I didn't leave the house until 2 months afterwards.
I threw on my shoes and slammed the door behind me, making sure anybody knew I was leaving.
I crossed town and came to the top of Whitestone Lane. two hundred and eleven houses up sat 211, the house that used to be home. I couldn't bring myself to put one step towards it. I went into the nearby park and sat on a bench, a grotty, graffitied bench that had once been a proud, expensive memorial of some guy named David Benton.
I don't know how long I sat there for. People walked past and looked at me. The town we lived in was small, world travelled. I felt the bench bow as someone sat next to me.
I turned to see a beautiful face almost drowning in cascades of shimmering dark red hair, and two bambi eyes behind a pair of glasses that complimented a face with such perfect skin.
"Hey," Said Wendy.
I didn't give a reply, I just buried myself in my girlfriends arms. Tears fell down my face, going cold as the wind cracked across my face like a whip.
We sat there for a while. I didn't want to talk. So we just sat together, watching families having picnics and laughing with each other.
"Are you okay, Dean?" She finally asked.
"No," Was my reply.
She kissed my cheek and said something about needing a drink and soon I was alone again.
Then I heard it. The laugh.
I knew that laugh.
A few metres away I saw a tall black kid, and a short, fat girl named Mitchell and Chelsea.
They were the ones who killed Danny.