Fiona

Eight years earlier

“Dad!” I called again for the tenth time. “Where are you?” Walking through the kitchen, I could hear voices coming from the garage.

He was supposed to be helping me with my science project that was due in two days, but I couldn't find him anywhere. I felt like he was avoiding me, it was never that hard to find him, and he always came when I called for him.

Except for right now. Where the hell is he?

The house was eerily quiet, making every creek and groan from the floorboards sound like I was jamming a knife between the ribs of a lion. A lamp was on in the living room, the light in the kitchen was burning boldly, casting dark shadows across the cabinets and counters.

But no one was around.

Standing in the kitchen, I could hear voices behind the door that led to the garage. It sounded heated, like my father was arguing with whoever was out there.

What the hell is going on in there?

Walking to the door, I lifted my hand to the knob and started to turn it.

“Fiona, no!” My mom barked in a hushed voice, rushing to my side and stopping me. “Your father is busy right now, leave him alone.”

“But he said he would help me tonight, he promised.”

“I know what he said, but it's going to have to wait.” Gripping my shoulders, my mother turned me away from the door and led me into the living room. “It shouldn't be too long, but your dad is having an important meeting right now.”

“Meeting? But it's nine, isn't it a little late for that?” Arching a brow, I twisted my head to look at her. “He never meets with anyone past seven, that's his rule.”

“Don't, now is not the time for your mouth.” With stiff arms, my mother guided me around the coffee table. “This is important, I need you to just stay in here.”

My father was a business man, what he did exactly, I wasn't too sure. He always told me that when I got older he would sit me down and explain the details. I have yet to have that conversation with him, and I was already fourteen. I wasn't sure that discussion would ever happen.

Plopping me down on the couch, my mom grabbed the remote and clicked on the television. “Here, watch something for now. And I don't want you going back near the garage. Understood?”

“Fine.” Slouching into the cushion, I stared at the screen and zoned out.

I wasn't sure how much time had gone by exactly, when my mom suddenly rushed past the living room. She was running full speed with something in her hands. I couldn't tell what it was, but as she passed under the light it sparkled with a mirror finish.

I heard the garage door open and close quickly, and I couldn't stop the curiosity as it swelled in my gut.

What is she doing?

Quietly, I rose to my feet and carefully walked back towards the kitchen. Her face worried me, she looked frantic and scared. I had no clue why or what the hell would make her look so upset.

Hitting the threshold for the kitchen, the voices had become significantly louder than before. Their tones were harsh and thick, as they spewed hate-filled words at each other.

“Fuck you! I didn't do this to screw you over, I needed it! But now you're going to force me to do something I really don't want to.”

Holding the wood beam, my heart started to race inside my chest as I listened to the argument turn from heated into plain rage. My dad was angry, the man with him was angry, and I stood unaware of the true danger lurking behind the door.

“Don't fucking threaten me, Frank!” the unknown man's voice barked, his scream booming through my ears and making my back snap straight. “Do you know who you're talking to?! You said you'd pay me back double what I gave you! You didn't! That's why I'm here, I'm here because you couldn't hold up your end!”

“I told you I needed more time!”

Why is Dad so upset? Who is he yelling at?

“Stop this, not here, not right now.” My mother cut in, sounding anxious and terrified. “You can't do this here.” Pleading for them to stop, I heard my mother's voice trembling as she spoke.

“Shut up, Brandy, you're not helping.” Dad's tone was softer with her, but firm. I knew that tone, the one when he wanted you to listen, but he didn't want to upset you more.

“Frank, you didn't hold up your end of this shit.” The unknown man spoke clear, his voice low and more controlled. “You know what happens now. I gave you more than enough time, and instead of paying up, you chose to run. Did you think I wouldn't find you?”

“I left because I had to, I left because I didn't have a choice.” The sound of metal clanked, but I had no clue what it could be. “And if you don't get the fuck out now, the cops will be pulling your lifeless body out of Narragansett Bay.”

“Do you think that scares me? Do you really think that you're the first man to ever put a gun in my face?” The evil sound in his voice cut me deep, forcing me to squeeze the wall as I crept up to the garage door. “You better hope you kill me with your first shot, because if not. . .” There was a moment of silence, and my ears strained to listen. “You're a dead man.”

Who's dead? What the hell is going on?!

I need to look—

No! Don't look!

My brain was begging me to stop moving forward. It was screaming for me to listen and do what it said. But I couldn't. I had to see what was happening. I needed to know what the hell was going on.

“Normally, this would end with just one, Frank, but it seems your wife wants to die beside you.” The man growled, and I heard him take in a deep breath. “You shouldn't even be here, this doesn't involve you.”

“You're in my house, so it involves me now.” My mother was standing her ground. “I want you to leave. Stop being a prick and just go.”

She never was one to sit back and let people walk all over her. My mom would hold her tongue for as long as she could, and she always told me that if you didn't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. But that phrase only went so far with her. Push her and eventually you'd unleash her inner bitch.

I once watched her make a grown man cry at the park. He yelled at me for taking the swing his daughter was going to use. I got up, telling him I was sorry. But he wouldn't let it go, he kept harassing me about it, calling me selfish and ungrateful.

My mom stepped in, attempting to remind him that I was just a child like his daughter and to calm down. She really did give it her best shot, but then he called me a spoiled bitch, and that was it.

By the time she was done, the man was in tears and his daughter was soothing him.

“This isn't on me, this is on your husband. All he had to do was pay me what he owed, and he didn't. He ran, he skipped town like the fucking pussy he is. He stole sixty grand from me.”

“I needed the money, I was going to pay you back. But shit got hot, the cops were starting to nose around and I had to leave before anything happened.”

“You were going to pay me? No, you used me and ran. You might as well have come into my home and stole from my family!”

“You didn't need the money, it's not like you were hurting for it. I needed everything I had, I didn't have it to give. I can get it for you in a few days, just give me that.”

“You shouldn't have shook my hand that day. That sealed your fate, Frank. Your word means shit, it'll never mean anything ever again.”

“You're really going to make me shoot you? Just go and we can both walk away from this.”

Shoot?! Why the hell would my father shoot anyone?!

Closing my eyes, I gripped the handle and turned it as quietly as I could. Peeling it open, I did my best to not make a sound. Cold air splashed against my cheeks as I poked my head inside.

My parents were standing with their backs to me, and a man I had never seen before was holding a gun up, aiming it at my father.

Oh my God. . . What the hell is going on?!

The man's eyes stayed on my father's, but my mother turned as I stuck my head inside.

“Go! Go!” Mom screamed at me instantly, and a loud pop rang out making my ears hurt. Her hands were on my shoulders before I had time to react or take in what had happened.

I heard the man yell in pain, and from the corner of my eye I saw him drop to the floor.

“Get inside! Lock the door!” Shoving my mom from behind, my dad pushed us back into the kitchen.

“You fucking dick!” the man screamed out as the door slammed shut behind us.

“Go! Go!” my dad screeched, darting forward and snagging my hand to drag me away.

I could hear the door as it rumbled and shook from the man hitting it and kicking it. He was yelling and grumbling, screaming words I couldn't make out.

My father swiftly guided me to the stairs, shoving me up the first few steps. “Go hide, Fiona, and don't look back!”

I wanted to ask so many questions, but he didn't give me a chance. Turning his back to me, my father stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes piercing the garage door.

The door flew open, wood splintering like sharp thorns across the kitchen floor. Glancing around my father, I could see the man, his eyes black as death with a vile grimace on his face.

His forehead was riddled in thick angry lines, a deep frown plagued his lips, and his arms were hanging by his side with precision. The gun he had been holding was now pointed at the floor as his other hand clenched into a fist.

The front of his left thigh was drenched in blood, his pants wet and dark as more and more blood seeped from a frayed hole in the upper muscle.

“Dad, what's going on?” I knew I was asking a question he probably wouldn't answer, but I was frozen. I wanted to run, but I didn't want to leave them.

“Go!” Giving me another shove, my mother rushed to my side and grabbed my hand.

“Fiona, Honey, do what your father says. Everything is going to be fine, but you need to listen. Go.” Forcing a smile as she spoke, she nodded her head, trying to reassure me.

“You fucking piece of shit.” The man took a shaky step forward, raising his gun in the air. “You stupid fucking piece of shit. This is on you, all of this is on you.”

I wasn't sure if he saw me or not, or if he just thought my parents were trying to run from him. But he looked pissed.

My heart raced inside my chest, my anxiety a whirlwind of fear and confusion as I took the steps by two. For some reason I stopped at the top of the stairs, I didn't run directly into my room. I should have kept running, I should have sealed my eyes shut and done as I was told.

Looking down, my dad had his hands up, and my mom was crying, begging the man for mercy. I didn't see any mercy on his face, not a drop of it.

A click lit the air on fire as I watch from my perch, and everything that followed seemed to happen in slow motion. I watched as my dad's head snapped back and his body folded onto the stairs. A thin trickle of blood started to run from a small hole in the middle of his forehead and my mother let out a scream like I had never heard before.

I stood there shocked, confused, frightened. I was staring down at my father's lifeless body and it wasn't until I tasted the metal in the air that I ran to my room and dove under the bed. There was nothing going through my head right then.

Instinct kicked in and my muscles took over, taking the load off my brain. Covering my ears with my arms, I buried my face in the carpet. A second shot rang out, and I knew instantly where that bullet went. Because the screaming stopped.

He shot my mom. . .

He's killed my parents.

My heart stopped in my chest, and all I could do was listen. I listened for my mother's voice or my father to call up to me that it was over and everything was alright.

Those voices never came.

Heavy footsteps started up the stairs, so I held my breath. I didn't want him to hear me, I didn't want him to find me and kill me too.

Shit, shit, shit. Does he know where I am?

Am I about to die?

The tips of his shoes twinkled under the light in my room, and he slowly walked closer to my bed. I was trying not to look, but no matter how much I tried to close my eyes, I couldn't.

Bending to his knees, the man's face loomed closer and I couldn't stop the tears from coming.

Sliding his hand under the bed, he yanked me out in one quick jerk. Kicking my legs, I threw my fists around trying to hit him.

“No! Let me go! Let me go!”

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, snagging the back of my neck in his strong hand and holding me still.

“I'm. . . I'm Fiona.”

“Why are you here?”

“I live here.” Crying, I could barely utter the words as his eyes tried to understand what I was saying.

The man looked confused, even more confused than I was. He looked like he had found a ghost, like he was seeing someone who shouldn't exist.

“You live here?” Nodding yes, I squeaked as his grip tightened and the tips of his fingers dug into my neck. “Fuck. . . fuck, fuck, fuck.” Cursing under his breath, he stroked his chin, and dropped me to my feet. “Frank and Brandy—they're your parents.”

I didn't answer because it wasn't a question. He said it as a fact, like he was talking to himself to confirm what he had just learned.

Scrambling back, I trapped myself against the wall as the unknown man blocked my exit. Pacing back and forth, he was talking to himself quietly. I had no idea what it was he was saying, but he looked even more upset than he had before.

Looking behind him, I could see the open door and I wanted to run. But I wasn't sure I could make it by him.

You have to try, just try, Fiona.

His eyes were set on the floor, so I waited until he started his walk back in the other direction.

Go! Go! Go!

The words were so loud inside my head, that I lurched forward and started running in a panic. I didn't think about how I was going to get by him or where I'd go if I actually made it out. I just ran.

With one fast swoop, he trapped my hair in his fingers and yanked me back. “You're not going anywhere,” he said, his words curling around my lungs like daggers. “You're coming with me.”

“No! No!” I screamed as he started to drag me out of my room.

He can't take me! I won't let him take me!

Grabbing his arm, I bit down, but he just shook me off like a bug. It didn't phase him, nothing I did phased him. I hit him and punched him, I kicked and bit, and he just kept moving.

“Close your eyes,” he said, stopping at the top of the stairs.

“What?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Screw you.”

Huffing under his breath, he wriggled out of his jacket with one arm. Holding both my wrists in one hand, the man tossed his jacket over my head. Swooping me off my feet, he threw me onto his shoulder and I felt him start down the steps.

His strides were labored and wobbly, and I could tell the gunshot to his leg was bothering him as he grunted every time he had to put weight on his injured leg.

Everything around me was black, I couldn't see a thing. I tried my best to shift and throw the jacket off my head, but it was useless, it wouldn't budge.

And maybe that was a good thing. Maybe I should be thanking the man for not forcing me to see my dead parents again.

“This wasn't my plan, I wasn't going to kill him. But he shot me, your fucking father shot me. All I wanted was what he owed me, that was it. I only wanted to scare him, I just wanted to shake him up a bit.” He was speaking with this sorrow in his voice that confused me. And I almost believed he meant what he said—almost.

Until he tossed me into his trunk and closed the lid.

Remorseful people don't steal children.

They don't run away from the damage they caused, and pretend it never happened. They don't act like a death at their hands was justified because of a stupid debt.

But this man. . . he did all of those things.

He wasn't really remorseful for what he did, for taking my parents away from me. All he was upset about was that now he had to do something with me.

I just didn't know what that was.

And I don't think he did either.