so warm and comfortable but nowit makes my worry worsen.

I nd him quick enough. My father is in his study, as he usuallyis. The hard mahogany walls still feel warm from the day’s sun. Hesits slumped over in his chair; maybe if I’d been a child I would havethought he was sleeping.

I move around to see his face; his eyes are wide with the horrorof what has happened to him, and his eyes, they are such an emptyblue. I see the single slice mark that has severed his throat; the bloodhas dried and crusted over his drained skin and his neat suit and tie.

My feet begin to move backwards, making me run away fromwhat I cannot believe to be real. I hear a smash as I go.

A moment later I nd myself in the kitchen looking down at mylittle sister. She was ve years old.

It was only a matter of months ago she was so excited to startschool and grow up; I remember it. Now there’s no way forward for



Enmity 17

I’m dreaming , I think to myself as I pull Olivia’s tiny lifeless body intomy arms. Then realisation dawns, and I begin to cry. The single bulletwound to her abdomen means her face remains peaceful, and though

her cheeks are no longer their rosy hue, I sweep my hand over them.My tears fall on her, showering her with the love I can never again

express to her, and the loss I now hold so tightly. I push her soft blondehair back from her face, trying to make her look like she used to.

After a few more moments I can’t look at her anymore, because Iwill just stay there forever.

I catch a glimpse of a piece of paper, uttering with the breezeof an open window, I notice then that it is attached to my mother’sback. Without thinking I gently place Olivia back down on the oorand almost crawl over to my mother. She is face down in what I hopeisn’t all her own blood. When I turn her over, I can see her eyes arethe same as my father’s, so empty yet so lled with horror. I almostrecoil from this cruelty, one question screaming constantly throughmy head— why?

The note reads 37 Edward Street . I read it over and over again. Theonly explanation I get is three words, an address.

It feels like an hour before I move again. I just sit there with myhands trying to pull at my hair. If only I hadn’t cut it so short I mightactually be able to.

I am surrounded by my dead family, wondering how this day hasturned out so very different to all the others. We would be eatingdinner now. We would be sitting over there at the dining table withits stupid hard chairs and striped placemats. My mother is such a goodcook. They would ask me about school, about my nals coming upin a few months. Olivia would complain that she wanted to go toschool. We would soothe her and tell her that her time would comesoon enough. Now it won’t.

It never will.



18 E.J. Andrews

at my family, wondering what the last words I said to them were. Itwas probably a goodbye yelled over my shoulder, a shout into thevoid, a word without meaning. What would I have said to them if

I’d known this was coming? I wouldn’t have said anything because Iwould have stopped it.

Next thing I know, I’m at the address, my father’s handgun in mywaistband.

This building is huge, I can’t see where it ends but I can see itkeeps going for a few blocks to my right. I am before a single doorthat stands alone in the blank wall; there are no windows, no nothing.It is simply an enormous dark grey wall, with a tiny dark grey door.

Is this what they want from me? Are they just luring me here withfalse promises of revenge?

I’m about to leave when the door opens and I instantly take thegun from my waist before whoever it is behind the door has time toget the upper hand.

But before I can shoot, I see a bright white light that makes theforefront of my brain explode. I raise my gun but—



Hermia

The whole room is white, including me. I am dressed in a whitecotton dress that looks like it’s from a time long ago; I hate it. Theway it ts to my body makes me feel like it was made for me. Creepy,this whole place is just plain creepy.

Everything around me is white—the walls, the oor, the ceiling,almost everything is white. There are only two things that aren’t white, and they are a two-way mirror that sits across from me—butof course it is white because it reects the room around me—and ashining silver bracelet that feels as though it is burning its impressioninto my skin. I toy with it between my ngers, feeling the memoryof the last time I wore it ash behind my eyes.

My mind is racing, though it has no need. It should all makesense, I should know who has done this, but I can’t allow myself tobelieve it just yet. Not till I see him with my own eyes.

I wait on the ground, feeling like this dress means I must sit in aladylike way, so I do, with my legs to the side and my hands claspedtogether in my lap, twisting and twining my ngers, watching the



20 E.J. Andrews

On the outside I am a shell of nothing, I am devoid of any emotion.

On the inside, I am screaming. The anger is hot, stabbing andstarting to give me a migraine.

I have no idea how long I will be in this room; I just know thatit can’t last forever.

I’m not stupid, hardly. So I know that this is some seriouslymessed-up shit.

My eyes are xated on the mirror. Seeing my own perfectlymade-up reection makes me want to explode with the rage that isbuilding inside of me. But I keep my composure.

I refuse to let them see that this is affecting me, the way they havere-dressed me, changing all my clothes, which disturbs me.

No one comes, nothing changes, until I start to hear his scream.



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