Free The First Victim by JB Lynn

and armed.
    “Nothing to worry about,” she muttered. Even to her own ears she didn’t sound convinced.
    She shuffled toward the Big Room. She’d avoided setting foot in it since she’d returned home. Emily had always called it “The Big Room” because, running the entire length of the house, it was simply the biggest room in the house. Her father had called it his office and, even though it offered the best views of the lake, no one else had been allowed to enter unless invited. Being summoned there had always meant that she was about to be lectured, or punished or both.
    She sidled into the room, fumbling to find the light switch. She braced herself before turning the light on. She shielded her eyes, blinking furiously against the bright light. Then she squeezed her eyes shut to block out what she could see.
    It’s just a room, she told herself. Keep breathing. Open your eyes.
    She opened them.
    Anxious to get her bare feet off the cold floor, Emily hurried to her father’s old, overstuffed armchair and settled into it, without bothering to brush it off first. She knew that her imprint would remain there when she left. It pleased her to know she was making her mark. Curling her feet under her, she noticed that the chair still smelled like her father’s beloved Cuban cigars.
    She wondered what the important people in the photographs would think if they knew that the well-respected Family Dynamics expert had barely spoken to his own daughter for twelve years. During Emily’s formative years, Doctor Donald Wright had built his reputation as a miracle worker psychotherapist to New York City’s elite at his office in Manhattan. He’d only come out here, to the “lake house” as he’d called it, on weekends, leaving Emily and her mother alone in peace for the rest of the week, at least during the school year.
    He’d spent most of every July and August in Lakeside Acres, causing them to tiptoe on eggshells for two months out of the year. While she’d loved her father and had been desperate to achieve his approval, Emily had been the only kid she’d known who actually looked forward to the start of school, since the beginning of classes signaled the end of his tension-laden prolonged visit. For the rest of the year he only came up on occasional weekends.
    The memory reminded her of the last time she’d been in this very room. He’d come out for her high-school graduation and made a big public show of how proud he was of her. Wearing her cap and gown, she stood in the school’s parking lot while her father handed her a dozen red roses and insisted on taking a million pictures. Afterward she’d come into this room, uninvited, to make her announcement. “I’m not coming back here, Dad. I’m getting away.”
    Engrossed in a book he was reading, he hadn’t even spared her a glance. She could still hear the criticism in his voice. “Running away from a problem never helped anyone. You need to toughen up.”
    All these years later, the dismissive insult still cut deep, and before she could stop them, two big, fat tears spilled down her cheeks.
    She’d wanted her father to love her unconditionally; instead he only tolerated her when she put on a brave face. She’d needed him to help her feel safe, but all he did was ridicule her fears.
    Shaking her head in disgust, Emily turned her attention away from the books and her father’s stony countenance to the oversized bay window. It was too dark to see out. All she could see was her own sad reflection looking back at her from the glass.
     
     
    He sat watching her from across the lake. Emily Wright.
    She’d turned on the lights. Through his binoculars he watched as she curled into a chair, wiping away tears. The woman was always crying.
    “Buck up, Dollface, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
    As though she’d heard him, she looked out the window, right at him.
    Instinctively he ducked down before realizing that there was no way she could see him through the