Southern Heart by Madison, Natasha (best fiction novels .txt) 📕

I pull open the door, and I’m stepping inside the house, my heart is beating so fast, it feels like it is going to jump out of my chest. I turn the corner to the kitchen and see blond hair, and just for a second, I calm down until the person turns and I see that it’s Amelia.

"Hey," I say, my hands shaking now. "Have you seen Chelsea?"

"No." She shakes her head, and I’m about to go back outside when her grandparents walk back into the house.

Her grandfather is laughing now, and the minute he sees me, his laughing stops. "Have you seen Chelsea?" I look at him and see her grandmother gasp.

"Is she not back yet?" she says in almost a whisper, and the back door opens now, and Ethan and Beau come in.

"She isn’t anywhere out there," Ethan says.

"She left." I look over at her grandmother. My mouth is suddenly dry as the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

"Where did she go?" The panic in me makes my whole body shake as the back door creaks open again, and we all look over to see if, by some miracle, it’s her. But it’s only Kallie and Jacob. Their faces are showing the worry in them. "Where did she go?" I ask her again.

The tears start to flow down her grandmother's face as she wrings her hands. "She forgot my plate. I told her that I didn’t need it." I’m already one foot out the door when everyone’s phone starts going off.

I stop in my tracks, knowing that dread is coming. I stop in my tracks with this fear that rolls into me. I stop in my tracks with the rage that is so big I don’t know how to rein it in. Ethan is the first one to talk. His voice is low. "Alarm was triggered at Chelsea’s."

Chapter 30

Chelsea

I slam the door shut behind me as I make my way over to my grandmother’s truck. I know I should tell someone I’m leaving, but it’ll be ten minutes at max, fifteen.

I pull out of the driveway just as four other trucks start to park. I raise my hand to say hello to them as I drive by. As I make my way back over to my house, I take in the quiet of the roads. Sunday is usually quiet in general. Everyone is usually with family, or most of them are stopping by my grandparents’ house.

The sound of crunching rocks fills the truck as I pull into the driveway. Turning off the truck, I open the truck door. The soft breeze blows my hair back when I step out of the truck in my driveway. The sun is shining strong now, and I take a second to look up and feel the heat on my face.

I walk toward my front door when a movement to my side makes me jump. My heart speeds up, and I put my hand to my chest. Stopping to look at the trees moving just a touch, three birds come flying out as they chase each other. I laugh, shaking my head. "Smooth," I say, walking up the four steps to the front door.

Unlocking the door with the key, I turn the handle, and the cold air gushes out right away. I close the door behind me and toss the keys on the table at the front door. I rush to the kitchen, looking on the island where I put the crystal plate. The island is empty with only a cup on it. The sound of dripping makes me look at the sink to see the faucet dripping. I walk over and turn it off. My eyes go to the picture frame of my grandmother and me. It’s tilted to one side, and one of the bottom edges is off the ledge. My hand reaches out to fix it. I look down and see one of my dish towels is on the floor right next to my feet. Bending down, I grab the towel, folding it and putting it on the counter.

I look around now and spot the plate on the kitchen table. "That’s strange," I say to myself and then turn to look into the living room. Shaking my head, I walk around the island, and my foot hits one of the stools sticking out. I push it back into place and walk to the bedroom.

I don’t know why I’m expecting it to be trashed, and when I walk in and see everything is exactly where I left everything, I shake my head and kick myself for being so paranoid. "Idiot," I say to myself, going to grab the plate on the table. I stop when one of the shades catches my eye.

The white fabric moves from the air-conditioning vent blowing under it. That isn’t what catches my eye. It’s the brown spot I focus on.

Placing the plate back down on the island, I start making my way over to it. I pick up the sheer fabric in my hand and see that the brown spot looks like a dirty fingerprint. I rub it between my fingers and look out, seeing fingerprints on the white shades. I turn my head now to look out into the house as my eyes go right and left. I turn back around now, my hand coming up to trace the fingerprints I see on the shades.

I turn now, my head screaming at me to get the fuck out of here. I reach in my back pocket to get my phone out and come up empty. "Fuck," I say as I rush over to the counter and grab the plate in my hand. Turning, I rush to the front door, pulling it open and stopping in my tracks. As the blood drains from my body, I feel my head spinning as it catches up to what is happening right now.

I gasp the minute I spot him, and