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his house he locked the door behind him.
Facing the white wooden door he tried hard to settle his breathing.
Something in the air had changed, there was something so different
in the mood of the house and he felt it straight away. He turned
around to face the hallway, but something stopped him cold. What he
saw that day would change his life forever.
    A bright flash of light dazzled Connor,
much the same as it did earlier this morning. But this time,
instead of seeing his mom smiling at him when his sight returned,
he was met with a much more horrifying sight. Martha Williams lay
on the ground, covered from the neck down by a white sheet. Face
down she lay; her body twisted so her dead eyes pierced Connors.
Frozen in place Connor stared at his mother, only a few hours dead,
her skin still retained its color, but her eyes had lost all life.
Unable to look away, Connor’s brain tried to make sense of this
dreadful thing. This was not his mother; not anymore. Instead, this
shell watched him through big glassy windows, burning itself into
his consciousness forever. Emotions bubbled up inside the boy. A
perfect broth of anger, confusion and sadness spewed out all at
once, melting into an earth stopping cry. Up until this point
no-one had seen Connor enter the house except the policeman who was
now banging on the door trying to get in. Not even the crime scene
photographer who was snapping mug shots of Martha noticed him
standing only a few feet away. The shrill, piercing cry of a
distraught boy announced his presence to everyone. Connor’s father
was sitting with a policeman when he heard the sound and ran to his
son’s aide. Hastily the photographer covered up the body, but it
was way too late for Connor. With his eyes closed tight the boy
wailed until his lungs were out of air, he then reloaded and wailed
again. Throwing his arms around his son, Andy Williams tried his
hardest to calm him down. Burying Connor’s head in his chest he
embraced him closely and together they wept. Andy already knew what
Connor yet didn’t, that this day marked the end of Connor’s
childhood.

CHAPTER 3

    Poor grades came as
standard with
Connor now, as did a lack of enthusiasm and general
unresponsiveness towards his schoolwork. The real shame in Connor’s
poor performance was that there was nothing to compare it to. Since
he just started grade 1 when his mother was killed he never had a
chance to excel. If it had happened a couple of years later, there
may have been an obvious change from A’s to D’s. But it never
happened that way. In fact, all his teachers knew about him was
that he always got bad grades. He never tried; was never willing to
apply any effort and was not interested in socializing with other
children. A tragic case; every teacher knew about his past; they
knew what he and his father had been through so they tried to give
him a little extra help wherever they could. The problem was always
that Connor wasn’t stupid; he just didn’t see the point in trying.
He wasn’t angry or rude to his teachers so really there was very
little action to be taken against him. He simply responded to
questions with his patented “I don’t know Miss” or “Sir” depending
on what grade he was in. Usually after the first couple of verbal
battles with a teacher (with Connor’s answer always unflinching)
they would give up and ask someone else. All Connor really wanted
to do was go fishing with his father. Today was Friday, and that
meant Saturday was only one more day away and the two of them were
going fishing.
    It had been over three years since the
death of his mother but Connor had not forgotten her face staring
right through him.
    “ The re was an accident” he remembered his
father telling him.
    “ Your mother t ripped and fell down the stairs,
she was already gone when I found her. She’s in heaven
now.”
    The vast landscape of Millbrook
Valley was a
favorite of his to come and fish with his father. The air was warm;
the