The autumn leaves shone like blood against the brilliant sun—the perfect setting for a murder.
The afternoon set in, and as usual, Ariella was distancing herself from her foster family. While her fake brothers and sisters were running around inside the house, making noise and causing general havoc—she sat alone on the porch, repeatedly lining up her dominoes and creating winding trails of them up and down the woodwork. It was oddly satisfying, in a calm, subtle sort of way, stacking so many of them only to knock them all down in one fell swoop.
She couldn’t have known that this would be the last afternoon she spent on the porch of the Grant house.
Ariella was only eight years old, and she’d been through numerous foster homes before. The more strange and peculiar families she’d enter into, the more isolated she became. Being forced to live with strangers was unsettling enough, but to make things worse, none of her foster families seemed to want her for very long. Something would always go wrong; the family would be evicted and she’d be forced back into state’s custody, or someone in the family would die or suffer another emergency, or the family would return her to the state for some other unknown reason. Ariella had been with this family—the Grant family—for longer than anywhere else so far, and the situation was becoming tense. The family was dysfunctional at best, and this was about the time Ariella would be moved away again. She never lasted at any foster family’s house for long. Each day, her anxiety would eat away at her a little more, waiting for something major to go wrong, waiting for the moment when she’d be told, yet again, that she wasn’t wanted. Although she was used to it, it still hurt every time. With each new home, she’d hope that, perhaps, they’d be the ones to keep her, to accept her, to love her like their own—but that naïve hope never came to fruition, and she was beginning to feel and know that it never would. Each family disappointed her, hurt her, and cast her aside—and something major would always, inevitably, go wrong.
Ariella was unwanted—that was the long and short of it. No matter how desperately she craved and longed for a loving family, she knew she would never get one.
It was only a matter of time before the Grant family would find a reason to get rid of her, just like all the others had.
The Grant family was made of eight people; the mother, Eliza, was a skinny, dramatic woman with blonde hair, and she always wore two large hoop earrings and a heavy coating of makeup. The children were a variety of unwanted kids, just like Ariella—a five-year-old named Jamie, two eight-year-olds named David and Sarah, an eleven-year-old named Ken, and the oldest was a fifteen-year-old named Janet.
Eliza would frequently fill the house with shouts and insults whenever she and Janet fought. The fake mom was wildly unpredictable; one minute, she’d be screaming and cursing at a kid for getting a failing grade in school, and the next, she’d be smiling sweetly and offering to take everyone to the nearest fast food joint for ice cream. Ariella found her mood swings unbearable. Whenever Eliza approached her, she tensed up as of a time bomb had just walked into the room. The children weren’t much better, all of them loud and obnoxious, always finding things to throw at each other and dragging Ariella into their circle of bullying against her will.
Out of everyone in the Grant family, Ariella liked the father most of all.
The father was a kind, easygoing pastor at the town’s local church. His name was Edward, or as everyone in the town called him, Ed or Eddie the Great. And he truly was great compared to everyone else in his family, as he was the only member of the Grant family to show Ariella any real kindness, to ask her why she was feeling so down, and to comfort her when her fake brothers and sisters would torment her. He had a pair of bright green eyes, shaved blond hair, and a smile that looked much too genuine to be real. She could never imagine how or why he ended up married to someone like Eliza.
Out of everyone in the household, the fake mother fought with Janet the most. Eliza’s Bipolar Disorder and Janet’s rebellious teenhood didn’t go hand-in-hand at all, but Eddie would always get the brunt of Eliza’s temper whenever Janet wasn’t available to torment. He usually listened calmly and quietly, pouring himself a drink or making himself a sandwich for dinner while she yelled at him, often accusing him of ‘sleeping around’ the neighborhood. She even went as far as suggesting that he was having sex with the children in the house, particularly Janet. For some reason, Eliza was overly paranoid that Eddie and Janet were seeing each other, even though the two of them barely spoke to each other. It was yet another bizarre routine of Eliza’s that Ariella simply couldn’t make sense of.
It was bizarre; some nights, Eliza and Eddie would be cuddled together on the couch, watching movies with the kids and having a wonderful time.
But, other nights, whenever Eliza was in a bad mood or had one too many drinks, a screaming match would break out, and if she didn’t get a response out of Eddie with her loud-mouthed vulgarities, she’d resort to throwing things at him.
Whenever Eliza was in a good mood, she’d act overly sweet and motherly, calling everyone “sweety” or “hun,” offering to buy them something or take them out to eat, but Ariella knew to never trust it. The falsely kind persona the woman wore was always a trap, intended to lure her in and make her feel somewhat safe, or loved, or accepted—just so Eliza could spring pounce and attack once again. She knew there was a wicked, angry, and psychotic evil monster behind her foster mother’s wild brown eyes, and she would never trust Eliza no matter how much fake kindness she would display.
Even now, sitting on the front porch next to the screen door, she was able to hear Eliza and Janet trading nasty swears at the top of their lungs, their shrill voices echoing from inside the home.
Ariella hugged her knees, kicking over her dominos and gazing into the grassy field, which was now coated in autumn leaves. The grass out there was tall enough to engulf her legs now, as nobody ever bothered to mow the lawn.
The sunlight cast a deep glare over her head, her dark auburn hair shining as it hid her face from the world. Deep blue eyes watched from behind her bangs, observing the paved walkway leading up to the house, waiting anxiously for Eddie to come home. She didn’t feel safe here without him, especially not when Eliza and Janet would fight. So many afternoons she’d spent on this porch, staring into nothingness for hours, waiting for that fateful moment when the old blue car would roll up the grass and park, when Eddie would step out, and when he’d march up to her and greet her. It was the only thing she ever looked forward to, aside from visiting his church.
Suddenly—the screen door busted open.
Ariella jumped.
Eliza leaned outside, craning over her like a vulture.
“Ariella, sweety, will you do the dishes for me tonight?” the woman asked, flashing her usual empty smile. “Janet decided she’d rather go out and whore herself out for the town tonight instead of doing her chores!”
She was sure to turn her head back and scream her nasty remarks loudly enough for her oldest foster daughter to hear.
“You’re not my freaking mom!” Janet hollered from somewhere inside the house. “I just wanted to hang out with my friends! God! You could’ve just said no! You didn’t have to blow up on me! Jesus fucking Christ!”
“Don’t you dare use that kind of language with me!” Eliza screeched, stomping back into the house and resuming their argument as the screen door swung shut again behind her.
Ariella eavesdropped on them, remaining silent and not moving. She intended to do the dishes as she was asked, but she wanted to see Eddie first.
For a while, she gazed into the empty field, listening as her fake mom and sister screamed and threw things at each other inside. It felt like hours were passing her by.
Then, at last, the blue car rolled up from the far end of the driveway, shining in the afternoon sun—and Ariella finally felt relieved.
Eddie parked in his usual spot, climbed out of his car, and made his way onto the porch, adjusting his hat and kneeling in front of her.
“Hiding out here again?” he said sweetly.
He heard the ambient cursing of his wife, then sighed, his smile fading.
“I getcha,” he added, giving her a solemn look. “I don’t blame you.”
“Why do they have to fight all the time?” Ariella asked in a voice so faint, Eddie could barely hear her, as she was terrified Eliza might overhear.
“I wish I knew,” Eddie replied. “Well… it’s kinda normal for someone Janet’s age, and Eliza… she’s not completely ‘there’ all the time.” He tapped his finger to his temple. “Sometimes, she’s not all there. She has a few mental problems. You know what that means?”
Ariella nodded.
Then—the screen door flew open again.
Eliza glared out at Eddie and Ariella, this time not bothering to plaster on a fake smile.
“I told you to do the dishes, Ariella,” the woman snapped. “Get off your lazy butt and do what you’re told— now . All the other kids have to do their chores before bedtime. You ain’t no better than they are.”
“I’m talking to her right now,” Eddie stated. “And I thought Janet was supposed to do the dishes. Why’re you having Ariella do it? She’s only eight. Dishes is a chore for an older kid.”
“Oh, little miss Janet has decided that she doesn’t care about this family enough to do her part,” Eliza grouched loudly, turning her head and announcing her remarks throughout the house again, most assuredly angering Janet even more. “She doesn’t want to do her chores tonight. So, someone else is gonna have to pick up the slack, while Janet is well on her way to earning a one-way ticket back into state’s custody !”
“ Fuck you !” Janet screamed from the kitchen.
Ariella embraced her knees and hid inside her arms, and Eddie looked down, shaking his head.
Eliza inhaled and prepared to lash out at Janet again, but she hesitated, instead turning her focus back to Ariella.
“Go do your chores,” the fake mother ordered. “Or you’re not leaving the house for a week. Do you like being grounded, Ariella? ‘Cause I won’t just take away your outdoor privileges and your TV time. I will take everything —including all your books and your retarded little dominos.”
“Stop,” Eddie ordered his wife. “Now, that is really enough. Ariella didn’t do anything.”
“Ex cuse me?” Eliza planted a hand on her hip, rolling her neck and raising her thin brows, staring challengingly into her husband.
Eddie merely returned the stare, thoroughly unfazed—but Ariella was growing incredibly anxious, her breath instantly cut thin, her heart beginning to pound.
Whenever the fake mother would chant an exaggerated excuse me , it meant that absolute hell was just about to break loose. Those two words, in this household, were reminiscent of a siren that warned of oncoming crisis—and whenever she heard them, Ariella knew to duck and cover in preparation for the bomb that was surely about to go off.
“Just have Ken do the dishes,” Eddie suggested, trying to diffuse her. “He’s at least tall enough to see over the kitchen counter.”
“Um. No. You’re not hearing me,” Eliza growled. “I told Ariella to do the dishes, and she decided to just sit out here and ignore me. And that’s fine for you? It’s okay if the children don’t do what they’re told?”
“You’re being insanely dramatic,” Eddie exhaled, already sounding exhausted with the conversation. “Don’t you think the kids would listen to you more if you stopped cussing at them and calling them names?”
Ariella cringed, not daring to observe the bizarre look of fury strewn across the fake mother’s face. He’d done it now…
Eliza’s mouth opened wide, almost as if the demon inside was readying to escape from within.
Just then, Ariella and Eddie were saved; Eliza heard something shatter in the kitchen, followed by a string of furious swearwords from Janet.
The fake mother whirled around and stormed back into the house, grabbing Janet by the wrists and wrestling her away from the dishes, though Janet had already shattered many of them on the countertop by the time Eliza reached her.
Ariella and Eddie stared at each other, both wearing the same tired expression.
“I hate her,” Ariella said without thinking. “I wish she was dead.”
Eddie tried to reply, but he fell momentarily speechless. Then, he let out a breath, his visage heavy with deep, saddened concern.
“You don’t mean that, Ariella,” he said softly.
“Yes I do,” Ariella replied, sounding and feeling more confident than usual. “I wish she would die. We’d all be happier if she was dead.”
Eddie sighed again and took her into his arms, giving her a close, loving hug.
Ariella lay on his chest, comforted by the gentle heartbeat of her foster father.
She would’ve held him longer if she knew it would be their very last hug.
“Don’t worry about doing the dishes, okay?” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, his eyes gazing kindly into hers. “You can stay out here, or you can go upstairs and hang out in your room, whichever you want. I’ll go talk to her.”
Ariella nodded.
Eddie gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, reached his feet, and marched into the house.
Ariella decided to follow him, slipping stealthily past the kitchen and creeping up the stairs as quietly as possible, leaving the scene of the screaming and shattered porcelain behind as she headed off to her room.
Her bedroom wasn’t really hers; it belonged to Janet, and it was decorated with band posters and Gothic décor. The lamp by the teenager’s nightstand had a purple bulb instead of a regular one, and she had another black light hanging over her desk. The bedroom looked beautifully alternative, and Janet rarely ever used the light switch, as she preferred the room to glow an ominous neon purple. All of the children shared rooms, and Janet and Ariella shared this one—Janet’s bed up against the wall, Ariella’s foldable mattress sitting a few feet away, a single cluttered nightstand separating the two.
Ariella was thankful that Janet wasn’t in the room right now, always pleased to find some solitude in the house. She curled up on her tiny bed, sealing herself away in her old blanket and trying to block out the distant screaming with her pillow.
Eliza and Janet weren’t the ones screaming downstairs anymore. The fight now consisted of Eliza and Eddie, but Janet’s voice could no longer be heard.
Then, to Ariella’s dismay—Janet bashed the bedroom door open and stomped inside the bedroom, the doorknob breaking a hole in the bedroom’s wall and ruining one of her posters, but she didn’t seem to care. She stopped at her desk, brushing her long brunette hair in a quick and almost violent fashion, her face twisted up in anger.
“Bitch has been drinking way too fucking much tonight—surprise, surprise,” Janet complained. “She downed that whole fucking bottle of tequila. All I did was ask if I could hang out with my friends tonight, and she totally fucking flipped on me. She’s a fucking psycho.”
Ariella didn’t reply, though she silently agreed with her foster sister.
“She’s still making drinks, too,” Janet went on. “She was pouring herself shots while she was screaming at me. Take a shot, call me names. Take a shot, scream at me. Take a shot, call me a whore. Yeah. She’s a great fucking foster mother, isn’t she? I don’t know how she’s allowed to take care of so many kids. She’s a goddamn nutcase.”
“Yup,” Ariella murmured.
When Janet finished brushing her hair, she stuffed her brush into her school backpack, then began collecting her makeup and loose articles of clothing and shoving them into the bag as well. She left the room briefly, then returned with a toothbrush and a bottle of toothpaste and packed them away with the rest.
Ariella sat upright, watching her closely. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m getting the fuck outta here,” Janet told her. “I’m sick of her crazy bullshit.”
Ariella blinked. “You’re running away?”
“Yup,” Janet nodded, slipping into one of her leather jackets. “Wanna come?”
“Where’re you gonna go?” Ariella asked.
Janet shrugged. “I might go to a friend’s house. It doesn’t matter. Anywhere’s better than here. You can come with me if you want.”
Ariella considered it, wanting to agree, but the thought of running away was far too intimidating. Many things could go wrong if she tried something so drastic. Janet was older, and she knew what she was doing, at least to some extent—but Ariella wouldn’t know how to survive on her own, and she certainly didn’t have any family or friends to go to for help.
“No,” Ariella mumbled. “I can’t.”
“You sure?” Janet wondered. “I’ve got a few friends who might let us stay with them.”
Ariella shook her head. “I can’t…”
“Okay, suit yourself.”
Janet strapped on her backpack, opened her window, and stepped halfway through it, giving Ariella one last glance and a brief little wave before grabbing a nearby tree branch and pulling herself out of the house. Janet then climbed down the tree and made her getaway—leaving Ariella alone in the bedroom, listening to the ambiance of bickering adults downstairs.
For a while, she tried her best to sleep through the noise.
The sun had set, a breezy twilight taking its place outside, the sweetly scented air gusting into the room from the window Janet had left open.
It was unusual to hear Eddie shout back at Eliza, but from what Ariella could hear, he was tired of simply listening. She wondered how long it would take for them to notice Janet’s disappearance. They probably wouldn’t even realize she was gone until sometime tomorrow.
Time passed.
Ariella lay restlessly in bed, the distant echo of screaming and cursing unsettling her more and more. She hated hearing Eddie so upset, and the insults Eliza spewed at him were getting nastier by the minute.
“You’re screwing her, aren’t you?!” she heard Eliza shriek. “That little bitch is out of here!”
“Oh— for God’s sake !” Eddie exploded. “You cannot be serious. Do you really think I’d touch Janet? Do you really think I’d touch any child?!”
“What about that bitch from church? What the fuck is she bringing you cookies for?!”
“She brought them for the service!”
“Oh, puh- lease ! You’re fucking her !”
“ That’s enough !”
The two continued trying to holler over each other.
Ariella, far too anxious to fall sleep, inched out of her bed, stepped into the hallway, and tip-toed down the stairs.
And as she did—with every soft step and with every slight movement, she felt a strange static-like sensation slither down her spine, slowly drawing nearer and feeling as if she was encroaching upon something far darker than a simple argument. The sensation of a slow-rising dread felt stronger than her usual anxiety, feeling as if a grave oncoming storm was just around the corner, as if she’d never forget any minor detail of the staircase, or the nervousness, or the shouting, or the darkening of the windows out front, though she couldn’t have yet known why.
Ariella continued to move forward as silently as a shadow, the space beyond the stairs slowly coming into view just before her, the empty living room off to the right, the front door directly opposite her, and the light from the kitchen shining from around the left corner.
The screams grew louder as she stepped off the final stair, inhaling deeply and trying to force down all the peculiar dread that seemed to have arisen out of nowhere.
She then slowly peeked into the kitchen from around the corner; Eddie was standing at the end of the bar, hands balled into fists, his back facing Ariella. Eliza was on the other side of the kitchen, pouring an amber-colored liquid into a small glass. She turned it up, gulped the whiskey, and slammed the glass back down.
“How much have you had …?” Eddie asked. “ Please stop drinking. Especially right after you take your medication. You know better.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I was allowed to do at least one thing to make me happy. God knows you won’t. You and these damn kids.”
“Stop talking about the kids like that.”
“Shut the fuck up, Ed.”
The other children had already retreated to their bedrooms, hoping to hide away from all of the fighting, as they usually did.
Ariella didn’t know what possessed her to behave differently tonight, to approach the two adults and spy on them, but she remained hidden at the bottom of the stairway, observing Eddie and Eliza and wanting to help her foster father somehow, her heart pounding roughly. She could only imagine what kind of hell she’d face if the fake mother caught her eavesdropping…
“I’m kicking the little whore out,” Eliza said pompously, pouring another shot. “And I don’t give a flying fuck what you say. Janet’s going straight back into state’s custody.”
“Good God. I don’t know how you can be so threatened by a fifteen-year-old ,” Eddie retorted. “Are you not even taking your meds anymore? Seriously, what is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me ? You’re the one going around fucking everyone in town.”
“No I’m not!”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Ed!”
“I am not lying!”
“YES YOU ARE! I’M TIRED OF YOUR BULLSHIT!”
“I’M TIRED OF YOUR DAMN ATTITUDE!”
“FUCK YOU! I’M KICKING THE BITCH OUT AND THAT’S ALL THERE IS TO IT!”
“NO YOU’RE NOT!”
“WATCH ME!”
“YOU ARE NOT KICKING ANYONE OUT! NOT WHILE I’M HERE!”
“OH—FINE! FINE, ED! I WON’T KICK HER OUT! YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT I’M GONNA DO? I’M GONNA GO UP THERE— AND I’M GONNA PUT HER ASS TO BED !”
Eliza began rifling frantically through one of the drawers in the kitchen—pulling out a small silver revolver.
Ariella’s heart might’ve stopped.
Eliza popped the gun open and managed to put three bullets into the chamber before Eddie snapped his hands around her wrists, trying his best to restrain her—jerking her arms around and trying to wrestle the gun away from her.
The two of them fought and struggled, Ariella’s heart now hammering with terror.
Eliza and Eddie rolled over the counter, knocking over the toaster, the coffee pot, and several dishes—the chamber clicking into place as the gun hit the countertop—
Then—Eliza shoved herself into Eddie’s midsection and—
BANG.
Ariella gasped—jerking around the corner and clamping her hands over her mouth, her breaths thin and rapid, eyes filling with tears.
Eliza watched as Eddie’s mouth fell agape, his eyes widening with shock and horror, his hands beginning to shake. The front of his pastor outfit slowly became stained with a thick blotch of crimson, his energy abandoning him, his muscles refusing to cooperate any longer. He tried to keep fighting, tried to reach for the gun, though his body began to go limp, his energy draining rapidly and his limbs refusing to cooperate any longer. He clasped onto the side of the counter, but his legs soon gave out—and Eddie collapsed awkwardly to the kitchen floor, still, motionless, and dying at Eliza’s feet.
Ariella couldn’t bring herself to peek around the corner again.
That couldn’t have happened—could it?
Was she dreaming?
Was she imagining how her life with the Grant family would end, yet again playing a drastic worst-case-scenario in her mind?
A few moments went by, which seemed to stretch on for years.
Ariella stood stiff as a board behind the corner, not moving an inch, not making a sound, nearly too scared to breathe.
Eliza loomed over Eddie’s body, heaving big and rushed breaths, blowing a strand of her blonde bangs from her face as she quietly processed what she’d done. She didn’t react with a hint of sadness or remorse, merely glaring down at her dead husband with a cold, unfeeling stare.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell sounded—nearly making Ariella jump from her skin.
Eliza glanced at the front door, then at Eddie’s body, then back.
When nobody answered the bell, the person outside began to knock. They bashed their fist into the door over and over again, and then, Ariella heard a voice from outside.
“What’s going on in there? I heard gunfire—open the door.”
The stranger knocked relentlessly, yelling for someone to answer, but of course, no one did.
Suddenly—Eliza stepped over Eddie and thundered toward the stairs.
Ariella’s heart skipped several beats at once; Eliza planned to shoot Janet next, but she wouldn’t find the teenager in her bedroom. Janet was long gone by now. Instead, she’d run into Ariella—the only witness to the murder of Edward Grant.
When Eliza whipped around the corner—she stopped dead, surprised to see Ariella there.
The foster mother instantly became enraged; she took Ariella by the hair and yanked her violently toward the living room—throwing her onto the glass coffee table and shattering it.
Ariella let out a piercing scream, her head throbbing madly and going light, her face and arms suddenly bleeding from several places, her cries echoing from the Grant household as the shock and terror soon overwhelmed her. Her vision blurred—though she was just able to see Eliza standing over her, looking maniacal, her eyes wild, her tied-up hair falling apart, her teeth clenched, and her mouth unraveling into a sick, demonic smile.
Petrified with fear, Ariella stared groggily upward, gazing down the barrel of the revolver and sobbing hysterically.
Then—the front door busted loudly open, shards of wood flying amok.
A man charged into the home with haste—stern—faced and severe, his long tan overcoat shifting at his heels, his eyes burning a fiery blue, and he carried a .45 pistol in a manner far too professional for any ordinary bystander.
Eliza jumped, gaping at the man.
The stranger scanned over the situation and quickly took action; he let off a series of deafening shots, the muzzle flashes lighting up the house, bullets tearing ruthlessly through Eliza Grant.
Ariella’s hands were clamped over her ears. She couldn’t hear herself crying over the sound of the gunshots.
It wasn’t until sometime after the massacre ended, and sometime after she heard Eliza’s body hit the floor, a morbid silence fell, and she dared to cautiously ease her eyes open.
Combat boots stood about a foot away from her face, black ones, both of them covered in clumps of mud.
Her gaze slowly ventured upward, seeing the end of a long tan trench coat. Under the trench coat was a pair of black pants, followed by a black suit jacket, a white undershirt, and a dark red tie. The man had short black hair that was about an inch long, and he had a wide face with a sharp jaw, his expression looking as if it always wore a rather serious visage. He glared at Eliza’s body for a moment, then lowered his gun, turning his gaze onto the wounded young girl.
Ariella sat whimpering in the pool of glass, not yet realizing that she’d been cut deeply in many places, gazing up fearfully at the man as her head continued to spin.
“Is anyone else here?” the man asked, his voice a faint, raspy growl, though his tone carried no hint of anger. “Anyone else with a gun? Anyone else who’s dangerous?”
Ariella sniffed and shook her head.
The man nodded, slipping the pistol into its holster and kneeling down in front of her.
Ariella whimpered and backed away, scraping her palm against a large shard of glass as she did.
The man held up a hand, falling still and watching her, waiting for any sign of trust.
Ariella fought the urge to explode into tears again, trembling from head to toe as the grave severity and sorrow of it all overcame her.
She knew it was about that time again, time for something major to go wrong in her home, time for her to be discarded, and pushed away, and shipped off to state’s custody… but she never thought that the dark, dysfunctional endeavors that always ended her time in a foster home could become so very terrible and horrific, and so without warning, it all was…
“It’s okay,” the man assured. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Ariella blinked, suddenly brought back to reality by the man’s words.
She couldn’t know if he was lying, but this man, whoever he was, had most assuredly just saved her life. He was the only person she could possibly trust now, now that Eddie was gone forever.
The cries returned to her, and she buried her face in her hands, smearing blood on her cheeks as she sobbed quietly into her palms.
The man reached out to her, but then he hesitated, turning and narrowing his eyes at the stairs.
Ken, Jamie, David, and Sarah were all huddled together at the bottom of the stairway, each of them looking positively mortified, trading gasps of shock and pointing at the corpses of their foster parents.
“Go upstairs,” the man told them. “Pack up all your belongings. The police will be here any second. Time to go.”
Ken, the oldest of the four, was trying to pull the children away from the grisly sight. The other three began to cry, but he managed to escort them all upstairs.
The man turned to Ariella again, taking her by the arms and gently pulling her to her feet. She was shaking so badly, she could barely stand, so he decided to scoop her up off the floor, carrying her out the door and cradling her like an infant.
As expected—the night had brightened by the sight of flashing red and blue.
Police cars rolled over the tall grass, covering most of the front yard. Only one of the cars parking across the Grant family’s property lacked all of the lights and décor of an average police car, and it was a vehicle that Ariella’s savior recognized, a dark maroon four-door that belonged to a certain detective.
Policemen began to swarm the scene, storming into the house with their guns drawn, shoving past Ariella and the man carrying her. From the dark maroon car, a middle-aged man calmly stepped out. He wore a dark blue overcoat, his black hair slicked backward, a cigar protruding from his mouth. This man—Detective William Lumis—strolled onto the scene with ease, unlike his trigger-finger counterparts.
“So,” Lumis said, stopping in front of the man carrying Ariella. “You wanna tell me what happened, Vance?”
Ariella’s savior—Vance—took in a deep breath. “Something went down. I had to get involved.”
Lumis’s eyes drifted down to the girl he carried, surveying the deep gashes on her arms. “What happened to her?”
“She fell on a glass coffee table,” Vance explained. “The mother was gonna kill her. She’d already shot someone else before I got in. Looked like the husband.”
Lumis took a puff from his cigar. “You’re supposed to be next door.”
“I was next door,” Vance told him. “Didn’t find anything there. The dealers left the neighborhood. The house was cleaned out. When I came outside, I heard gunfire from the house next door, so…”
“So… you came over here and did what , exactly?” Lumis asked, eyeing the Grant house, where one of the police officers was now standing in the doorway, pulling out his cellphone and dialing the CSI.
“I… intervened,” Vance answered.
Lumis squinted at him. “How?”
Vance bit his lip.
“Tell me what you did,” Lumis ordered. “Is this something we’re gonna have to go to court over? What happened?”
“I… had to shoot her,” Vance conceded. “She had a gun on one of the kids. Had no choice.”
Lumis let out a long, disdainful sigh. “Oh… good God, Vance…”
“It was in defense of others,” Vance stated. “And it was a child , no less. We won’t face any problems from this.”
“Yeah right,” Lumis scoffed. “We don’t need to give anyone any extra reasons to accuse you of being a whack-job. You know this isn’t good for your rep.”
“Don’t care.” Vance adjusted his grip on Ariella, seemingly unbothered by the blood smearing onto his coat. “She needs to get to a hospital. Might need stitches.”
“Well… take her, then.” Lumis swatted at him, motioning over to Vance’s black car, which sat parked in between the Grant house and the empty house next door. “Hurry up, before someone finds a reason to process your ass. Some people on the force don’t like you, and you know that by now… but someone’s gonna show up at your house to take you downtown sooner or later, regardless. You’re gonna have to go through a lot of questioning and bullshit, even if you don’t get in any real trouble.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Vance replied.
He started to walk off, then faced Lumis again, remembering something.
“Oh—there are other children in the house. Four of them. Get them out of there. They don’t need to stare at the bodies.”
“Oh, Christ.” Lumis pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “All right…”
Vance then marched away, carrying Ariella off to his car.
Strangely, as she lay in his arms, she felt safer than she ever had before—but she expected it wouldn’t last. Soon, she would be back in a group home, waiting to be shipped off to yet another family that didn’t want her.
Vance opened the passenger door and carefully placed her in the seat.
Then, he knelt at the door, leveling with Ariella and meeting her eyes. She was shaken, bloody, and traumatized, absolutely miserable and rattled to her very core. He practically felt the despair radiating off of her.
“Hey,” Vance said, gently placing a hand on her cheek, turning her head to face him. “Everything’s gonna be all right. You’re gonna be fine from now on. Okay?”
Ariella replied with a nod, though she didn’t believe him, not one bit. She knew what would happen, and she had her life’s grim routine pretty well memorized by now; she’d jump between foster homes, face various levels of abuse, and continue to live as a child unwanted until something horrendous would inevitably unfold again in the future.
She knew that, after tonight, she would never see Vance again, never see Eddie again, and never meet another adult whom she could trust again. She knew that nothing would actually be okay, and she knew that no one ever meant it when they said everything would be all right.
Vance would be the first person to ever prove her wrong.