urgent message prompt #6 contest

            The only thing pounding faster and louder than her feet on the stairs was her heart on her ribcage.  Susan could still hear the screams echoing through the house.  As her hand touched the door handle, the din from inside the bedroom died away.  She paused in confusion for a moment, before flinging the door open and charging into the room.  Frantically her eyes scanned around; over the muted pink walls covered in posters, along the purple and yellow shelves adorned with photo frames, books and tarnished gymnastic trophies, finally coming to rest on the rumpled white bedspread.  The room was empty.

         And yet the piercing shrill of her daughter’s screams still rung in her ears.  Susan bent down and pulled back the pink flounce on the bed, releasing a storm of dust.  Blinking and snuffling, she waved her hand in front of her in a futile attempt to clear the air.  Under the bed was empty, but for the spare mattress kept ready for sleep-overs.
 
She straightened up and examined the room again.  Movement outside the window caught her eye, and she rushed to press her face to the glass.  There was Mrs. Winslow, pausing to watch while Kimbles, the Maltese terrier sniffed at the letterbox.  The old lady looked up towards the bedroom window and made eye contact with Susan.  There was such sadness in those aged eyes, all wrinkled and watery.  Susan’s panic was temporarily suspended as she pondered the reason for Mrs. Winslow’s grief.  Neither woman was looking away and the connection between their stares intensified.  With a jolt, Susan realized the eyes looking back at her were not filled with grief, they were filled with sympathy.  Mrs. Winslow was feeling sorry for her.

         Her anxiety began to rise again as she recalled her daughter’s screams.  Susan pushed open the window and yelled down to her neighbor, “Mrs. Winslow, did you see her?  Did you see where Kelly went?”
Susan noticed a slight stiffening in the other woman’s posture.  “Sorry dear, what did you say?”  The voice seemed to be dripping with compassion.  It stirred something in Susan’s conscious - a sense of confusion - or was it anger?  “Susan, are you okay, dear? Would you like me to come in?”
Susan shook her head fervently, feeling her mass of brown hair whip at her cheeks.  “Mrs. Winslow, I can’t find Kelly.  I heard her screaming and now I can’t find her.  Did you see her?” she shouted. 
Mrs. Winslow’s head was tilted to the side and Susan was sure she heard her cluck her tongue with clichéd compassion.  What the hell is wrong with this woman? She wondered.
“Susan, I’m coming in.  How about we have some tea?”

         Susan knew she should be furious at her neighbour's condescending attitude, but something rooted her to the spot and rendered her speechless.  She heard the front door open downstairs as Mrs. Winslow let herself in.  Susan walked slowly to her daughter’s bed and sat down.  She felt as though her head was filled with fog and she tried in vain to shake it out.  Downstairs she could hear the hushed tone of Mrs. Winslow talking to someone.  She strained to hear what the old lady was saying.  “I am so sorry to phone you at work Anthony, but I think Susan is having trouble again.” There was a pause.  “No, no dear, it doesn’t seem as bad as last time, she seems to have calmed down a lot quicker.  She’s upstairs in the bedroom now.  I’ll stay here until you get home.”  Another pause.  “I am so sorry Anthony, this must be so hard for you after all you two have been through.  Don’t worry, I am always here for you and your wife.”
Susan knew she should be annoyed right now, but instead she felt awash with exhaustion.  She stared at her hands in her lap and realized they were filling rapidly with hot tears falling from her cheeks.  She looked up at the bedroom door to see Mrs. Winslow carrying a cup of steaming tea towards her.  She still had that infuriating look of sympathy on her face.  “What’s going on?” Susan asked in a pitifully weak voice. 
“Anthony will be here soon, dear.  Have some tea and we can wait for him together.”
Mrs. Winslow smoothed out a patch of the dusty, white bedspread and perched herself beside Susan.  They sat in silence.

         Susan wasn’t sure how long had passed before she heard the sounds of her husband coming up the stairs, but her tea was well and truly cold.  Mrs. Winslow met him at the door to the bedroom and they exchanged whispered words. 
“Okay, Susan, I’ll be heading home now.  Keep well dear.”  And Mrs. Winslow was gone.

         Susan looked up through her tears and cried “What is going on Anthony?  Where is our daughter?” He squatted down in front of her and clasped her hands in his.  The expression in his kind brown eyes wrenched Susan’s heart even more.  “Susan, please, I can’t keep doing this.  Please, you have to stop it.  Every time you do this it is like we lose her all over again.  This is killing me.  It’s been two years.”  His deep imploring tone made Susan’s tears burst out like a gushing dam. 

         Suddenly scenes began to flood her brain, each one illuminating like a flash of lightning.  She saw a bathtub filled with red tinged water.  She heard the ambulance sirens.  She smelt the clinical scent of a desolate hospital room.  She saw her beautiful, angelic Kelly with tubes coming out of her.  She heard the rhythmic beeps of medical machines.  Finally she saw a church.  The dazzling colors of a stained glass window were dancing over the coffin.  She could hear her husband’s sobs beside her on the church pew.
Her husband was still sobbing now, kneeling before her in their daughter’s bedroom.  Susan fell to her knees and clutched her husband to her.  They wept together.