John was confused. For the first time ever his dad had hit him. Not a stern warning, not a little love tap, but a full-forced smack. He had just been playing cops and robbers with his bunny, to make it seem more realistic, John decided to get one of the guns that were in his father's room. He was shuffling around in a sock drawer when Dad busted into the room.
"Johnny, you know what happens when you break the rules."
But John didn't know what happens, he didn't even know he had broken a rule. When he had told his father this, he suddenly found himself on the ground with a coppery taste in his mouth.
"Now you know not to go into my room and play with my things," His father told him, as stern and careful with his words as ever. "Next time you decide to go into daddy's room, your punishment will be much more severe."
Dad reached down to ruffle John's hair. "I have some work to do, champ. Don't interrupt me, it's very important I finish what I'm doing tonight."
John stayed where he was for a little while, trying to process what had just happened. He had been bad; he had went into daddy's room when he wasn't supposed to, and he took things that didn't belong to him. John knew that he had to go to time-out or have toys taken away when he did something bad, but was his father supposed to hit him? He had never questioned his father before, Dad had always been reliable and reasonable. John had never wanted his father to be wrong before. Gears and wheels started to turn, and a simple idea filled his head; adults aren't always right. Kids aren't always right either, so who had the answers? John had always thought it was his father, but maybe that was wrong. Flustered and angry and feeling lied to, John got up with his bunny and headed back to his room.
Settling down on his blue sheets, John thought really hard about his life. He thought about the absence of his mother, he thought about the charming appeal of his father and how it always seemed to be there, even when it was out of place. He thought about the tall blond man that he often saw talking to his father, and the way his cousin Jake always tried to show him how to use a gun and tell him all the silly names they had. John thought about all the cookies and cakes his dad had around. It was such a funny blur of memories, John didn't understand why they all came to mind, but he figured his self-conscious had a better grip on this than his conscious-conscious did. Maybe he should go ask Nanna? She seemed like she could be the one who had all the answers. Wisdom must be like the fancy wine his father drank at dinner when his "very important clientele" were over; better with age.
Waddling down the hall, bunny and blankie in tow, John made his way to the annexed section of the house that was built especially for his grandmother. It always smelled like cookies and cupcakes; John couldn't help but smile as he took a deep whiff of the sweet air.
"Nanna? It's me, John. I have very serious questions to ask you." The little boy said, big blue eyes glistening with determination.
After standing still for as long as anyone under five can stand still, John still didn't have a reply.
"Nanna?" John called out, again. No reply.
"Nanna? Are you okay?" He said, voice quivering as he took nervous steps through the door. The first room in the annex was a living room, it was usually cheery and had something baked sitting on the coffee table. There were overstuffed chairs with soft, flowered upholstery, warm brown tables and lamp stands. A soft, yellow light usually radiated from the orbs dangling from the ceiling, but now the room was dark. Even the cute little pottery night-light that John had painted Nanna was unplugged.
"Nanna, it's really dark in here. Where are you?" Still, no response came. John continued to slowly walk deeper into the annex, feeling like he was wading through a pool. On the other side of the living room were two doors, one that led into Nanna's bedroom, and one that was for the bathroom. There was also a kitchen where Nanna did all of her baking. She normally baked every day, spending almost all of her time trying new recipes, changing old ones, making her favorites. Sometimes, John liked to watch her bake. You could see the life in her eyes, the way her fingers worked deftly, kneading and mixing like it was an art. Her whole face would light up when John finally tasted the beloved gem she had slaved over the whole day. He thought that she put some much love into her cakes and cookies that when he ate them, he kept that love and stored it somewhere so he could later give it someone else. Since the kitchen was dim, John figured she might be asleep, so he reached an arm out blindly for the doorknob.
"I'm coming in!" He called out. Slowly, his fingers closed in around the smooth, metal doorknob. As soon as he pushed the door open, he screamed.
A pie had flown towards him, landing directly on John's face. Bunny and blankie were dropped as he took a moment to appreciate what had happened.
"Ho, ho, ho!" Nanna chuckled, turning the lights on. "Oh, John. I can't believe you fell for my tricks again!" Her voice was soft, but still help a stern, parental tone. It reminded John of old leather.
"How does the pie taste, dear? It's banana cream, but I added blueberry filling this time. Do you think it was a neat idea?"
John took a moment to taste the pie. He had to say, if he was going to choose a pie to be thrown at his face, banana-blueberry cream pie would probably be his second choice, right after Nanana Egbert's Famous Chocolate Silk Pie.
"Ift's dewisous naan!" John said, pie still on his face.
"Ho, ho, ho! I've done it again!" His nanna shouted out. "Now, go get yourself cleaned up, dear. It's time for bed."
John quickly took the pie off his face. "Nanna, wait! I have a question! It's very, very, super important!"
"Okay, John. What is your question?" Nanna said, bright smile on her face.
"It's about-" A loud bang from the other side of the house cut John off. "Nanna, what was that?"
The smile was gone from Nanna's face. "John, get under the bed with me, right now. We're going to play hide and seek, okay?"
"Nanna, who are we-"
"Right now, John. You need to get under the bed."
Quickly, he grabbed bunny and blankie and headed under the bed with his Nanna.
"You have to be very quiet, dear." Nanna said, as she used the sleeve of her dress to wipe off some of the pie from John's face. Another loud bang came from the other side of the house, and another, and another. Then one that was closer, and one that was closer than the last, then one that was even closer than the last one. John couldn't help but worry as his Nanna put an arm around him and whispered 'I love you's into his ear. With her other arm, she reached under the skirt of her dress. When she pulled it back out, she held a shiny silvery gun.
"You're so brave John. No matter what happens," bang. "Remember, your father and I," bang. "Love," bang. "You," bang. "Very," there was shouting with the bang. "Much." There was one last bang, and lots more shouting, and then the door was kicked down. Nanna kissed John's temple.
"Alright, I know y'er in here!" A voice foreign to John called out. "It's best to come out now than later!" The voice was thick with a southern accent.
"I don't want to hurt anyone, and I won't have to, if you cooperate!" John held back a whimper as he saw a silent tear roll down his grandmother's face.
After a minute, John heard the voice again, but this time it was quieter and farther away. "Search the room."
The closet slammed open, things were thrown, bottles of perfume shattered as they hit the floor. John's little mouth formed an 'O' and Nanna tightened her grip around him.
"We know y'er here!"
A hand closed around his ankle, and John screamed. He desperately tried to hang onto his Nanna's hand, but his efforts were wasted. Tears streamed down both of their faces.
"It's the kid, the granny's under there too." Nanna was yanked out from under the bed in seconds.
"She's gotta gun! Take it!"
It all happened really fast, John didn't quite understand what was going on. There were loud bangs, then people rushed into the room. He was shoved back and back again, until he hit the wall. It was movement and noise.
Then it was silence. After a while, an arm was around John's shoulders, a voice in his ear. He turned his head and found himself looking at his father. He didn't look long before turning to look at the room. There were bodies everywhere, all limp and bloody. Some had the insides of their head splattered on the wall, while others had wet, dark red patches on their shirts.
Nanna was on the ground, too. A flower of red had blossomed on the middle of her blue dress.
"No." John whimpered. Tears welled in his eyes. She looked just like the bad guys in his action movies, the ones that never got up again. "I didn't ask her my question!" He screamed, collapsing. Dad caught John around the stomach, telling him it was okay.
But it wasn't. It wasn't ever going to be okay again. Not when the smell of cake and cookies suddenly had become the smell of smoke and blood.