"Hey, that's the house, right?" I asked, pointing to the quaint structure ahead. Arnold stopped for a moment, his gaze following my finger. The house was a beautiful gray with a curved roof, shingles meticulously laid in a graceful arch. There lay a welcoming porch in the front yard, adorned with some old but sturdy lawn chairs. A charming little garden bloomed beside the path, vibrant flowers swaying gently in the breeze. Arnold tugged on his backpack's strings, his fingers gripping them tightly. He responded, "Yes, Olly. That's the house." With a friendly yet forceful slap on my back, he sent me stumbling forward. I couldn't help but wonder. What's with his strength?

Arnold led us to the front door, his steps confident and deliberate. As we walked up the porch steps, Jordan plopped himself down on one of the lawn chairs, a relaxed grin on his face. He shrugged nonchalantly, "Hey, you two are the main force." I positioned myself to the right of Arnold, bracing for whatever came next. In his most 'normal' voice, Arnold spoke, "Hello, would you like to talk about Jesus Christ?"

We soon heard muffled footsteps descending from the second floor, each step growing louder and more distinct. That's her, I thought, anticipation building as I licked my lips in delight. The girl called out, "One second!" just before the footsteps halted at the door. Arnold shuffled closer to the peephole, his eye pressed against the tiny glass. The girl's sharp shriek pierced the air, and we could hear her hurriedly backing away. She wasn't quiet in her movements, her steps echoing through the house. Arnold waved his hand with a sense of urgency. "She knows something's up. Break open the door. The crowbar is in my backpack." The sound of the girl's footsteps heading back up the stairs reached us as I quickly unzipped his backpack. My fingers found the cold, hard metal of the crowbar, and I pulled it out, ready for what was to come.

I wedged the crowbar into the crevasse of the door, feeling the resistance of the wood and metal. Taking a deep breath, I raised my leg and used every ounce of strength I had, driving my foot against the door with a powerful kick. The sound of splintering wood filled the air, and Arnold clapped in delight as the door's hinges broke free. The door swung open, revealing the darkened interior of the house. I could almost taste my prize now. Jordan stood up from the lawn chair, his hands casually slipping into his pockets as he sauntered inside. "Come out, girlie. We just want to talk." he called out, his voice echoing through the empty living room.

A door slammed shut upstairs, the sound reverberating down to us. We all turned our heads towards the staircase, our eyes narrowing. Arnold, ever the commander, stated firmly, "Go." Jordan and I raced up the stairs, our legs pumping like the pistons of a racecar. The adrenaline coursed through me, heightening my senses. But in my haste, I misjudged the placement of the last step. My shin collided with the edge, a sharp pain shooting up my leg. I couldn't help but yell, "Oh, god damnit!" Jordan's laughter rang out behind me. "You clumsy bastard." he teased, his grin wide and mocking. I shot him a mean look, irritation flaring.

The hallway stretched out before us, dimly lit and filled with an unsettling silence. On the right, there was an open bathroom, the sink barely visible in the shadows. She's not in there. The lack of lighting cast a gloomy, almost hostile atmosphere over the space. Jordan moved cautiously, tiptoeing to the first door on the left. He crouched down, peering under the crack of the door. In a hushed whisper, he said, "This room is decorated pink and has some stuffed animals. It's most likely her room." I nodded in agreement, my heart pounding. My eyes shot open with determination as I positioned myself perpendicular to the door. I called out, my voice steady but menacing, "You can make this easy, or we can torture you."

The silence that followed was deafening, almost oppressive. No response came from the other side of the door. Frustrated, I yelled back downstairs, "Arnold, get up here, we found her!" Arnold's voice echoed back, "Coming, mate!" His footsteps were heavy on the stairs, each step adding to the tension. He reached the top and leaned casually against the hallway wall, his expression expectant. He looked at me and said, "Well, what are you waiting for? Break it."

I leaned back, charging up a kick. With all my might, I extended my knee, driving my foot into the door. It didn't budge. The door held strong, mocking my efforts. Arnold facepalmed, his frustration evident. "Use the crowbar, dude. The gift isn't around anymore." He was right. I had to rely on this tool for now. I wedged the crowbar between the lock and the doorframe, leveraging it with all my might. With a grunt, I forced the door open, the wood splintering and giving way. Pieces of wood flew, but nobody was hurt. The door fell to the side with a resounding thud, sending a shiver through the house. Jordan peeked inside and grinned. "There she is."

On the bed, curled up in a fetal position, lay the girl. She was wearing pink pajamas adorned with an elephant pattern. Despite her fear, she looked beautiful, fragile, and innocent. I stepped forward, trying to soften my voice. "Hello, my name's Olly. Nice to meet you." She didn't respond to me directly. Instead, she muttered to herself, her voice barely a whisper, "I left my phone in the kitchen..." The room was still, filled with the tension of the moment. The pink walls and stuffed animals seemed to mock the dark turn her evening had taken.

Arnold swiped me aside with a forceful shove. "Well, let's get this over with." he said, stepping forward with a determined stance. He lunged at her, trying to grab her legs. But she resisted, wildly kicking and thrashing. Her movements were precise and powerful, revealing a surprising level of martial prowess. In an impressive display of agility, she planted her feet against the wall and leapt off, her body twisting in mid-air. She fired a right straight punch at Arnold, her fist aiming squarely at his face. Before her punch could connect, Jordan swept in, intercepting her arm and pulling her punch off course. With a swift and brutal motion, he took her down into an ankle hold. "Shouldn't have fought back." he warned, his voice cold. With a sickening crack, he broke her ankle, the bone snapping grotesquely. Her scream of pain echoed through the room, filling it with a harrowing sound. Arnold's smile widened, a chilling satisfaction in his eyes. He turned to me and said, "Well, ready to do it? It doesn't matter, after all." Jordan released her leg, and she lay on the floor, no longer resisting. Her cries of agony had subsided into whimpers. I nodded, the anticipation building within me. I shimmied into position, the thrill of the moment sending a rush of excitement through my veins. I prepared for the deed. I just can't fight against this desire. The pleasure is so exciting..

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Later..

"Hey, Martha, should we just do a paper on GMOs?" I asked, my voice trailing off as I watched her reaction. Martha had already done a paper on this topic, though. I clicked my tongue in frustration and wiggled my pen between my fingers. She shook her head firmly. "No, of course not. Everyone does that. We need a unique topic." I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, trying to come up with something fresh. This paper, assigned by Professor Jacobs, was worth ten percent of our grade. It also had to be a minimum of four thousand words, which felt daunting, to say the least. Four thousand words is a lot to write for an agricultural degree. I sighed heavily, feeling the pressure. "Is there even a unique topic left?" Martha slammed her palm onto the table, startling me. "Focus, Damon," she demanded, her eyes piercing. I am focusing, though. I stared at my notebook, the blank pages mocking me. There had to be something out there, something innovative and relevant that would catch Professor Jacobs' attention.

I snapped my fingers, a sudden idea coming to mind. "How about insurance policies relating to farmers?" Martha looked to the side, her expression disinterested. "That's unique, but I don't think anybody cares." I laughed, shaking my head. "No way. Agricultural workers and its related industries make up ten percent of America's labor force. People certainly do care." She paused, a smile slowly spreading across her face. "Alright, maybe I was wrong. We need to be more specific though." I quickly jotted down the idea in my notebook. "We'll specify it another time. I got to go take care of my sister. There's my number; text me in a few hours. I'll set up another Google doc." She nodded, "Alright, see you later then." I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder and headed for the door. Just a few steps out, my phone rang. I paused, fishing it out of my pocket to see who was calling.

What? Caller ID hidden? I answered, "Who is this?" A deep voice responded, "This is the police. We need you to come home now." In the background, I could hear the unmistakable wail of police sirens. A chill ran down my spine. What? I didn't do anything wrong. I asked, "Why do I need to come home?" There was a brief pause, and I heard the person on the other end take a deep breath. Then came the news I never wished to hear, "It's about your sister." My heart plummeted. I hung up immediately, my hands shaking as I flicked the switch on my phone to put it on do not disturb. Rolling up my sleeves, I dashed out of the lobby, panic and dread fueling my steps. "Hey! No running!" the desk lady yelled after me. I grimaced, not bothering to look back. Shut the hell up!

I made it to the parking lot and hurried along the side, my mind racing with worry. A blue car sped past me, narrowly missing me. I barely registered it; my thoughts were solely on getting home. I felt sweat bead on my forehead as I dashed down the aisle. A few hundred feet later, I reached my car. I fumbled with the keys, unlocking the door and throwing my backpack into the backseat. I twisted the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. Without hesitation, I shifted into gear and pulled out of the parking spot. I must have been going at least thirty miles per hour as I sped out onto the lane. I pressed down hard on the pedal, increasing my speed as I drove down the highway, heading straight for home. Every second felt like an eternity as I raced against time, desperate to reach my sister, hoping against despair that everything was okay.

Turning down the street, my heart sank as I saw multiple police cars parked in front of my house. Please... please... I stomped on the brakes right in front of the house and got out of the car. Despair burst through me, my legs heavy with dread. Many policemen surrounded the house, and police tape blocked the door. I shut the car door and walked towards the chaos. A policeman approached me, his expression tense. "Sir, who are you?" he asked. I shoulder-bashed him, desperation and fear overriding any sense of propriety. "I'm her brother, move!" I shouted, pushing past him towards the door. The officer spoke urgently into his radio and reached out to grasp my arm. "Stop right there, this is a crime scene," he insisted. I shrugged him off, my voice cracking with panic. "Piss off!" I yelled, breaking into a run towards the front yard. Multiple police officers noticed my frantic approach and, misinterpreting my urgency, assumed the worst. They tackled me to the ground, their weight pinning me down. "Just stop!" one of them demanded, struggling to restrain me. I fought against their hold, my mind racing with terror. "Where's my sister, damnit!?" I shouted, my voice raw with emotion. The officer's face contorted into one of horror, and he responded with a heavy silence.

Amy...

A senior officer approached the scuffle, his demeanor serious and composed. Several officers placed handcuffs on me and sat me down on the sidewalk. The senior officer spoke calmly, "Would you like to know what happened?" I nodded, my throat tight with anguish. He explained, "Someone broke in and killed your sister. It could be many, or it could be just one perpetrator. We're investigating, and we'll find them."

I told him how I truly felt. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I spat, my voice cracking with emotion. The officer pulled out a cigar, lighting it as he spoke. "No. We understand emotions are running high, so let's focus on getting through this. Right now, we have her diary. We wanted to give it to you to help calm you down." He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the diary. I tried to reach for it, but then realized I was still handcuffed. "I can't grab it while I'm handcuffed." I pointed out. He nodded, realizing his mistake, and stood me up to uncuff me. The officer walked away, leaving me alone with the diary and my overwhelming grief. His words about giving me time to grieve were laughable. You just don't want to deal with the fallout. I took the diary from him and opened its pages. The diary was filled with random memories and happy times, until I skipped to the last page. "I feel like I'm being watched..." it read. I gasped, reading on. "This cult tried to recruit me today." A sinking feeling settled in my stomach. "A cult?" I whispered, scanning the bottom of the page. "Help me... Damon. The cult is here." The words were scribbled hastily, as if she had been in a hurry. She wrote this right before... Tears welled up in my eyes.

My muscles twitched, veins nearly bursting with rage. Madness emanated from my very soul. My arms flexed, fists clenched tight. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you!" I screamed in my thoughts, the words tearing from my throat like a primal roar. "No matter what end there is in store, I'll kill you!" My hands tore through the paper of the diary, the edges cutting into my skin, but I barely felt the pain. Blood trickled from my fingers, and I didn't care. All I could think about was vengeance. I'll send you to Hell!