Chapter 159

POV Emília Gray

The sound of sirens burst through the atmosphere. Anyone who was distracted was awakened by the loud, whizzing cars.

"Looks like we have new victims," Daniel stated with a heavy sigh.

"Out of here?" Kayleen continued.

"Yes. I heard a police officer say that they got a call on 115th Street."

"115th Street?" I asked, my throat tightening, not letting a single breath pass.

"I'm not sure. I know they mentioned some streets, and they immediately prepared to go."

It can't be.

"What a nightmare," Cullbert sighed. "What's happening?"

"I don't know, but I've already heard theories that this is just the beginning. And there will be more dead than we've ever had missing persons. No. No."

"I don't know if I want to stay in the city if it keeps going like this. Neither should you. I won't leave you here!" Kayleen declared.

115th Street.

"I'm poor, unlike you..." Daniel suddenly cut off his sentence. "Hey, Emília, are you okay? You're shaking like crazy."

My stomach was in revolt, just like my heart, which relied on a quiet existence to feel fear.

"You said 115th Street..." I stared at both of them who were watching me intently. "That's where I live. I live there."

Saying it out loud was the most bitter taste I had ever experienced.

I pulled away from Kayleen, trying to catch some air, but it was slipping away with every thought I completed.

"Emília, it can't be. It's okay."

"My parents didn't come..." I continued, panting. "They're not here."

"Calm down, girl." Daniel shook my shoulders. "Nothing happened to them."

"They said they were coming, but they're not here," I repeated.

My mind clouded.

The pieces formed the puzzle I didn't want to finish.

I finally understood. Everything began to make real sense. "Oh, God."

It was too late for Daniel and Kayleen to catch me. My legs were faster in running away. Their shouts calling for me drew the attention of people around. The police shouted too, but my steps were quicker.

All the remaining adrenaline was reserved for my muscles. At any moment, I was going to collapse. I knew I'd be destroyed, but my body had to endure.

I needed to check with my own eyes that my parents were okay.

I needed to see them. Touch them. Tell them I loved them. I needed to hear my dad grumbling, my mom humming, yet still loving their company during meals, movie afternoons, and the small encouragements they gave me every morning.

Every day, I walked twenty minutes from my house to downtown. But that day, I ran for eight minutes. Eight minutes of desperation.

And, as a way to poison my chest, when I arrived at the street, I was met with cars and ambulances. With the same uproar that was happening at the theater.

I was powerless. Without courage. So I approached slowly.

I prayed quietly that it wouldn't be my house. I begged any deity that could help me, that it would all be a nightmare, and when I woke up, I would be surrounded by what made me happy.

I had never done harm to anyone. I had never wished ill on the worst person in the world. Not even that damn Arya.

It couldn't be possible.

I didn’t deserve something so cruel.

But with every step, I passed one house, and it wasn’t the one surrounded by police.

My hope was fading. The tears started to sting in my eyes. Fear stopped being real. It was a gift from the devil.

I didn’t feel death.

I felt revenge.

"Dad. Mom."

My lungs were weak, but still, I ran a little further to cross the mountain of people. They shoved me. I kicked them, asking them to let me in. And with each "no," I screamed louder. Begging for an answer. For them to take that pain from me.

I screamed for help. I screamed for my parents. I screamed for no one to take them from me.

The brute force of those holding me was not enough to hold my pieces together.

"Miss Gray, calm down. You need to listen to us."

"I want to go in! It's my house! I want to see my parents, damn it!" I cursed, kicking my legs in the air while one of the firefighters held me, while another female police officer didn’t know what to do. "Let me in! I want to see Dad and Mom! Please..." No one could speak.

No one could hide their pity-stricken faces.

"This can't be happening to me. They're here, right? They'll still be with me, won’t they?"

Nothing.

"Please..."

"I'm sorry, Emília." The phrase hit my stomach. The firefighter holding me set me on the ground, and his voice was the only thing I heard that night. "Your parents were victims of homicide. They're dead."

***

The room was cold.

I was freezing. Wrapped in a warm blanket, but still cold.

The grayish walls didn’t help me feel comfortable. I had already been interrogated by a policewoman along with a psychologist. They had been kind, with comforting words.

But my mind was out of orbit. I didn’t want fancy phrases to help me overcome this. I needed to understand.

Why?

Why were my parents murdered?

I had spent the last forty minutes crying, mourning something that was far beyond my comprehension. If I had something to guide me, I would have somewhere to channel my sadness.

Imagining that I could no longer hear their voices, even though they weren’t always calm. Sometimes they scolded me, argued with each other, yet it was familiar. It was home. It was comfort. I could no longer get out of bed and think they would be in the kitchen. I couldn’t wake up, kiss their cheeks with a passionate good morning, and be returned with the same love.

I no longer had them.

My parents had been taken from me.

Torn away. No chance to say goodbye. No chance to see me grow and become the complete woman I was destined to be.

A ball of ice thickened in my throat. The sobs were involuntary. They crackled in the air as I thought more and more about their absence in my life.

Why? Why the hell had this happened to me? To them?

I couldn’t live with that thought.

I couldn’t live without them.

The door was suddenly opened, and the cop who smelled of tobacco appeared. I took a better look at his face. The beard, the green eyes with the dark circles of someone who was tired, his teeth not very clean from the daily overdose of coffee, for sure.

He wore his uniform with great pride. You could see it in his heavy, commanding walk.

“Hello, Emília,” he said, sitting in the chair next to me. “I didn’t have the chance to tell you my name, but I’m Christian Norman.”

The last name Norman wasn’t unfamiliar to me, but I didn’t have the mental capacity to reason.

“Your name isn’t important.”

“I just want you to know that right now I’m not a cop. I’m your friend.”

“Did you come for a therapy session too? I don’t know if it’ll work out.”

He held back a laugh.

“What do you need?”

Anger filled my veins.

“Maybe answers. And to know why the hell my parents were murdered!” I stood up, slamming my hands on the table. “Shit! Tell me what’s going on! Why the hell are my parents dead?!”

I never swore, but my mouth was full of vocabulary for it.

“I ask for calm, Emília.”

“Calm? You’re asking me to calm down?” I pushed the chair and started pacing back and forth. “I… I can’t. I can’t take it anymore. I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“Dante Faulkner.”

My blood froze.

“He... What about him?”

“I finally got your attention.” His lips formed a smile. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

I analyzed his face before sitting back down, crossing my arms against my body.

“So, you know Dante,” Norman began, opening a black notebook.

“Not really.”

“But you know him.”

“Like anyone else. The rumors make him the Beyoncé of the town.”

I didn’t know where all the sarcasm was coming from, but it was my defensive way of keeping Christian from seeing beyond my lies.

He continued.

“You know he was kidnapped along with Asher Hawthorn, Jaxon Fish, Cole Van Doren, and Vance Campbell. They were between eleven and thirteen years old. They were held hostage for a week and three days before managing to save themselves. According to the investigations, Dante was the real hero. He killed the kidnapper and knew how to make it to the city center to ask for help. As an orphan, he stayed in the orphanage, just like Vance. Asher, Jaxon, and Cole were returned to their families. Vance was adopted a week later. Dante was adopted by Torman, eleven months after that day.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

I saw his throat move, and his back leaned back.

“Because these are the rumors. This is the truth people tell.”

“Dante isn’t seen as a hero. Everyone abhors him.”

“Abhorred, you mean,” he countered proudly. “Once he was adopted, he was able to have a normal life. Go to school, have friends, meet new people, maybe even fall in love…” I blinked.

“I don’t know where you’re going with this.”

“The idea I have is that you and Dante love each other. You’ve nurtured an inexplicable feeling of love. Even knowing his flaws, you saw something in him you’ve never seen in anyone else.”

I started to feel strange. The judgment and accusations were implicit in Christian’s voice.

“Please, stop, or I’ll leave.”

“You needed this, Emília. You needed something different to move your life forward,” he continued, his tone growing louder. “But your parents didn’t accept it. They knew and didn’t want it. They forbade you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” I yelled, emotions blooming into anger and hatred. “They didn’t know shit!”

A cynical smile reappeared on his face.