* * *
Alone once more, Alex Frost left Carlson Road and crossed the street from Anderson Lane into Cherry Avenue. From there on, she went up a narrow hill until she reached her home. There was no light coming from inside like there usually would have been at this hour. Instead there was a line of yellow police tape strewn from every side of the home’s vicinity.
Alex ducked and passed the barrier of police tape, then unlocked the front door with the house key she still had with her. She flickered on the indoor lights, surprised to find that they still worked. She went straight to her room, not surprised to find that there was nobody else there. The carpet was still stained in what was now rotten, dried up blood. And in place of her parents were lines of white tape to mark where they had been when they died.
She placed her hand on the spot of dry blood. It was cold. Any warmth that may have once been in this room, or for that matter, this house, was gone with the souls of Mrs. Dana and Mr. Jason Frost.
Her life was changing before her very eyes, in ways that she could not anticipate or control.
“Hey,” someone called from behind her. Alex turned around and saw a man in a police uniform.
“You’re not allowed to be here. Hang on a minute. You’re that Frost girl.”
He stepped closer for a better look, confirmed that he was right.
“You can’t be in a place like this.”
The policeman ushered her out of the house. He called Aunt Melanie, and they both waited by his patrol vehicle until she finally showed up. It was late at night by then, and Aunt Melanie covered her cold body in a brown overcoat. She apologized to the policeman for the inconvenience. He told her that it wasn’t necessary.
“Are you okay?” Aunt Melanie asked Alex once they were both inside her car.
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“I am.”
Aunt Melanie turned the engine on, and after a few minutes of driving she turned to the front seat passenger.
“Why did you go there?”
Alex, who was staring out the window, plainly said, “I thought it would make me feel something.”
Aunt Melanie, confused, said nothing in return.
“I have no soul,” blurted Alex, objective and emotionless.
“Of course you do,” retorted Aunt Melanie. “Everyone has a soul.”
“I’m not like everyone.”
“Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a soul. What is going on with you Alexandra?”
“It’s Alex.”
“What?”
“It’s Alex,” she repeated. “My friends call me Alex.”
For some inexplicable reason, Aunt Melanie dropped her sullen mood, almost gleamed right then and there. Alex wondered why, and then it dawned upon her what she’d just implied.
That Aunt Melanie was her friend.