Hazina's Revenge

I was twenty-three years old when my perfect life as I knew it came crumbling down around me. It all began on an eerie night in September. The eye of Hurricane Layla was only a hundred miles offshore, and we were already getting hit by its rain bands. The winds howled outside, making the trees sway and limbs hit the side of the house, as large hail came down in droves. I glanced out the window and nearly jumped out of my skin when lightning flashed in front of my eyes, making thunder crackle at the same time. My body trembled with nervousness as the storm raged on while I waited for my fiance to return home. That nervousness turned into sheer panic the second I heard a knock on my front door. When I glanced out of the peephole, I saw what appeared to be a cop standing on the porch. His brown hair was wet and matted down, and his green eyes were filled with sadness. Right away, I opened the door and greeted, “Hi, can I help you?” “Are you Hazina Cleaver?” he asked. “May I ask what this is concerning?” I warily questioned, feeling my nervousness skyrocket. “I need confirmation that you are Hazina before I can divulge that information,” he informed me in a professional manner. “I am Hazina. Now please tell me what this is about,” I demanded. “Is it okay if I step inside?” he asked. “Sure,” I mumbled, stepping back and motioning for him to enter. After I closed the door, he calmly suggested, “You should sit down for this.” The pit in my stomach grew larger from the inflection in those words. I dragged my feet to the dining table where I plopped down on the closest chair, then I gave the sheriff a pointed look and asked again, “What is this about?” “There was an incident this evening involving your parents,” he informed me. “What do you mean… an incident? Are they okay?” I asked with worry consuming me, knowing this must be bad. “No, darling. They are not okay. Your parents were gunned down, leaving their house. I’m afraid they were targeted, and I fear you might also be a target,” he informed me, keeping a straight face. Tears stung behind my eyelids, as I rambled in bewilderment, “My parents? Gunned down? Targeted? Why? By who?” I barely got the last word out before I broke down, sobbing loudly. I couldn’t believe my parents were murdered. They were the kindest people alive. Always helping others at any chance they got. None of it made any sense. “Miss Cleaver, I know this is tragic, but I need you to stay focused right now. I need to know everything there is to know about your parents,” the sheriff insisted. “What is there to tell? They were good, kind people! They would never do anything to hurt someone else,” I sobbed. “When I looked into their kin, you were the only one that popped up. Do you have any relatives?” he questioned. “No. Neither of my parents had siblings, and both sets of grandparents passed away long ago,” I mumbled. “Are there any close friends of theirs who might have had a vendetta against them?” he asked, jotting something down in his little notebook. “No! Not one of their friends would do such a horrible thing!” I shrieked, becoming more distraught by the second. “If there is nothing you can tell us, then we are flying blind here. I would like for you to accompany me back to the station, where I can keep you better protected,” the sheriff informed me. “What about my fiance? He should have been home by now! Do you think those bastards got to him too?” I asked with my anxiety reaching a whole new level. “I wish I had those answers for you, but I don’t. Once we get to my squad car, I will reach out to dispatch and have someone locate your fiance. What is his name?” he questioned in return. “Tristen. His name is Tristen Garter,” I whispered, while trying to hold back more tears. “Hazina, it might be a while before you’re able to return. Would you like to pack a bag of your most important items?” he asked with a sympathetic expression on his face. “Yes,” I uttered before getting up from the chair and dragging my ass up the stairs to my bedroom. Once I was in there, I grabbed the medium-sized suitcase from my closet and threw a few changes of clothes in it. Next, I grabbed all of my most important identifying documents and all of my prized pieces of jewelry. Some were given to me as gifts from my fiance, and some were gifts from my parents. With my suitcase packed, I returned to the dining room where I left the sheriff. He was standing by the window, watching the trees sway from side to side, and I could tell he was deep in thought. So as to not startle him, I subtly cleared my throat before mumbling, “I’m as ready as I’m gonna be.” One the way out of the house, Sheriff Carlisle reminded me to lock up the house. That’s how out of it I was at that moment. All I could think about was… who killed my parents and where is my fiance? After going through the motions of locking up, the sheriff led me to his car and opened the front passenger door for me. Once I was seated, he closed the door before quickly running around the car and folding into the driver’s seat. Keeping his word, Sheriff Carlisle radioed in the dispatch officer and instructed them to locate Tristen before he put the car in drive. It was a short ride to the police station, but it felt like an eternity. Several times, the wind blew debris in our path, causing the sheriff to have to swerve, and that did not help my anxiety. The hurricane having stalled off the coast was no good. It was sitting over the ocean, gaining strength by the second, and I feared it would bring even more chaos and heartbreak into my life that was currently crumbling.