“You don't have to do this, Audrey. Come on, we can work this out,” Becca says.

I contemplate this. But then I think about my little sisters face, and I know I have to do it.

“It's okay, I’ll be back before you know it,” I say, hoping this is a safe response.

“What am I supposed to tell your parents if you don't come back?”
“I will come back,” I say softly.

I hug my best friend tight, and hopped on my bike. A strange sense of calm washes over me as I peddle down main street and towards the outskirts of town.

Twenty minutes later, I arrive at the cliff. The river churns below, and the pale moon cast light on the rough waters. Hooded figures approach.

“You ready?” The gang leader asks.

I take a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

I step to the edge of the cliff, fighting to keep my balance. My heart pounds like a drum. I carefully place my hand on the metal bar at the bottom of the bridge. I can hear them laughing behind me, taunting me, daring me to do it. So I do. I slowly put my other hand on the bar, and shift my weight off the cliff. I slid my right hand over, and then my left. I moved each hand over the next. Each time it brings me closer to my goal.

When I near the middle of the thirty foot long bridge, I make the mistake of looking down. Violent waves crash beneath me, threatening to devour me if I fall. I transfer all my weight onto my right hand, preparing to cross my left hand over. But too late I realize the spot where I had place my hand is wet. My hand starts to slip.

No

No

No

No

NO

I cry out. My left hand is hanging by my side, so I turn my body and desperately try to get it up on the bar by my right hand. But it is in vain. My right hand slips, and I began falling the five hundred feet down to the water. I let out a piercing scream. I saw my entire life spread out in front of me, like pictures scattered across the floor. I am three years old walking in between my parents and holding their hands. I hold their hands and they swing me, and I let out a shriek of joy.

It's my fourth birthday, and my parents place a cake with four candles on it in front of me. “Make a wish Charlotte!” My mom says. “I want a sister!” I say, confidently blowing out my candles.

I'm six years old now, rushing down the stairs to meet my new baby sister. “Her name is Ellie,” my mom tells me. I carefully walk up to the baby, swaddles in my mother's arms. I look at her solemnly, my eyes full of stars and endless possibility.

I am eight years old now, sitting on my bedroom floor playing with my dolls. I hear a wail from downstairs. I get up and rush down the stairs. I see my mother, on the couch, sobbing her heart out.

“What's wrong mommy?” I ask, running over to her and kissing her cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” Tears begin to fall from my cheeks. My dad comes up from behind me and carrys me back upstairs.

“Honey, I have some very serious news to tell you.” My tears stop flowing and I look up at him.

“It's about Ellie.” My heart stops. I have always known that there is something different about her. Maybe it's the frequent doctor visits, or the fact that she can't walk or talk like the other two year olds.

“I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it. Do you know what cancer is?’ He asks me.

“I think so. It's what grandma died of, right?” I say in a small voice.

“Yes. We just went to the doctor, and Ellie has brain cancer. That means she won't behave like the other children. She is going to be very sick.” I look up, and see tears in his eyes. It's the first time I have ever seen him cry.

I am nine years old, up in my room, struggling with my math homework. I keep at it for thirty minutes, but I am getting nowhere. I finally decide I need help. I creep down the stairs and stand by the living room door. My dad is on the couch, pouring over pamphlets about disabled children, searching for answers. Ellie is nearly three and a half, and she can't walk, talk, or sit up on her own. There are many visits to the hospitals. My mom was leaned over her crib, talking to her.

“Come on Ellie, sweet little girl, talk to me. Say something to your mommy,” she croons softly.

“Just one word,” she pleads. Ellie’s eyes remained vacant.

“Jim! Why won't she talk to me?” She says, raising her voice.

“Goddamnit, why won't she talk to me!” She screams banging her clenched fist against the side of the crib.

Ellie wails, and tears started running down her cheeks. My mother picks up the flower vase laying against the coffee table and smashes it against her crib. She stares at the broken glass shards laying around and she bursts into tears.

“What have I done?” She asks.

She runs out of the living room and towards the staircase. I slide behind a curtain just in time. I watch the pale moonlight, reflecting on her tear-stained face.

I am eleven years old, sitting in the hospital waiting room reading. The words don't register in my head. All I can think about is Ellie.

“Charlotte,” my mother calls.

“Coming mom!” I get up, leaving my book behind. I follow her into Ellie’s room. She looks tiny in the hospital bed.

“I'm going to give you girls some alone time,” My mother says. I take a seat by her hospital bed. She looks so weak. I take her hand. Her eyes open.

“Charlotte,” She says. My heart shatters into a million pieces.

“I'm hear.” I say. We look into eachothers eyes. Suddenly she starts shaking, and the monitor starts beeping.
“Doctor!” I yell, and rush out of the room.

We almost lost her that day.

I'm thirteen, and in seventh grade. About midway through the year the notes start coming. At first they are cruel but harmless.

Get out of our school freak

-blood bath

Don't you dare tell anyone about this.

-blood bath

Your sister should die

-blood bath

About once a week when I open my locker in the morning a new note is waiting for me. At first they are easy to ignore. I figure it’s just some dumb kids playing a prank. But over time they gtt more and more threatening. I think about telling my friends, but then this note arrives:

Don't report me. The consequences will be dire.

-blood bath

Then the last note arrives.

Meet me at the corner of Ingrid and Belton this Saturday at four.. If you don't, your sister will die.

-blood bath

I didn't see any other options, so the next day I take the bus to where they had instructed. Graffiti covers the brick walls and there was trash and nasty smelling stuff everywhere. A tattoo parlor stood on the corner.

I saw hooded figures and I went up to them trembling. They look at eachother and laugh.

“She's a little scaredy cat!” One of them says. The others snicker.

“What do you want from me?” I say, my voice shaking.

“Saturday. 11pm. Meet us at the bridge by the cliff. You see, you will be our entertainment. We do so love to hear the screams of children. If you do not show up, well your little sister…” he slid his hand across his throat. “We’ll have to kill her. Are you in?”

“Yes,” I said, seeing as that is my only option.

And then, here I am. Seconds away from death.

In that moment, will never wake up again, or eat food. I will never go to prom with my crush, or get married and have a baby. I will never see my family. I won't go to my sisters funeral. I hear the silence. Then blackness.