June 1990

First birthday parties were supposed to be a joyous occasion. Balloons, flowers, teddy bears and giggles should be the order of the day. Stacie Conrad's first birthday started that way. A family brunch, with her Mom, Dad, her Aunt and Uncle, and her tiny cousin Beca.

James and Mary Conrad had spared no expense or effort for their only child's birthday. Sure she was only a year old, but Mary had insisted on having all the trimmings for a proper party. Her brother Warren, who worked away, had managed enough time off to be home to celebrate with them. It was a rare occurrence. Warren worked for an insurance company and was forever out of town on business.

It was nearing lunch time, Mary and Rachel were in the kitchen prepping salads while James put the finishing touches on the hamburgers that he was renowned for.

Warren was watching the two toddlers in the sitting room, when the day turned tragic. Beca and Stacie had both looked towards the kitchen and started wailing simultaneously. Warren looked up at the kitchen door, dread burning in his get as Rachel screamed for him to get the girls out of the house. The door to the kitchen swung shut and bolted itself before Warren could get to the others. He could smell sulphur and smoke was creeping eerily from beneath the door.

"Go, Warren!"

He didn't need to be told again. He scooped up the girls, who were clinging to each other in the middle of the floor and raced for the front door. It was jammed shut. Shit. Looking around the room, his eyes landed on the futon under the large bay window. He put the girls on the floor and grabbed the comforter, wrapping it around his fist. He pulled back before slamming into the window with enough force to shatter the glass panes. He untangled his hand from the blanket, scooped the girls up and dived through the window, rolling mid jump so as not to land on the still sobbing toddlers. There was a loud shriek. Something akin to the sound of twisting metal, followed by a hiss and a loud explosion.

Warren watched, his face and heart heavy as the kitchen door shot across the sitting room, a plume of some and steam gushing from the now shattered door way. It didn't take long for the fire to spread now that there was nothing blocking his path. He stood quickly and rushed towards the crowd that was slowly gathering on the other side of the street.

If you'd have asked Warren Mitchell in 1990 what his life would be like in ten years time, his answer would have been vastly different to reality. He finished the braid that he was weaving into his nieces' hair before moving on to his daughter's ponytail. Raising two eleven year old girls alone was never in his plans. After the fire that killed his wife and Stacie's parents, Warren had moved towns. He and the girls moved from town to town, never staying in one place for too long, picking up odd jobs whenever he could find a babysitter who wouldn't ask too many questions. The girls had grown up remarkably well adjusted, considering their transient upbringing. Stacie was bubbly and sociable, yet was learning well above her age group and running track at a state level (well, if they'd stayed longer than a month she would be). Beca on the other hand, could clean and assemble a pistol faster than a marine and could shoot with pinpoint accuracy. Warren knew that training these girls from a young age would be the only way to keep them alive in their business. So that's what he did. From the moment Stacie could walk, and Beca could crawl, they were schooled in the ways of hunting. Beca excelled, taking to her training like a duck to water. Warren attributed this to her protective nature and inability to sit still. Stacie was the brains of the two. Not that Beca wasn't smart, she was more suited to the physical aspect of hunting.

Stacie however, Stacie could recite his journal cover to cover. She could tell you exactly what something was and how to kill it without delay.

He knew that Stacie would one day want to go to college. He knew this without a doubt. He also knew Beca would be devastated when that day came. So he prepared the both of them, as best he could.

It was like clockwork. Stacie's college acceptance letters rolled in one after one, with Stacie finally settling on Harvard, pre-med. Beca was her surly self, preferring to ignore the situation. She hadn't spoken to her cousin in days.

Warren was starting to feel the pinch of the situation. One of the girls he'd raised for the last eighteen years was flying halfway across the country. Turning her back on her family and the life that she'd been raised for. Eventually as Stacie was packing her duffle, the reality of the situation set in.

Warren Mitchell had always been quick to temper. Beca had inherited the trait too, much to his dismay. So when Beca came home from her run to find her adopted sister packing a duffle bag, the trouble started.

Beca, obviously feeling hurt at the idea that Stacie was choosing college over a life hunting and doing what they had been trained to do, lost what little handle she had on her temper.

The argument ended with both girls red in the face, and Stacie storming out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Over the next few days, Warren comforted Beca as best he could. She was angry with Stacie for leaving, she was furious at herself for causing it.

Days of Stacie screening his calls and texts turned to weeks. Weeks of silence turned into months. Soon enough, two years had passed without word from his niece.

He'd continued moving from town to town, Beca joining him on hunting trips more often than not now. It was the way things were supposed to be. Almost.