"Jaycee Thompson!"

"Jaycee! Over here!"

"Jaycee! Where have you been for the past four years?"

"Jaycee Thompson was just fourteen years old when she vanished after taking a walk at night."

"She was missing for over a year before police supposedly found her body. But just last night, the now eighteen year old girl walked into the police station claiming to be the only Thompson child."

"Did you know everyone thought you were dead?"

  I heard reports say on my front lawn below my window. It was a bad idea to keep it opened, and I still sat in my chair which was directly in front of the window. News camera's took photos of me and reporters had large microphones that they held up to the window after asking a question, waiting for my motionless response that would never come.

  My room was on the second floor, which gave me great distance between the reporters. I was in a daze. I was there but wasn't. I didn't care if people saw me. I was back and I had to get used to people being like this. After all, I did come back from the dead. Why were people so big into hearing stories like this? Why did everyone love hearing tragic things happen. Asking if I had been abducted and what it was like, why did they care? Our world was sick.

"Ok, ok. Back it up people," police officers started to come to my rescue and motioned for the press and reporters to move back along the road. I guess my dad called them. The officers started to put barriers along the house and street, indicating to not go past them.

"Jayc! Get away from the window!" I jumped as my dad yelled and ran into my room towards me. He quickly grabbed both sides of my curtains and slid them towards each other. I slowly looked up at him. Giving him a glaring look.

"Why?" I asked him in a rather serious tone.

"How long have you been sitting there?"

"Awhile," I explained to him as I looked back blankly at my now closed window. My father exhaled.

"I bet they got some real good pictures of you. They're probably having a field day over them," he stated as he knelt down beside me. "We need our privacy."

"Why?" I just stared at him in disapproval. "Who cares about privacy. That's all gone Dad," I stated to him. "That was all gone when I decided to come back from the dead," I joked. He just stared me down. And I could tell from the corner of my eye, that his expression read empty. Nothing to be said. He knew I was right. Maybe not about our privacy, but about the part where I came back from the dead. "It's too dark in here," I mentioned as I sat up and opened my curtains up once again; hearing the crowd roar louder as they saw me once more. My dad only got up and headed to the hallway. He wasn't as bothered this time with my curtains being open.

"Breakfast will be ready soon. Remember I'm taking you to the station today. The police need to talk to you some more," he informed me as I heard him walk down the hallway and to the stairs. Great. The police. What else do they need to know?

After about five more minutes, I decided to get up, knowing my father would be yelling for me to get downstairs and eat. As I got up, I could hear the crowd from out my window die down a bit as I left. I dragged my feet around the corner to the hallway, and then down the stairs. We had four rooms upstairs. We had my father's room, which he used to share with my mother, the guest room which we also used for storage, the bathroom, which was basically mine because my father had his own attached to his room, and then there was my room, which was rather big for one person. Much bigger than the guest room, and almost the same size as my father's. The guest room was going to be my sisters' room, as the walls still had the same light yellow paint rolled onto it. My parents never changed it.

  As I walked down the hallway and the stairs, pictures of our family and portraits hung on the walls, many of them with my mother. We enjoyed having pictures of her around, like she was still with us in a way.

All the floors in our house consisted of the dark hard wood floors. It made the house look very nice, except it could be very slippery sometimes, depending on the types of socks one wore. I for one always loved wearing fuzzy socks, but the down side to that was that I did not own any with the grippy things on the bottom, which resulted in me slipping and sliding all the time. I could be quite clumsy sometimes.

  As I got to the very last step to the stairs, I turned the corner and stepped down once to our kitchen, which was not quite levelled with the rest of the house. As I stepped down, I saw my father sitting at the kitchen table. The paper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He turned towards me as I turned, and then he quickly put his newspaper down on the floor. My plate was already on the table, which was an odd sight. I usually made my own breakfast, and during the rare occasions when he did make me breakfast, he never put it on a plate for me, I did that myself. It was like he was serving me, which felt weird in a way.
I was capable of making my own food, he knew that. Hell, I'm eighteen now, not fourteen anymore. But whatever, it's a nice gesture. It wasn't a huge deal though. I was just hoping this wouldn't be a regular thing. I didn't like when people treated me different.
I really hope he doesn't treat me all different now. I just want things to go back to the way they were. I do not need anyone to walk on egg shells around me. That does not help.

  As I sat down, I could feel my father stare towards me as I began to fold my napkin and then picked up my fork right after. His stare made me feel weird, but I tried to ignore it. Eggs and fruit were placed nicely on my plate, along with a glass of juice.

  "Thank you for breakfast. You didn't have to do that you know," I spoke to my dad as I looked up, as well as he did. He gave me a small smirk.

  "I know, but I wanted to," he answered me as he continued to look at me in great awe it seemed. I went along and ignored it as I ate some of my breakfast. I looked back up towards him, and he was still looking.

  "What?" I said in a joking manner as I shook my head a bit. He laughed at my gesture. But after the laughter, he became more serious.

"It's nothing," he shook my question off the first time, as he also shook his head in a pattern, and peered down once more.

"No, seriously Dad. What is it?" I asked with a hint of laughter in my voice, but another hint of seriousness, as I waited for him to speak back. And he looked up once more, as we held eye contact for a few moments before he went on once again.

  "It's just, I thought you really were gone, Jayc. I thought I was never going to see you again," he spoke to me as he took my hand in his and squeezed it gently. He continued. "I thought, I thought someone had killed you. I thought you were dead. I thought...." he trailed off before I interrupted him.

  "But I'm not, Dad. I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere. Not again," I spoke back to him, with a small smile afterwards. He smiled back as it looked like he was holding back tears. And to be honest, so was I. But something still kept haunting me. Something about him, about his expression. Those sad eyes were still present, and I knew that story I told hurt him. The tale I told of me running away. I knew that story hurt him, and I knew I had to tell him the truth. I could see the confusion and tiredness, of all those years of searching for a daughter who he thought was long gone. But I wasn't. I was very much alive, and only an hour or so away. I knew I had to tell him the truth. But not here. Not now. "Soon Dad. Soon I will tell you what happened. I will tell you everything," I spoke to him, reassuring. And he nodded his head a bit. He understood I didn't want to speak at the moment. He understood too well.

  As the time ticked by, my appetite distinguished, even though I hardly ate anything. It was odd, how I wasn't that hungry anymore. Perhaps it was because I trained myself not to eat much, especially when I was stuck or travelled in those woods. Also when I was kept in that basement. Every little bite of food counted back then, and I savoured it. And now, even when I could eat anything I wanted, as much as I wanted, I still didn't eat much. My body was still trained to watch how much I ate, and I became full faster than before. Hence why I had become so thin. But I didn't take it as a huge deal, I would just have to re-train myself again. But it was also a good thing that I had a little appetite, it kept me healthy, depending on what I ate. But I was not a picky eater, I could pretty much eat anything. And by now, I could definitely eat anything, considering most nights in the forest I had to hunt for my food. I mostly ate small animals, which did not taste the greatest, but it was something. I became pretty good at it too, as I learned how to build my own traps with twigs and branches, along with other twigs which were more tough and hard to break.

  As I sat there staring down at my food, thinking about the forest and the time I spent in it, I began to move my food from one side of my plate to the other, making a figure eight. My food was getting cold by the minute, but I didn't care. I had already ate most of it, now it was only the leftovers, but my father didn't like it when I wasted it.

"Jayc, eat your food. It's getting cold honey," my dad interrupted my thoughts.

"That's ok. I'm not really hungry anymore," I stated. He gave me a worried look.

"Are you alright? You feeling ok?" he asked me as he shovelled another fork full of eggs into his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just, it feels a bit weird, you know? Being back home and everything."

"Jaycee, can I ask you something?" My father put his fork down after asking the question. I nodded. Knowing there were gonna be a lot of questions he would be asking, but I thought he had the right to know. "I just wanted to know. Where did you go after you ran away?" he asked sympathetically. I just stared at him. About to tell him the truth, just keeping a small part away from him.

"I went to another town. I hid there." I finally told him. That answer didn't seem to satisfy him, but he didn't ask another question. I knew there would be more of those questions later.

"Ok, we better get going," he mentioned. It was odd. I thought he would have more questions for me. I understand if I told them the truth, that he wouldn't ask me many questions. But since I told them I just ran away, I thought he would grill me more. I should just drop it.

"Jaycee! Jaycee!" the reporters yelled again as my father rushed me to the car on our driveway; but at least they were all behind the boarders. Ugh could they just leave me alone?
But, I had to get used to it. After all, I was the talk in Dalyville. Nothing ever big happened here, making me one of the first. As we got into the clean car, my dad started it up and let out a sigh. You could tell he didn't like the publicity; but I mean who would? If I was him, I would just want to spend time with my daughter without any distractions.

  The car ride there was pretty much silent. The heat being the only silence breaker. As much as our weather was becoming a bit nicer, it could still be a bit chilly in the mornings, and usually the weather outside warmed up more into the afternoon. I remember the old building I hid out in in Jackville was always freezing, considering there was no heat or anything. The days were usually not too bad, it warmed up a bit, but the nights were always the chilliest. It was very musty in there too. That building needed a good dose of fresh air. I tried opening the windows all the time, but it was either open them all the way or not at all. So I just left them; it got pretty chilly outside at night. Those were the nights I missed my home the most; but I would try and let the memory fade away. It got better once I found my friend. It was funny how we ran into each other. That's literally what happened. As I walked down the street in Jackville, I wasn't watching where I was going, and her the same. We crashed right into each other, and both fell to the ground. That's when we first met. She didn't seem to stick her nose in my back story, which I enjoyed. No one in Jackville ever pried in each other's lives, unlike Dalyville. No one questioned my back story, or my fake name. They just excepted it, which I liked. That's why I was able to stay gone for so long. Because no one was forcing me to go back. No one seemed to mind me there. That was until my friend found out about me, who I really was. And then that all changed.

  Suddenly the car came to a stop, and I realized we were already at the station.
Great. Slowly, I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the car probably looking more annoyed than how I felt; like how a kid acts when they don't get something they want. As we were walking up the sidewalk I thought for a moment to make a mad dash for the woods that were just feet away. I could just run and not look back. Like I did the last time. No, that's silly. I can't do that, Dad's here with me. What good would any of that do?

  A few times since I had returned the night before, I thought about running. Running away from here. I still feel like I don't belong. I think I've always felt that way. Like I should be somewhere else; but I know for a fact I'm leaving this place when I get out of school. Go somewhere far. I've tried going over it a lot in my head; try and break down why I've felt this way for so long. And I think it's because of what happened to me. I was taken away and that guy always told me I never belonged. He even tried to kill me. Now that I think of it, those are the red flags.

  "Jayc, you ok?" My father brought me up from thoughts below.

  "Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure. I'm fine," I assured him. As always, he believed me.

  I was impatiently waiting for Detective Holden or Carlson to come and bring me into an office as I was sitting in one of those ugly waiting chairs.

  "Why didn't you come back earlier?" my dad asked me another question out of the blue. I looked up to him before speaking.

  "What?"

  "Why did you stay gone for so long? Don't you know what you put me through? I was scared to death about what could have happened to you. Don't you understand that?" He started to speak in a louder, angrier tone; but quickly caught himself before going into a rant. Here it was. The arguing and questions I knew would come sooner or later. But why here?

  "I-I don't know. I guess I was just afraid to come back," I tried to get through to him what I meant. But he just gave me the sad, pathetic eyes like the other times. And then that was it. Silence again. This was getting annoying. But I don't want to fight with him. I just want my life to get back to the way it used to be. That's all.

  "Hi Jaycee. You can come with me now." Detective Holden came out from an office behind me with a file in his hand.
Thank god. Someone to save me from this defening silence.

  I quickly got up, as my dad stayed sitting in the waiting area, and I followed behind Detective Holden to the same interview room we were in the other night. "Have a seat." He motioned to the chairs that were surrounding the wooden table. As we both sat down he got the file back out, and also brought out the tiny recorder that was out the other night. I'm assuming he saw me eye it, for after that he spoke about it. "It's police procedure, we have to tape all interviews," he mentioned, probably thinking I was curious about it. Which I sort of was.

"So Jaycee, just to recall what you told Detective Carlson and I last time-" he started to speak after pressing a button on the tape recorder. "You told us that you in fact ran away the night you were reported missing because you were being threatened by individuals from your school. Is that correct?"

  "Yes," I gave him the untruthful answer. He started to write down again in the little pads of paper like he did the night before. "Why did you call me back in here? I thought I told you everything the other night," I simply asked him. He paused from writing and his eyes met mine.

  "I need to know the names of the people who were threatning you."

  "Why does that matter?" I shot back at him.

  "Because-" he paused. "I have reason to believe one or more of those people drove you out of town on purpose, and then faked your death," he responded to me. I was stunned to hear his theory. I didn't realize how perfect it was coming together. The lie I had told. It fit all nicely together. Wrapped in a tiny bow almost. I never planned for it to, it just sort of happened. Although, not to their knowledge, it was much more complex than that.

  "Why do you think that?" I decided to question, even though I knew why they thought that. But I thought it would look good for me to act clueless, so I followed along.

  "Well, it makes sense. When someone bullies someone else, the victim wants nothing more that for that person to leave them alone. Some just want it more than others. I bet one of the people you bullied wanted you gone, so they started to threaten you until you left. Then waited a year later to get some bones, most likely animals, but not enough to identify them. And then bury some clothes similar to yours right on top of the bones and then call it in as an anonymous call," he finally finished as he took a big breath.

  Wow. That was some theory. Better yet, that sounded like a great story. A great story that everyone would soon think was true. But what a shame that none of that was true.
Yet again, there were a few holes in that theory of theirs. I thought the bones they found were human? They had to of been. They would have known if they were animal or not, right?

  "Well, that's one theory," I stated. He then slid the pen and paper across the table to me.

  "So I suggest you start writing down some names."