Seventeen Days

Myca had debate club after school, so I walked home alone.  I was so busy ranting to myself about my horrible day and dreaming about the dark, dangerous sky I was going to paint when I arrived home that I didn’t even notice the police car parked across the street from my house until I walked right into it.  No one saw this embarrassing display of uncoordination, thankfully, but it still made me angrier.  What a way to top off a perfect day, I thought sullenly.  I stormed into my house and slammed the door, mad at myself for being so awkward all the time.  It wasn’t fair that I was born a klutz who never knew the right words to say while B.J. got all the genes for charm and grace.  I stomped into the living room, heading for the stairs to work on my painting.  I knew my loud showing of self-disgust wouldn’t bother anyone-no one in my family was home to hear the stomping or door slamming.  My dad worked until late and my mother would have left about fifteen minutes ago to pick up B.J. from elementary school and drive her to a rehearsal for one of her plays.  I had already started up the stairs before I realized that five faces were staring at me over our couch.  I stopped short.  Someone was home, all right.  But it wasn’t just my mom.  Dad and three cops were also sitting in my living room, looking quite solemn.  I had just made the connection between the police car across the street and the officers in my living room when a policeman spoke.

“Dyan,” he said, “I don’t want to upset you, but I have some very shocking news.”

I stared.  How did this guy know my name?  And what was going on?

The officer took a deep breath.  My stomach clenched at the look on his face.  Suddenly, I was afraid.  Something was wrong.  Very wrong.

“Dyan, your sister has been kidnapped.”