So now we are sat in Dave’s car on our way to my parent’s house. Of course only Bertie knows that I am in the car. I really wish I was able to talk to Dave though, it’s really hard not being able to communicate with anyone. Actually, what would I say to Dave if I could talk to him? I guess I just wish he knew I am here, even if he cannot see or sense me. I wonder how he is going to explain all of this to my parents. Have they been told yet that their only daughter is dead?! What if the police are with them right now? How is Dave going to explain the mysterious appearance of my dog at his house, and the note, to the police? I haven’t thought this though very well.
For some reason I am getting more and more nervous the closer we get to my parent’s house. No idea why though, I can’t change anything that is going to happen, I just have to sit back and be a spectator in all of this. I have done my bit in making sure Bertie is okay, now what else can I do? I can only sit and watch events unfold. It’s quite frustrating not being able to do anything at all. I feel really useless and a bit like a spare part. Oh we have arrived at mum and dads. Here goes then . . .
Well mum and dad were shocked at Dave turning up on their doorstep with Bertie to say the least! I thought mum was going to turn him away from the door to begin with, the look she gave him when she opened the door. If looks could kill! But then again mum never really liked any of my ex-boyfriends, she just put up with them for my sake!
But Dave showed mum the note that I had put on Bertie, and she invited him in to show it to dad. Mum and Dad both agreed to have Bertie, seeing as Celeste had an ‘aversion’ to dogs. Dad read and re-read the note; he looked really sad and thoughtful. He passed the note over to mum, and asked if she thought it was my handwriting. Mum studied it hard while my dad questioned Dave on the circumstances in which Bertie arrived at his. After Dave had finished his account of the day’s events, mum looked up with a frown on her face and said to dad, ‘I think it is her handwriting, but something is a bit off, and what would make her write it like that, as though Bertie had written it? That’s not her style at all.’
Dad got onto the phone straight away; he rang the phone in my flat and then my mobile. Of course he got no answer. All three of them started to question when the last time they had seen or spoken to me was. I had last spoken to mum Friday morning before I went to work, arranging Sunday lunch.
Dad was about to ring the police to report me as a missing person, when the doorbell went. It was the police; they had finally come to tell mum and dad what had happened to me on Friday night.
‘Mrs Street? I’m afraid we have some bad news regarding your daughter Amy.’
‘Well you had better come in then.’ Mum led the two officers into the living room where Dad, Dave and Bertie were. Mum told the policemen that Dave was my ex-partner and that Bertie belonged to me, and that they had been just about to phone them to report me missing.
One of the officers asked my parents when they had last heard from me. Mum told them that I had rang her on Friday morning, making plans to come for Sunday lunch today and that I normally missed out on coming round for lunch.
‘I am ever so sorry to have to tell you this but Amy was murdered on Friday night on her way home from work,’ said one of the officers.
I have never seen anybody look as shocked or upset as my parents and Dave did. Mum burst into tears and rushed from the room and my dad sat there dumbfounded with silent tears running down his cheeks. Dave just looked shocked, but he managed to speak, ‘how, where, by who?’
‘On the corner of Blanchard Street, at about half past eleven, she was killed by a single stab wound between her collarbone and first rib; it punctured the top of her lung. As to by who, we haven’t established that yet, but we believe it to have been a female.’
‘How can you tell it was a female?’
‘From a footprint left at the scene.’
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