Day 37/366

Carly secured the latch on the screen door, then returned to the kitchen, inserting her headphones as she walked.  Dirty dishes overflowed from both sides of the dual kitchen sink.  She grabbed a pair of sturdy purple gloves and slipped them on, then began to clear out one side of the basin.

Things between Carly and her mom had been extremely tense.  They spent more time arguing than anything else, and Carly was tired of it.  She didn't feel like her mom was the enemy, but she couldn't seem to find the best way to express herself without it escalating into conflict.

Maybe it was the stress of her mom's job as the small town's temporary undersheriff that contributed to the drama.  Rocky Point had been shaken by the unexpected death of Sheriff Rusty Briggs last fall, and the entire department went through a personnel shake up.  Then Undersheriff Bob Brody was moved to the position of sheriff, leaving her mom, the most experienced on the force, to take his spot.

It was just until a special election could be held.  Carly knew her mom was reluctant to run for the position; she just didn't know if she wanted all of that responsibility with three of her five children still living at home.  Her dad was Mom's biggest supporter, encouraging her to go for it just to see what might happen.

Carly was concerned about the kids at school.  Being a sophomore was hard enough, then add to it that one of your parents was in law enforcement and everyone looked at you as a narc or a snitch.  Out of all of her classmates--a whopping 51 in their small high school--Carly had one friend she could be herself with.

Why couldn't her mom understand that?  It wasn't so much that Carly didn't believe in her ability to lead as it was Carly didn't believe in her own ability to distance herself from her mom.  All she wanted was a normal life.  Then again, who defined what was normal these days.

Sink cleared, she used the spray nozzle to clean out any nasties before she used the stopper to plug the drain.  The Collins family had a dishwasher, but she knew her mother preferred the dishes handwashed.  Carly hoped that taking care of this chore would show her mother that she was trying to make life easier for her.

Two squirts of dish soap and running hot water created a mountain of suds detergent her mom favored.  She waited until the sink was a quarter filled and then began putting the silverware and plates in to soak for a few moments.  Last night's dinner of homemade mac and cheese was adhered to the dinner plates and wouldn't begin to come off without a good soak.

Swaying to the music in her headphones, Carly felt good about...everything.  The stresses of spring midterms and the teasing she endured at school seemed to just float away with the routine of washing dishes.  Once the sink was half full, she turned off the faucet and found her scrubbing sponge.

A slight touch on her right shoulder startled her and she dropped the plate and sponge into the hot water with a splash.  Carly yanked out one earbud and whirled around, her gloved and soapy hand at her throat.  "What in the....oh, it's you!  Man, you scared the buggers out of me!"  She removed the other earbud and laid them on the counter next to her iPhone.

"What are you doing here?  And how did you get in here anyway?" she asked, one corner of her mouth curving up into a grin.  "Hey, is something wrong?  Is that why you're here?"  Puzzled by her visitor's lack of response, she turned back to the sink to remove her gloves.  If someone needed to talk, she wanted to be totally present and in the moment.

A plastic bag was thrust over her head and pulled tight around her neck.  The air in the bag had a bitter, chemical odor that made Carly want to cough, but she couldn't pull in enough of a breath to expel the tainted air.  She panicked and clawed at the bag, trying to rip it open, but it was made of a heavy plastic.

She reached back for the hands that held the bag closed, trying to pry one loose so she could yank that bag off.  But the grip was too strong, and the lack of oxygen was taking affect.  She could feel her lungs burning, screaming for air.  Black dots appeared in her field of vision.  She sensed a face drawing close to her head, and thrashed around, trying to knock her head into the chin, nose, or forehead.

A quiet voice gently whispered, "I'm so sorry, Carly.  This is just how it has to be.  But I really am sorry."  The fight dissipated, her muscles growing lax, her vision clouding over.  She felt herself begin to slump to the tile floor and had no way to stop herself.

Unable to express her final thought, Carly shook her head one last time.  "No, you're not," she wanted to say, but now there was no reason to say it.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.