A Love Worth Killing For - Prologue

            “JACKLYN SCARBUROUGH, GET YOUR GOOD FOR NOTHING ASS OVER HERE THIS INSTANT!”
             I sighed as I placed my backpack against the wall and closed the front door behind me before slowly making my way towards the living room where my drunkard of a dad was probably waiting for me. Along the way down my little death walk, I saw my older brother Austin already halfway up the staircase, looking down at me with pitiable green eyes. I gave him a little pleading look, somewhat hoping for even just a little encouraging, however, just like every time before, he ignored my plead for help and continued walking up the stairs, only to disappear into his room for the rest of the day. Typical. Why do I even bother to try and ask for his help anymore? I honestly can’t remember the last time he ever stood up to dad….and the day when he actually does will probably never come either. So why do I keep getting my hopes up? Who knows. With yet another sigh, I continued to walk closer to the large, dark brown armchair that my dad liked to pretend was his throne, but that old chair was nothing more than a symbol of never ending pain that I had no other choice but to endure. Finally reaching the mountain of empty beer cans and cigarette boxes that surrounded the dingy thing, I stopped, took in a deep breath to calm my nerves, then walked around to the front of the chair, where my dad could fully see me.
             “Yes dad? What is it?” I asked, using the calmest voice I could muster, despite the fact that his very presence terrified me. My dad lazily turned his head so that he could look at me instead of the small TV screen a foot away from him, his face red from all the alcohol and unfocused eyes that were full of hate and spite as they landed on my small frame.
             “G-go get me some more beer, you useless bitch!” he ordered as he tried to throw an empty beer bottle at me, only for it to smash into a million pieces against the wall less than three inches from my face. It was scary how close to accurate he was even when he was so drunk he couldn’t see straight.
             “D-dad, I think you’ve had too much to drink already.” I said as I slowly scooted away from where the beer bottle had shattered, managing to only stutter a little bit. It was needless to say that dad was less than thrilled with my little suggestion. I watched as my dad lifted himself uneasily to his feet, never taking his eyes that relentlessly sent daggers my way as he towered over me.
             “No one tells me what to do, let alone when I’ve had enough to drink! Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?!” Dad barked before slapping me across the face hard enough to make me stumble back, my hands reaching out to grab the TV set before I could fall to the ground. Then, before I had a chance to recover, Dad grabbed my neck and forced me to look at him, choking me in the process. “Listen you little whore, you have no right to talk to me like that! You live under my house and live by my rules. Without me, you’d be alone, left on the streets to die. Now, you go get me some more beer, or I swear I’ll wring your little neck.” He hissed, tightening his grip on my neck at the end for emphasis. I instinctively grab onto his hand, trying to loosen it enough so that I could breathe again, trying to nod as best as I could as I gasped for air. Satisfied with his efforts, Dad threw me to the side and into a small wooden coffee table. My arm crashed into one of the corners, creating a long but shallow gash from my elbow to just below my shoulder. The moment I was able to breathe again, I started coughing like aggressively, placing one hand on my now slightly bruised throat and the other covering the cut on my arm. I stayed on the ground like that for a minute or two before getting up and making my way over to the kitchen, not daring to look anywhere near dad. Once I was safely behind the walls of the kitchen, I let out a sigh of relief, thanking God that there wasn’t anything too bad. I picked up the remote to the tiny tv in the kitchen before searching through the drawers for some gauze.
            “In other news, yet another series of murders have struck, this time, here in our own backyard. This time, the killer has claimed young, 17 year old Casey Calvin as well as her parents; Teresa and Derek Calvin, who were found slashed to pieces in their own apartment by the building manager late last night after receiving noise complaints from their neighbors, claiming that the tv was on too loud. So far, no evidence has been found indicating the killer, leaving the police baffled. The only clue as to who this serial is their calling card; the words “GO TO SLEEP” scrawled over the walls in the victim’s own blood. If you can provide any information about this mysterious killer, please contact your local authorities immediately.” I turned my attention to the tv screen as I pulled the gauze tight around my arm. A psychopathic serial killer, huh? How lucky do I have to be to meet one of those guys?