"Are you sure you can't stay a little while longer, Lia?", my Aunt Jocelyn pouts. "You could help me pack away the linens. I could call your father. He might even let you stay the night. I would get you to school on time."

"Sorry Aunt Jocelyn. I need to study for a big test tomorrow. Dad will kill me if I get a bad grade." She nod's solemnly, understanding, and goes to get my check.

Ever since my mom and brothers disappeared when I was a kid, she had been paying me to help out at her big dinners she put on every weekend. She thought she was just taking me under her wing and being a mother figure, but I had basically become her personal caterer. I didn't complain, seeing as I did get payed. But I still hated doing them. It was just a night of washing mountains of dishes and serving her stuffy co-workers and friends. And I was always happy to leave as soon as I could.

She reappears a minute later with her purse, handing me my check. Before I can take from her it she holds it back out of my reach. "You be careful walking home, young lady. It's dark out. No shortcuts. And stay in populated areas. Do you have your pepper spray with you?"

I try not to roll my eyes at her, seeing as I got this lecture every time I left her house. But I knew she was especially worried about me tonight. It was the anniversary of the day Peter and mom went missing. "Yes Ma'am."

"I mean it, Evangelia. You never know what kind of creep could be out there. You know I don't like it when you walk home by yourself."

"I know." She nods, satisfied that I would listen to her, and hands it to me. I wave to her as I leave her apartment, knowing all too well that she would be watching me from the window until I disappeared around the corner at the end of the street.

I shiver as I step outside, shoving my hands into my coat pockets. It was way too cold for September, even for my taste. I usually even welcomed an early snow. But all we had was wind and freezing cold. I could see my breath escape my mouth in a cloud.

It had been just like this that night. Mom had gone to pick Peter up from the movies, and neither of them came back. I had been eleven, Peter was seventeen. The Police hadn't found a trace of them. Absolutely nothing. They were just gone.

Eventually their case was dismissed as a cold case, and they were both assumed dead. I had nothing left of them but empty graves bearing their names. No one knew why they would have been killed, as far as I knew at least. My dad became very secretive about anything to do with Mom and Peter. I came home from school one day to find all the pictures of them were gone. All of their things. Peter's room had even been turned into his new man cave. I found everything hidden away attic one day. He got angry with me when I asked about them. He would rather just pretend they never existed in the first place.

When I asked about my mother, he alway thought I was referring to my birth mother. Or just decided to pretend that was who I meant. Being adopted had never bothered me. I knew for some reason or another, the weren't able to have another baby after Peter. After years of trying, they decided to adopt a baby. That was how I was brought into the family. I never cared about my biological parents. I never knew them and I never cared to. My parents were the ones who raised me, and I was happy with that. I didn't need anyone else.

But losing Peter and mom had been hard on me, especially when Dad began to pretend they didn't exist. I still kept a picture of all of us together, the last one ever taken It was hidden in my sock drawer, somewhere my Dad would never look. I would take it out now and then just to look at it. To remember their faces.

Forcing myself to stop thinking about them, I decided to cut through the park. Aunt Jocelyn would kill me if she knew, but I did it most every week and nothing had ever happened. Besides, I knew how to throw a punch and I had pepper spray in my bag. I enjoyed coming through here at night. It was always quiet, in exception of the occasional hoot of an owl. I liked the peace of it all.

I smiled to myself at the familiar sound of the wind whipping through the trees. It always calmed my mind. Sometimes I would come here just to think. It was the one place I could truly be alone.

Suddenly, I heard a loud crack behind me. I turned to see what it was, finding a man dressed all in black. He wore a black hoodie and dark jeans, the hood pulled up over his face, casting a dark shadow over his face in the dim street light. In his hand was a stick. What kind of person carried a stick around?

I didn't stay to ask about it. I continued walking straight towards home, refusing to look behind me again. Every fiber of me was saying to run, but I forced myself to stay at a speed walk. I could hear his footsteps behind me, and promised myself that I would run if his got closer than twenty feet.

He shouted something that shouted like gibberish to me. Green light exploded behind me but before it could reach me something crashed into me from the trees. Arms wrapped around me like a protective cage, twisting me around in the air so I would land on top of him. His hair was bright red, his face lightly dusted in freckles. He couldn't be much older then me, despite how tall he was. I stared into his face, but his expression was unreadable. Before I can say anything, he shoves me off of him.

He stands, pulling his own stick from inside his jacket and points it at the man in the hoodie. Yelling more words of gibberish, it was as if fireworks exploded from the tip of his stick. Hoodie guy went flying backwards, as if he was hit with something that had come at him hard and fast. My head hurt, trying to make sense of what was going on.

Suddenly I was being pulled to my feet. "Run you idiot! Get out of here!", yells the man who had pushed me out of the way. But I was frozen in place, staring at the other man. The blow had knocked the hood from his head, revealing his face. And though he was older, I knew exactly who he was. Five years hadn't changed him much. I barely register the anger on his face before the other guy pushes me behind him, blocking my view of my brother.

More light erupted between the two. It looked more like a scene from a movie than real life. Why was Peter trying to hurt me? He would never hurt me. Not on purpose. None of this was possible. And seriously, what kind of weapon is a stick?

The red-headed stranger flew back, his body slamming hard against the trunk of a tree before falling to the ground. I screamed, seeing he laid motionless. Peter looked at me with a look of pure hate, making me wish I was anywhere but here. He raised the stick, pointing it at my face. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream again. But when his face suddenly softens, as if he suddenly didn't want to hurt his sister, I couldn't do anything.

"Peter. Don't.", I say, close to tears. I wanted so badly to run to him. To hug him and make him promise never to leave again. But his face resumed the look of anger. Of hatred.

"Stupefy!"

I ducked aside, but it hit my side. I was thrown back as if I'd been hit by a truck. I hit the ground shoulder first. Luckily I landed in a roll, but that didn't help much the pain. I knew my face was bleeding, but it was only a scrape.

Peter started walking towords me, his hood back up. He was about to scream again when he was suddenly knocked back, hitting the ground hard. I didn't wait to see who had done it, I just got to my feet and ran. I ran home without stopping, and without looking back.