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<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(247, 218, 100)"><span style="font-size: 26px"><span style="font-family: 'Allura', 'cursive'"><b><u>Meredith Willow</u></b></span></span></span></i><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<u><span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'"><i><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(247, 218, 100)">December 1st</span></b></i></span></u><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(247, 218, 100)"><i><b><span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'"><u>6:25 p.m.</u></span></b></i><br/>
<u><span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'"><b><i>The Willow Residence</i></b></span></u></span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'">Red. It was all Meredith Willow could see. Every place her eyes dared to land, the deep crimson awaited her teary gaze. Her father's face, the front of his shirt, her own hands… The sticky liquid still felt warm upon her fingers, despite the fact that the blood in her veins had long run cold. She was trying to convince herself that the nightmarish sight of her father's limp corpse was only a dream. Just some sick, twisted vision from the darkest depths of her mind, but it was all too real. The pungent metallic scent that surrounded her was enough to remind her that this was reality. A sick, painful reality…<br/>
<br/>
Wanting a break from the gruesome scene, she glanced over her shoulder to the forgotten bag of groceries in the doorway of the study. The contents had scattered across the floor upon impact and created a mess of red and green sprinkles and cookie packets. Her heart clenched once more. Her father had asked her to pick them up on her way home from the college tour. The first Christmas season he'd had free in years, and boom— He was gone. <br/>
<br/>
Who would do something like this? She was aware he had a meeting scheduled for <i>six-thirty</i>, but it hadn't occurred yet. She lowered her head, her dark locks falling around her face like wavy curtains. This wasn't just some break in, she knew for a fact. The house hadn't been ransacked, nothing had been stolen… <i>Other than a man's life</i>, she thought bitterly. To her, it felt more personal. She squeezed her eyes shut and saw her father's body in her mind. <br/>
<br/>
He had been beaten before his demise. That had been made clear by the swelling that forced his eyes shut and the odd, unnatural angle of his nose. The brutality didn't stop there. Whoever was responsible had taken his fingers, leaving only bloody stubs behind on his hands. And she wouldn't even try to count how many lacerations he bore, varying in depth and length from his shoulders to his feet. He was… a bloody mess. She could still hear the rattling, raspy breaths from his throat so clearly, she was almost convinced he was breathing again in front of her. If these moments didn't haunt her for life, his last words surely would do the trick.<br/>
<br/>
<i>"R…Run, Merr…y."</i><br/>
<br/>
The idea that danger could still be lingering nearby made the hairs on her neck stand. Yet, she didn't move. Danger or not, she wanted to be with her father. She couldn't bring herself to leave his side. Not even to clean the blood from her hands, or to change her ruined clothes… Hell, a small part of her hoped that whoever was responsible would come back.<br/>
<br/>
Whether that meant her own untimely demise, or a chance to hurt them in return didn't matter to Merry. <br/>
<br/>
Tears slipped through her dark lashes as she rested her head within her palms. <i>God, help me</i>, she thought. She yearned for guidance, for a shoulder to cry on, or even just a simple 'things will be okay'. With that thought in mind, she knew she needed to call the police to report the crime. But she just couldn't will herself to move from the floor. She wasn't ready to say goodbye, even though she had only minutes prior. She'd begged, pleaded, and repeated how much she loved her father… She could only hope he could hear her in his last moments. <br/>
<br/>
<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(247, 218, 100)">Riiiiiing. Riiiiiing. Riiiiiing.</span></i><br/>
<br/>
Her head shot up from her hands and her muscles tensed at the sudden noise. Her eyes landed upon her father's landline telephone. It was strictly for work, he'd always told her. Only those he worked with knew the number— Not even Merry had it…<br/>
<br/>
She pushed herself up from the floor, now kneeling before the desk as she reached for the black phone. She wrapped her fingers around it and lifted it from the cradle. <br/>
<br/>
"Hello?" Her voice, soft like silk, was thick with emotion. "I'm sorry, but um…" She paused long enough to inhale a deep, shaky breath, "My father can't come to the phone right now…"</span><br/>
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