Dealing with criminals is hard enough. I mean, you never know what they're going to do to you. They can honestly stab you at any moment if you decide to get too close to them, but this only applies to certain people. Thankfully, I never had to deal with that risk for over 16 years, but now, the tables have turned. 

He's back. He's here to wreak more havoc onto all of us, like he did 16 years ago. I have to watch my back, because if he was inhumane enough to do what he did years ago, then I don't know what capabilities he poses at this moment. But, I know I have to be extremely careful. Doing that is going to be extra easy when I have Mason and Sarah by my side.

"Ugh, my acne is awful!" Nathan says, as he scrubs cleanser onto his face. I'm walking beside the bathroom, with a basket of clean laundry, as he examines his acne ridden face. 

"Nathan, chill. Acne is a natural part of teenaged years. It's going to go away. Trust me, I also had really bad acne as a teenager. It will go away. I promise," I say, as I set the clean laundry down. I've definitely had those times when it has looked like craters on my face, but it's always gone away. 

Nathan continues to examine the numerous scars and drying pimples. "Ashmita, you're kidding. You outgrew acne, and you became so pretty. I'm never going to be like that," Nathan says. At first, I'm flattered, because he just called me pretty and complimented me on how I grew into a beautiful young woman. 

Then, I get kind of annoyed, because it's just like I'm transported back into my teenaged years, and that's less than pleasant. I roll my eyes, walk into the bathroom, and place a hand on his shoulder. He just continues to massage the soap into his face, and barely looks over at me. "You missed a spot. Boop," I say, as I lightly touch the tip of his nose, where a drying pimple is. 

He swats my hand away, and says, "You're so weird." He continues to examine the drying pimples to see if there will be any scarring. 

I smile, and then pat his back. "Wait a minute. You got a little soap right there," I say, and I lightly brush my fingers on the back of his neck, where I know that he's the most ticklish. 

He, of course, recoils at me tickling him, and says, "Gosh, Ashmita, no! You know I'm ticklish!" I take both of my hands and continue to tickle him a little bit more around the neck. He starts to giggle, and I continue to tickle him as he crumples to the floor. His giggles light up the hallway, and just make me smile and chuckle a little bit more. 

Sarah comes upstairs, probably to sort through the laundry to find her clothes, and she sees me tickling Nathan to the ends of the world. She stands next to the door frame, with a huge smile on her face, as I finally stop messing with Nathan. 

He gets up off of the floor, obviously breathless, and looks at Sarah smiling at him. "How long were you there, Mom?" Nathan asks. 

Sarah smiles. "Long enough. You guys are so cute. I'm telling you," she says. She flashes both of us a shiny smile, one that has been circulating for the past 15 years, and it just makes me smile a little bit too. 

Nathan adjusts his shirt, and says, "Mom, I'm 14 years old. I'm not cute." 

Sarah rolls her eyes, and says, "Whatever you say, honey. Ashmita, sweetie, the closet is looking kind of cluttered today. Do you think you could clean it out?" 

I walk into the room where I set down the laundry, and say, "Yeah, sure. I just have to finish up an essay for one of my classes, and then I'll clean it out." 

Sarah nods, and says, "Yeah, that's fine. I just need it cleaned out. It looks like the Arab Spring happened in there." I snicker, as I sort out the laundry for later uses.

***********

The sounds of Lebanese Arabic are coming from the bottom floor. I can hear it from all the way upstairs, and if Mason yells any louder, then the prime minister of Latvia is going to call and complain. I continue to type up my essay on my computer, and I realize there's one more thing to do. I have to look up Arjun on the news. 

The essay involves me going over the news report of a convicted murderer, and to voice our opinion on it. I open a new tab, and type "Arjun Patel," into the search engine. When I press enter, dozens of articles pop up in front of me. I click on the first one, and start to read it to see what it has to say. "

A man is being convicted of the murder of his estranged wife. Police say that 32 year old Arjun Patel confessed to the murder of his estranged wife, Jyoti Patel. He confessed to stabbing her to death more than 40 times. Investigators say that it was one of the most brutal crime scenes that they have ever witnessed and had to clean up. Investigators found the couple's daughter, Ashmita Patel, hidden in a cabinet just a few feet away from where Jyoti died." 

I'm reading, with my heart aching more and more as I remember that fateful day. However, something in that article doesn't add up. I reread the part where it says the number of times my mom was stabbed. It says that Arjun confessed to stabbing my mom over 40 times. 

I don't know exactly what it is, but something just doesn't add up. The nagging feeling inside of me just doesn't stop when I read that article. Something about how the reporter worded this just doesn't sit with me. 

Curious, I continue to read, to see what else I can see that doesn't sit well with me. "Patel is being charged with first degree murder in the death of his wife. Mrs. Patel was found with over 19 stab wounds to her stomach, 14 stab wounds to the upper chest area and 7 stab wounds and cuts to her neck. Details are yet to be released." 

I sit back a little bit, trying to process everything that just happened. Something just doesn't add up. For one, was he really counting how many times he stabbed her? Why would he confess all of a sudden? 

Things just don't add up at all, and yet, I can't pinpoint it as to why it doesn't make sense to me. "Ashmita, can you please clean out the closet?" Sarah calls from the other end of the hall. 

I sigh, lock my computer screen, and say, "Yeah, I'm coming, Sarah."

*******

My back is already hurting from moving boxes and containers. My nose itches with all the dust that it's been going through. I wipe the bit of sweat that's forming on the top of my head, as Mason walks by my room. He sees me cleaning out boxes and dusting things, and he smiles. "You're working really hard, Ashmita. Great job. Do you want some hot chocolate?" he asks. 

I look up, and say, "Yeah, that sounds great." 

Mason nods, and calls, "I'll put extra whipped cream!" 

I smile, and say, "You know me SO well!" I hear his hearty laugh radiate from the steps, to which I reciprocate. I have a few more boxes to go through, so I move onto the next one. I rip open the flaps, to see a stack of dusty, leathery books on top. I take it, blow the dust off, and wipe some of it so that I can see the writing. 

Of course, there's nothing on it, so I open the book to see what's written inside. On the first page, the first thing I notice is the fancy, almost calligraphic Gujarati script written on it. I look at it, and it reads, "Jyoti's diary, version 1," in Gujarati. 

My eyes widen immediately. I didn't expect Mason to keep my mom's diary in boxes hidden in the back of a closet. My hands dive into the box again to find the other leathery books in the box, and I open them to see what's inside. 

Surely enough, it's, "Jyoti's diary, version 2," and so on and so forth. I immediately start to get really excited. I know that these are probably going to be great research for my project, because there's nothing better than to actually get an input from the victim itself. 

However, at the same time, something also doesn't seem right. Mason would've definitely given me these. He wouldn't have hidden them unless there's something to hide in here. Knowing that someone is going to come up soon and see me, I take the box, set it down on the floor, and bolt to my room. I need to keep these for myself, because the research value for this is going to be really high. 

I open my dresser, and shove the diaries in there. I slam it shut, and then Mason comes near the steps. "Ashmita? Did a grenade explode up there?" he calls. 

I walk over to the edge of the steps, and say, "No, Mason! I just thought I was getting a call!" The lie rolls off of my tongue like a ball on the field. I don't like lying to people, but Mason would almost definitely kill me if he found out that I was snooping around like this. 

I walk back to the bedroom to continue cleaning out the closet, only to have one question nagging me. If Mason hid the diary entries because of secrets, then what would he have to hide?

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Ooooh, Jyoti's diaries! Something that could have some information, huh? It looks like Ashmita's already questioning the case. What do you think would be so vital in these diaries? Let me know in the comments. 

Hey everyone! How's it going? Also, to those who write on here (because I know there are some people who are strictly here for reading and that's it) , what has been the most hurtful thing a character of yours has said to another? I don't know, I'm curious. 

Yeah, other than that, I don't have much else to say. Hope you guys liked this chapter!

Please vote/comment/share/follow/message if you like my work! See you all next Sunday with a new chapter of The Secrets of Confessions! Have a great week!

Love you guys, 

Shree