Sarah woke up the same way she woke up every day: annoyed at being awake and in desperate need of coffee. Swinging her feet off the edge of her self-admitted massive bed, she reached for her glasses, though she missed and knocked them off the edge of her dresser.
"Oh, get fucked, stupid fucking glasses," she muttered to herself, reaching around on the carpeted floor for her glasses. She growled in frustration as, while reaching down, she bumped her forehead on the corner of the dresser. Raising her hand to her head, she complained, "Not my fucking day already."
After a little more fumbling, she finally found her glasses and placed them on her head, giving her the power of sight for the new day.
Now, with perfect vision, she looked around her drab room.
"Dad would kill me if he knew how messy this place was," she muttered to herself, making what she knew to be a false promise to actually clean it later. Standing up out of her bed, she flung the covers back over, giving the illusion of the bed being made. She attempted to make her way over to her closet, stepping over all the clothes that had been left on the floor instead of being put in the laundry basket located by her door.
This marked the beginning of what was possibly the longest—and most important—part of her day: What do I wear? she asked herself, scratching her chin with her index finger. "It’s supposed to be hot, so something breathable." She pulled open a drawer filled with soft, thin leggings she thought were perfect for letting air flow.
Glancing at the clothes hanging in her closet, she picked out a simple, non-offensive black shirt and slipped it on. She walked over to her mirror to take a quick look. Sarah, 33, had long blonde hair with a slight curl, cascading down her back. Standing at about 5'7", she was taller than average and wore black rectangular glasses, not just for seeing, but to accentuate her hazel eyes—her favorite feature, inherited from her mother. Her athletic build, which she took great pride in, was a testament to the hours she dedicated to staying fit.
She glanced at the small clock sitting by her bed. "Nice, only 20 minutes—definitely a new personal record," she exclaimed proudly to herself, noting that it was only 8:40 a.m.
Walking over to her desk, she picked up her final accessory for the day: a simple stone pendant on a chain. She had received it as a child, not long before her mother passed. Memories of her mother flashed through Sarah's mind—fuzzy and distant, as she was so young when her mother had last been a part of her life. The thought brought a small tear to her eye, but she quickly brushed it away, determined not to dwell.
She walked into the lounge room and toward the kitchen, where the smell of bacon and eggs wafted through the air. "Nice, bacon and eggs by the smell of it," she smiled to herself and made her way purposefully toward the kitchen, closing her bedroom door behind her.
Walking into the small lounge of their apartment, Sarah looked around. "Man, this place is a mess," she mentally complained, taking in the clothes scattered everywhere and the empty alcohol bottles on the coffee table. A small grin crept onto her face as memories of drinking and playing games the night before flashed through her mind.
"Hungry?" Liam shouted from the kitchen, pulling Sarah out of her thoughts.
"Depends on what it is," she shouted back, though she could already tell from the smell.
"Your favorite! Don’t act like you didn’t smell it," he called back in reply.
"Oh, before you come in, there’s a message for you on the machine," Liam shouted before Sarah could enter the kitchen.
They rarely used the old phone that came with the apartment, so Sarah already knew who it was likely from. The retirement village where her dad now lived insisted on having a home phone number as a contact method. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about putting him there—especially after his resentment when she made the decision. But she had been worried. Scared. If something happened to him, no one would be able to help.
Walking over to the phone, she contemplated just deleting the message. She didn’t feel like hearing them complain about how he had been short with another orderly checking in on him. It had happened a few times now, and she had tried to warn them that he was an angry old bastard when you woke him up from his sleep—but they never listened.
Sighing, she decided she couldn’t bring herself to delete the message and let it play.
A robotic voice echoed from the speaker: "Miss Larente, it’s Lester from Anteo. We have some rather upsetting information regarding your father and would like it if you could come down to the village to talk to us."
She immediately tried to ring the village back, but the phone rang out. Upon trying again, she was once again met with no answer.
"Answer the fucking phone!" she shouted in frustration.
Liam, hearing the commotion, stepped out of the kitchen holding two plates and walked toward the coffee table. He was used to Sarah's frustrated outbursts and wasn’t too worried when he heard the shouting, though he still felt like he should check on her. He knew, however, that she would probably bite his head off if she realized that’s what he was doing.
"What was that?" he asked, placing the plates on the table. He glanced down at the plates, pleased with himself—they each held four pieces of bacon and two eggs.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
"Stupid fucking retirement village is who left the message," Sarah snapped, anger clearly controlling her every movement. "They say there's some unsettling information they need to tell me, but they refuse to share it in the message, and now they won’t answer the phone. Looks like I’ll have to go down there myself."
"That doesn’t sound good," Liam replied, his voice flat as he dug into his breakfast.
"Will you be eating breakfast first?" he mumbled, speaking around a mouthful of food.
"It's good," he added in a pleased voice as he swallowed, yolk dripping down his freshly shaved face. Sarah looked over at him, feeling a wave of mild disgust as the egg dripped toward his shirt.
"Were you never taught how to eat?" she asked, frustration still evident in her tone.
She eyed the bacon and eggs, deciding that a couple of extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. Sarah walked over to the couch, sat down next to Liam, and pulled her plate towards herself. She bit into the egg and looked up at him.
"Where's the salt?" she asked.
He pointed toward the kitchen. Sarah grunted in response before getting up, carrying her plate into the kitchen. She placed it on the counter, pouring an obscene amount of salt onto it, then grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. After finishing her plate, she placed it in the dishwasher and prepared to leave.
As she moved toward the door, she paused and reached for the black hoodie that had been haphazardly thrown aside when she came in last night. The weather had been getting colder lately, so she figured it was smart to bring it along.
"You need company?" Liam asked, glancing up as she turned back toward the door.
"NO!" she shouted, then quickly stopped herself. "Sorry," she mumbled in a softer voice. "I'll be fine. My mind's just racing."
She glanced at her hoodie, then nodded. "Thanks," she said, before walking out the door and heading toward her little red car.
She broke into a slight sweat as she ran down the six flights of stairs, convinced it was faster than waiting for the elevator to make its way up and then go back down.
Reaching the underground car park, she made her way to her designated spot. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," she exclaimed. "Today is not my fucking day." Anger crept into her voice once again.
She walked over to her car and kicked the door of the vehicle that had obviously parked too close, slamming its door into the side of hers, leaving a large dent. "Stupid cunt," she muttered. Not having the time to deal with it, she quickly jotted down the car's number plate in her phone, then got into her own car and drove off, preparing herself for the 20-minute drive to the retirement village.
The drive was exactly what you’d expect—twenty minutes longer than necessary, full of red lights and shitty drivers. So, it’s safe to say Sarah arrived at the retirement village angry and ready to tear someone’s head off. After spending five minutes hunting for a parking spot, she made her way toward the admin building, taking out some of her frustration by repeatedly slamming the doorbell as quickly as she could. She heard multiple pings from inside the building, followed by quick footsteps approaching the door.
One of the receptionists opened it, asking, in an annoyed tone but still with a smile, "Ma’am, do you mind?"
Sarah eyed the young woman, glancing at her nametag. "No, Jenny, I don’t. Some idiot named Lester left me a message, then no one would answer the fucking phone."
The receptionist’s smile dropped as she seemed taken aback. "Ma’am, I will not tolerate—" she started, but was interrupted by a man walking down the corridor.
"Don’t worry, Jenny. She has a right to be rushed and frazzled."
Sarah turned her gaze toward the man approaching. He was tall, slightly heavier set, and dressed in a cheap, ill-fitting brown suit. She heard Jenny mutter something under her breath, but she couldn’t make it out and frankly didn’t care.
"And who are you exactly?" Sarah asked, her voice sharp as he drew closer.
The man stopped short of Sarah, wary of her, and replied, "I’m Lester, ma’am, and while I understand your frustration, I also won’t tolerate any kind of ill behavior."
"I also don’t tend to like being screwed around, but here I am, for a conversation you could’ve had on the phone," she retorted, her tone sharp.
Lester sighed, then gestured toward a room off to the side. "Follow me, please," he said, walking toward the room and glancing over his shoulder to see if she was following.
Sarah, feeling as if she might be taking out a little too much on the staff, followed and tried to calm herself. The room was blank, with just a table in the center—one chair on one side and three on the other.
"Please, sit," Lester said, settling into the chair on the opposite side.
Sarah sat in the middle of the three chairs and looked at him. "Sorry about my outburst," she began, her voice softening.
Lester shook his head. "It’s fine, I understand." He paused, then looked her directly in the eye. "Your father has gone missing," he said in a soft tone.
The words hit Sarah like a physical blow.
Sarah sat in silence, her mind racing.
"He went missing sometime yesterday," Lester continued, his voice steady but laden with discomfort. "The last we saw him was actually Jenny, the receptionist you bulldozed on the way in." He paused, then added, "He had some kind of doctor’s appointment. I don’t know the exact details, but I know he never showed up there."
Each word felt like a slap to Sarah’s face, the weight of the situation sinking in. Finally, she responded, her voice thick with anger. "I put him here so you could fucking watch him, and within a month, he goes fucking missing!"
Her words dripped with venom.
Lester sighed, his face tightening with the weight of her fury. "I understand your frustration—"
"Frustration?" Sarah nearly yelled, her voice raw with emotion. She stood, pacing toward the door. "Were you at least competent enough to notify the police?" she spat, her words sharp as daggers.
"Yes, we did," Lester replied meekly. "And they’ve requested we ask you to go and see them as soon as possible."
Growling in frustration, Sarah stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. “Stupid fucking place,” she muttered under her breath as she stormed toward the front door.
As she walked across the parking lot, she found a small rock on the ground. Without thinking, she picked it up and hurled it with all her strength into the grassy field across from the admin building.
The release of energy did nothing to quell the rising flood of emotions. Tears finally broke free, hot and fast, streaming down her face as she stumbled to her car. She slammed the door shut behind her, the sound muffled by the overwhelming noise in her head. Then, curling into herself, she screamed into the folds of her hoodie, the sound of her anguish barely audible over her sobs.
She remained in the carpark, crying into her hoodie for a while, until the tears began to subside. She pulled the hood up over her head, trying to hide the streaks of mascara that marked her cheeks. “Where are you, Dad?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as resignation settled over her.
She prepared herself to drive to the local police station, but then a strange pain began to form in her mind. At first, it was subtle, but over the next few moments, it intensified, building and building until it became unbearable. Sarah screamed, her voice cracking, and then—everything went black.
