Pam by Jacqueline Druga

take me away mentally to a better place. I expected to walk up to the house and see a family living there.
    I didn ’t expect to see the house over grown with trees, the windows boarded up and a sign out front saying, ‘ Private Property no trespassing.’
    It was at the end of the dead end street, a double lot. I t sat there for eighteen years. I suppose the horror story behind it made it undesirable.
    I stepped past the sign and onto the property. Immediately my mind flashed back to days of the kids playing in the yard. Running there.
    Now the grass was overgrown and high. To the right of the house was that bush.
    It was no longer four feet tall, it w as a forest . That bush was the same that I swore I saw a figure behind on that fateful day.
    Pulling into the house back then the figure caught my eye. But no one ever believed me about it .
    The neighborhood was quiet , and no one noticed me there. The gravel driveway was completely grown in and it was hard to find the path to the house .
    I stood before the porch, looking at the house. Setting my eye upon it immediately brought back the pain of that day.
    Was there something I missed? Some clue? Did I see the killer leave? But all the ifs, ands and buts weren’t bringing back my babies.
    I didn’t walk on to that front porch. I was su rpri sed how vi vi d the memories of that day were, how they all flooded back to me. I walked around the side of the house , paused by the kitchen door , and moved to the back yard.
    Buried beneath the jungle of yard was the swing set. An ache filled my chest and I flashed back to a better day in my mind. The first day we got the swing set. How excited Mandy was, she sw u ng so high then fell when she jumped.
    I was paranoid from that moment on about that swing set.
    Fearful my children would get hurt, so fearful. If anyone really knew me they’d know I’d never in a million years hurt them.
    The experience of being there w as far too painful. I had hoped that stopping by would jar a memory , but instead it jarred a world of hurt. Turning to leave, I saw the figure run by.
    Who was running?
    I raced forward as fast as I could . N o sooner did I round the front of the house, my heart dropped to my stomach.
    Sharon.
    I was conflicted. I didn’t want to see her, but I needed to. She had answers that I was certain she w ouldn’t verbally give, but when she looked at me, there as something going on in her mind.
    “Stop , ” I called out.
    She did. Slowly she turned around .
    She ’d aged some, but she hadn’t changed. Still wearing c lothes too tight, too much make up , and looking perfectly beautiful.
    She faced me with a ston y expression , and then the corner of her mouth lifted in a sneaky smile. “Hello , Pam.”
    I lost all breath and it took me a moment. She stood near the porch.
    I cautiously stepped to her.
    “I heard they let you out,” she said.
    “They tried to get a hold of you,” I told her. “I wanted to speak to you, but they said you weren’t answering.”
    “Did it dawn on you that I didn’t want to be found?”
    “Yes.”
    “So why keep looking?” she asked.
    “Because I need to talk to you.”
    Sharon laughed. “Are you still thinking I know something? ”
    “Yes.” I moved closer. “I need to know what happened to my kids.”
    “Then I do know. Take a look in the mirror, Pam. You’ll see the killer there.”
    “No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t do it.”
    “Still maintaining that. Just because they let you out doesn’t mean you’re innocent .”
    “Why are you here?” I asked hard. “ Huh ? Why?”
    “Perhaps the same reason you are,” she said. “Clues about that day. Only I know who the killer is. I’m just looking for a reason to send the killer back to prison or …a mental institute .”
    “I  ...” Strongly I pointed to my chest. “Did not do th at . Just ... like I didn’t do the other things.”
    “What other things?” Sharon asked.
    “Connie. Marion Blake. Mrs. Elms