Chapter One – The Past Is History

Date: October 9th, 2002

City, State: Lima, OH

Time: 10:13 p.m.

Location: Ohio State Police Department


"Officer Newberry!"

Concern was written all over the white man's face. The healthy, well-fit guy had a clasp envelope in his hands, all containing newfound information.

A husky male sat at his desk in an office center near the west wing of the building. Chief of the whole state, to be precise. He shot back all seriousness at his fellow cop approaching him with the next report.

The old, obese man retrieved the envelope from the unknown cop and read the contents inside. Inside the envelope contained signed documents from a local orphanage, and four pictures of known orphans that lived there for the past couple of years.

"Miss Elizabeth Callie called in, reporting four children missing from her orphanage. She hasn't seen them in about three or four days."

Each picture from the clasp envelope – and the orphanage documents that accompanied them – all told a different story.


Image #1: Blaine Anderson. Birth date: April 4th, 1994. Height: 3'11". Admission: January 15th, 1999.

The first picture was of a young boy with fuzzy, curly hair. He displayed many anger emotions judging by the look of his face. His fists were balled up behind his back, looking up at the unknown photographer, expressing many feelings of acrimony and stimulation.

When he was first brought to the orphanage, it was hard for him to get a word out to the orphanage owner. He had gone through three to five different doctors, and about four cops, all trying to record information on what the boy saw and heard, and how he felt. He never spoke to the adults, nor the children of the orphanage. All he did was stay in the boys' bedroom, eating granola bars, and drawing random pictures all in black and yellow.

One of the orphanage mothers, Miss Alyssa Harriman, caught him drawing one day. She intended on getting him out of the room to see a family that just came in and asked about the black-haired boy. She interrogated him on the drawings he had before him. The picture she saw was of a boy with a bow and arrow in his hands. He's out in the nighttime, and weirdly-sketched mammals were dead by a tree.

Alyssa assumed that they were wolves and foxes, but she had something suspicious about what she saw hiding in the back of her mind. She ended up calling a therapist, and he came in to speak with Blaine.

The boy – now ten years old – had been physically, mentally, and emotionally defenseless for the past few years of his life. Back when he was only four years old, he had been living with his parents and his older brother, Cooper in another city in Ohio.

The last home they lived in got caught in a fire by a trio of robbers that tried to break in and steal two hundred dollars from the boy's father's safe. The whole kitchen, bathroom on the first floor, and the entrance to the basement had all been burnt. The robbers even managed to make it to the attic and burn their antiques.

Mrs. Anderson didn't feel comfortable living in the neighborhood, with evidence of the robbers breaking in and burning their home. She immediately searched for houses outside of this neighborhood; outside of this city – heck, even outside this state. The found a two-story house located in Lima, Ohio. The whole family took a little road trip all the way down and placed their furniture and valuables inside.

The family's two sons attended Northern Bridge Elementary School. Cooper, the oldest son, first encounters a boy named Max. The husky redhead spent the first two and a half weeks with Cooper.

When they developed a comfortable relationship, they made a bet during a game of solitaire, which Max's father taught him sometime last year. Cooper placed a thirty-dollar bet on winning against Max's twenty-five. Fake money from used board games were involved. In order to win, one of the players had to win three out of five games. What Cooper didn't know was that Max was planning on having Cooper converting the fake money into real money once he loses.

Cooper ended up losing at the end of the day, handing the husky redhead the fake money he owed. Max expected him to pay the real money.

Unfortunately, it had been two days since Cooper has even spoken about the bet. Mr. Anderson was confronted by Max's father. He was uncertain about the bet Cooper and Max had, nor believed he owed anything to anyone. So he and his son forgot about the whole thing.

Twenty-four hours later, Cooper and Blaine had already been tucked in for bed, and both parents were up paying bills for lighting, water, heat, and gas. Four loud bangs came from the front door, and Mrs. Anderson went to answer it. Turned out that Max's father was a gang member. He grabbed the petite, black-haired woman by the shirt collar, demanding his money. She gave no answer, but just panicked and begged him to let go.

Too bad for Mrs. Anderson, because her neck was slit open with a small pocket knife. Her body was thrown towards the side where Max's father stabbed the woman twenty-four times in the chest. Her corpse let out traces of blood. She choked out some of it, and the cut in her neck was quite deep. The blood even got in the husky man's rosy-cheeked face.

Followed by him were two other gang members. They busted into the living room, holding Mr. Anderson's arms down. Max's father held a gun up to his face, warning him that he had twenty seconds to get the money to him before he shot his face off. Mr. Anderson explained that Cooper gave the money to his son already, but the gang leader never received it.

After five seconds of going back and forth, Max's father couldn't tolerate his pettiness, and ended up shooting him five times in the face, and three times in the stomach area. His large and small intestines were coming out, his stomach was shot open, and his heart beat stopped at an instant.

The three gang members made their way to the second floor into Cooper's room, threatening to kill him if he didn't hand over the money. The boy cried his eyes out, complaining as one of the men held him down by the arms. They had no other choice but to stick the gun into his mouth and shoot out his brain.

Blaine was in his bedroom, hearing the gun shots while trying to sleep. He didn't want those guys coming in on him and killing him. So he quickly made his bed, ran into the closet, closed the door with him inside, and hid in the hamper under the dirty clothes he stashed in there.

The gang members all entered, looking around for anyone else living. They assumed that the youngest son wasn't even in the house, and left the home. Blaine caught sight of the men from his bedroom window when they made it to the front door. They drove away in a stolen, silver 1997 Buick Lesabre.

The boy escaped from his room to find the corpse of his older brother, Cooper. He seemed to have struggled his way away from the men, but of course failed. Young Blaine cried his eyes out, running downstairs to find his father shot to death on the living room couch, and his mother stabbed to death on the floor in the hallway.

One of the neighbors heard the gun fire, and immediately dialed 9-1-1. She made it to the house at the right time, finding Blaine knelt down by his bloody mother. The Andersons' neighbor watched him until the cops made it over.

They investigated the dead bodies found in the home, and took Blaine away to the station. When asked if he had any living relatives, he told them that they were in other cities – cities he didn't know how far they were. So they just sent the boy to the orphanage where he got signed in and put into the room with the other boys.


Image #2: Kurt Hummel. Birth date: May 27th, 1993. Height: 4'0". Admission: August 13th, 2000.

The boy in the picture had light, soft skin with brunette hair and Glasz eyes. He always wore designers clothes, some of them with a scarf or a nice hat to accompany it. His hands were folded in front of his body, shyly looking into the camera, and a melancholy facial expression.

Whenever he's in a room with a bunch of children, he'd sit at a kid's table by himself, cuddling with an old teddy bear in his arms. The only time the orphanage mothers and fathers had trouble with him was when they had to take the bear away.

He was too scared to look anyone directly in the eye, and he'd always look at the picture frame with both of his parents in the picture. An orphanage mother found the boy crying in the boys' bathroom one afternoon after being bullied by a couple of kids.

His backstory was pretty simple, if asked by anyone. He had a happy family life. He was the son of Elizabeth and Burt Hummel. The household family lived in a home located on 415 Whitman Avenue. Kurt would spend most of his time with his mother than his father, and he would develop a feminine side to him.

At the school he attended – Callaway Elementary School – he would sometimes get picked on by some students for his sexuality. He hid this from his parents for a little while, figuring that it would go away sooner or later. But then it got worse. On the inside of his locker, they'd tape notes with the words faggot or homo in red and black ink. It got to him dearly, and he's sometimes ditch school.

While this was going on, Elizabeth was in a rocky relationship with an old fling, Patrick Caesar. He used to date the woman a few years ago. Elizabeth then realized that Patrick only went out with her because of her looks and sex. He'd compliment every day about how her hair looks and her sultry face. Not only that, but Elizabeth spotted him with two other women downtown at a bar. After that confrontation, she never spoke to him again.

Then on August 1st of 2000 after she marries Burt Hummel, Patrick returns and sticks a needle in the woman, making sure she didn't awake when he dragged her out to his car. Ten minutes later, Elizabeth wakes up naked and beside Patrick in a dirty hotel room. She somehow escapes him by lying to him, saying that she'll pick up cigarettes for him. However, she catches a bus and returns home.

It was about three o'clock in the morning, and the men of the house were asleep. Elizabeth cried her eyes out, thinking of how guilty she felt about sleeping with another man. She couldn't take the pain anymore.

The following day, Burt wakes up and sees a suicide note taped to his chest:

Dear Burt,

If you're reading this right now, I'm suffering through a crisis. I know you remember when we married and I promised to keep myself to you and nobody else. I promised everything to you, but I felt that the promise was broken. Just last night, somehow, I was in a hotel bed with an old fling, Patrick Caesar. I believe you know him. I dumped him before I married you. I told you on our first date.

Anyway, I feel really guilty for it. I knew that you'd probably leave me and take Kurt with you. I didn't want to risk our relationship together. I didn't want to risk having Patrick around and ruining our family. I felt so bad for myself. Breaking promises and bringing him in the picture are the things I definitely don't want to happen. I can't bring myself to thinking that he's still in my life.

If you're reading this…well, I just drove on to the Lima City Forest Reserve, and killed myself. I sacrificed myself for the awful things I've done with Patrick to you. You don't deserve a betraying wife; you deserve better. Move on without me. Take care of Kurt. I promise I'll be watching you two in heaven. I'm sure you'll be okay.

-Elizabeth Hummel, your darling wife and angel from heaven

Burt and Kurt made it to the forest reserve, and found Elizabeth Hummel hung from an oak tree. Along with hanging herself, she slit her wrists open. On the ground beneath her were pills from a pill container and a knocked-over toadstool. The scene was utterly terrifying.

Kurt stood there, eyeing his dead mother's corpse, and sobbed beside his father. The police came by after Burt's phone call and took the body away.

This affected Burt and his son entirely. Kurt's grades went down in school, and he still had a problem with the bullies in his school. He never said anything about the harassment because he felt like his mother was the only one to handle it. Burt would sometimes ask about school and if anything was going wrong. Kurt wouldn't respond.

Burt watched as his family life crumbled to pieces. The love of his life took away her life because of something from her past that came and haunted her in the present. Kurt wouldn't speak to anyone knowing that his mother was the only one that understood him. And even worse, Burt was going through some depression stages. He did a worse job at work than he did before. He'd stay in his room most of the day. He wouldn't even go out on a night of fun with his friends. Nothing ever brought him to the happy place again.

One night, he had to pick up some medicine he ordered from Walgreens, and left a babysitter to handle with Kurt until he got back. It was only seven at night, but he felt like it was dark every single day. His wife was the light of day. She made each day brighter. He knew pretty well that she didn't want to have to deal with Patrick and have her love life all messed up. But suicide? Burt never imagined she'd do a thing.

He was so depressed about his wife's death that he didn't focus that well on the road. He found himself driving in the wrong lane on the road, and spotted a storage truck driving straight for him. He twisted the wheel, making every attempt to get to the right side. It didn't really help, though, because he crashed into a tree off the road. Glass stuck to his face, his head, on his arms. Blood came out of his mouth. He was definitely not in good shape.

The babysitter, Catherine, received a call from paramedics that came to observe Burt crashed into the tree. One of the paramedics explained that they were sending the man to the hospital. Catherine, panicked, went in Kurt's bedroom and grabbed him to bring him to see his father.

The young porcelain boy didn't have any idea in hell what was going on. All he knew was that he wanted his father to survive. What was seven-year-old Kurt Hummel to do without both of his parents?

It took about two hours to wait on any results from one of the doctors that worked on that man's body. The scene – sitting in a room with beeps, dead or injured people in rolling cots – was horrifying to Kurt.

A dark man with curly hair – went by the name of Dr. Roger Sampson – informed the boy and his babysitter that there was too much bleeding in the brain, his rib cage was broken, and his heart was torn up by a couple of bones in his chest. In other words…Burt Hummel had died.

Kurt cried his eyes out for days. Both of his parents were gone, and he was all alone now. He kept on wishing that he said something to his parents before they both perished from earth. He felt so stupid for not attempting. Now his mother committed suicide, and father passed away from a severe car crash.

And unfortunately, for him, Catherine was still in college – the girl was about nineteen or twenty years old – and she couldn't raise Kurt on her own. Not only that, but Kurt wasn't familiar with the addresses of any living relative. So Catherine had to call the orphanage and send Kurt there.

He was literally pissed off at his babysitter for letting him go. He thought she'd always have his back. She's been with Kurt since he was only three or four years old. She'd cradle him in her arms when it thundered outside and he would get scared. She was there for him for years, and now she was giving Kurt away!

Since that day, Kurt never forgave Catherine for what she did. He never trusted anyone.

When he stayed in the orphanage, he wouldn't even let the orphan mothers get him his own food. He would sometimes sneak out of the building at night to retrieve his own snacks from the dollar store next door. Every time, the store manager wouldn't even know Kurt broke in there for anything.

This fact is still unknown to the orphanage mothers and fathers.


Image #3: Santana Lopez. Birth Date: March 25th, 1994. Height: 3'9". Admission: July 20th, 1999.

The girl in the picture was moderately fierce and angered when the police brought her here. She frowned and folded her arms in almost all of her pictures the camera person took of her. Her hair was always in a ponytail, with soft curls freely sitting on her head.

She fought with the orphanage mothers about putting the gray plaid dress on, but had to since – quoted by Miss Kellie Ranger – married couples desperate for kids, or at least another one, didn't want to see the young girl in such a big mess.

She was always aggressive with the other children. Whenever they noisily played in the play area, she'd yell at them and seize any toy they were playing with. Sometimes, she would physically hurt one of them. She actually attacked a little brunette girl with a xylophone, putting a couple of scratches on her forehead. The orphanage mothers didn't let her out of her room for days after that, and made her talk with an anger management therapist.

There were many reasons for Santana to be mad. She was only five years old when she was sent to the orphanage. Her story was common, but mentally brought her down throughout her childhood life.

It all started when Santana was first born to her mother, Maribel Lopez. Maribel figured that she, Santana, and her husband, Perry Lopez would live a happy family forever.

However, Perry had a different approach.

He was a doctor at the Harry Weisman Hospital for about fifteen years. He wasn't employee of the month material or anything, but he worked just as hard as anyone else. He had many friends in the workplace before he went berserk. He found out that not only his wife seemed to be cheating on him with her co-worker, but he got fired after a failed operation for a fifty-year-old man. He was angry with the other co-workers because he wasn't even the reason the operation didn't go well.

Unfortunately, he didn't even attempt to win back his job. He just hung out at bars and drank glasses of beer, vodka, and occasionally wine. The drunk man would troll neighborhood stores, and nearby, he spotted two drug dealers. They both offered him cocaine and marijuana.

Perry paid about seventeen dollars for the drugs, and used them almost every day. People would avoid him because he smelled like cigarettes and never took a shower. He hardly came home for weeks, and spent all of his time with the drug dealers and working off his pay for the drugs he bought.

Santana and her mother were at home one day, minding their own business and playing board games. There was nothing the brunette girl loved more than spending time with her beloved mother. They shared everything: Santana's toys and movies, snacks, trips to the toy store or an amusement park – anything.

Maribel gushed over her daughter. She was only five years old, and she looked so mature. She had the most adorable grin on her face when her mother took pictures of her playing with the neighbors' cat, Whiskers. She dreamed to become a model when she grew up. Maribel almost considered making that dream come true by putting her in Toddlers and Tiaras – until she found out about the Botox incident and pornographic clothing, which Santana somewhat liked.

The two had such a wonderful bond – and that precious bond was broken in a matter of minutes.

Santana was sitting in her parents' room, playing with a stuffed puppy and being in her own little world. Her mother was in the same room, reading a book she found from the library.

All of a sudden, Perry came back into the house. He hadn't been in the house for three and a half months. He was going crazy now. He yelled at his wife for no reason at all. Santana, after hearing her father yelling from the hallway, hid in the closet and watched the commotion.

Perry kept on asking for all of her money, and to leave the house with Santana. He had consumed five glasses of beer that day, and smoked a couple cigs of marijuana earlier. Clearly, he was delirious. Maribel begged him to leave her and her daughter alone, but Perry was impatiently. He wanted Maribel and Santana out of his life, but Maribel refused.

With all of that, Perry pulled out a shotgun and shot her three times in the chest.

After he shot his wife, he turned to the open closet and saw Santana hiding behind some of the clothes in there. Since Maribel was dead, he was stuck with raising her on his own – and boy, he didn't want custody of that girl.

He took her to an torn-down apartment where he was living with his roommate, Gerald. The place was ultimately messy. The faucet in the kitchen leaked, food was scattered on the dining room table, the kitchen counter – even the coffee table in the living room.

The place had only two bedrooms. Unfortunately, Perry wouldn't let his own daughter sleep in the same bed with him. He put a blanket and a soiled pillow on the rug in front of the bed and allowed her to sleep there. She couldn't go outside or converse with any of the neighbors. He didn't want the girl to babble to everyone about how he killed his own wife. And instead of taking her to preschool, they made her clean the house and learn cleanliness.

The only toy he allowed Santana to play with was the stuffed puppy she had with her when Maribel was killed. She occasionally came out of her father's room and watched one hour of cartoons. She wasn't allowed to be left alone by babysitters because she'd tattle on them about her mother's death, and all she ate every day was pizza, bread, and apples.

The only liquids they had in the house was milk, water, beer, wine, vodka, and gin. Since the pipes were messed up and the bottled water they had wasn't clean, they only provided Santana with milk to drink. They didn't get her any orange juice, soda, or any other drink they had in the grocery store.

She found it unfair that she had to stay with Perry. She wanted her mother back. She was everything to her, and her unfit father took her life away. She cursed him out in her dreams. She imagined killing him while he slept, stabbing him a continuous number of times in the chest. She imagined him in the tub, and she'd throw a plugged-in radio in with him. Either way, she wanted that horrible man out of her life.

One day, somewhat of a miracle came. The police arrived in the apartment building unexpectedly, searching for Santana's father. Before they arrived in the apartment, they found fingerprints on the gun he used to shoot his wife. Along with that, neighbors heard gunshots and spotted Maribel's body in the house. One of them immediately called the police, they investigated evidence there, and came to Perry's new residence.

Once they got there, they found much drugs and alcohol in the kitchen, living room, and bathroom. The innocent brunette child was sitting on the rug where she always slept, looking at the strong, tough policemen observing the rooms. They questioned the little girl if she knew anything.

Just when she was about to speak, her father came in, interrupting them and asking why they were interrogating her daughter. One of the policemen held his gun up, while the other handcuffed the man, dragging him down to the car outside. Gerald was also handcuffed and taken to another car. Santana was put in a third car and taken to the police station.

After answering questions about her mother and father, Perry and Gerald were both arrested for theft, another few years added to Perry's sentence for homicide. Santana was sent to the orphanage an hour after.

She seemed calm at first, but she had a very big temper. She wished for everything to come back to normal, but it never happened. She won't even let new families talk with her. Instead, she stayed in her room and threw a big hissy fit, one that the orphanage mothers and fathers could handle.


Image #4: Brittany S. Pierce. Birth Date: January 23rd, 1994. Height: 3'11 ½". Admission: April 12th, 1999.

The innocent girl in the photo was the most vulnerable one of them all. She never smiled nor frowned. She always had a blank or sad facial expression. She held her left arm with her right hand. Her head would sink most of the time, showing her silky but tangled, blonde hair.

Out of everyone in the orphanage, she wouldn't talk to anybody. The orphanage mothers and fathers never really got a word out of her. She wouldn't even cry. They never got a taste of Brittany's voice. She wouldn't converse with any other children. In fact, all she did was stay in the corner with a stuffed unicorn and hold onto it for the rest of the play day.

No one could get her to meet a new family, either. She'd pull away and run to her room, hiding under the bed and waiting until whoever chased her left.

She liked to draw a lot, just like Blaine. Although she didn't say anything to the therapist, she drew pictures of what she saw and what was done to her. One of the pictures was of her father on top of her on a queen-sized bed. He had an angered facial expression, and she was facing stomach down on the bed with her pants down, allowing her father to insert himself inside her. The mother was drawn at the edge of the bed, holding the blonde's feet down.

Another picture Brittany drew was of her in what looked to be a dirty, almost-empty closet. The clothes were boxed in plastic bins, and a thin blanket was thrown on the closet floor. The blonde girl drawn in the picture – whom the therapists assumed to be Brittany – was sleeping on the floor. Food was scattered everywhere, bugs crawled around, a bucket of waste was put in the corner, and puke was on the floor. There were no windows except for the small, rectangle-shaped one that stood high above inside where the bins of clothes were put.

The third picture was of Brittany and what looked to be her mother. She had a belt in her hands, eyeing the little girl kneeling down on something gray and hard. The therapists noticed some scars on Brittany's palms and knees. They turned back to the picture, and saw a sack she drew in the corner somewhere that read Heavy Duty Rock Salt on it.

The fourth picture was of the blonde girl's house. A window was open in the living room, and it seemed like Brittany escaped. A car driving away was shown in the picture as well. The therapists concluded that the girl escaped from her parents and somehow found her way here.

One of the orphanage mothers, Miss Edna Parsons, was interviewed by a policeman that came to speak about Brittany's escape from home and entrance into the orphanage. She told them that Brittany was seen out in a suburban area, walking on the sidewalks by herself. Edna had just gotten off work, and was heading to the grocery store to pick up some milk and toilet paper for home. She was outside of a drug store, sitting on the porch and waiting for the rain to stop.

Once Edna had gotten close enough to her, she tried asking her about how she got out there by herself. The girl just shrugged. Then she asked if she knew where her parents were. The girl shook her head. That's when Edna considered taking Brittany to the orphanage and making lost and found signs for her. Brittany grabbed her arm, shaking her head. She didn't want to go back to wherever she was, it looked like. Edna assumed something was wrong, so she took the blonde to the orphanage to stay with them for a while.

After investigating the pictures the blonde drew, the therapist and policeman went to Brittany's home – after receiving the address from her – and found the married couple at home in their room, looking for the little girl. The two were sentenced for twenty years for molestation and child abuse. They kept on threatening that they'll soon get out and kill their daughter, which added another ten years to their sentence. Afterwards, Brittany was admitted into the orphanage. The police promised her that she wouldn't have to deal with those evil mongrels ever again.


"And they've been missing for three or four days, you say?" Chief Newberry interrogated as he sipped a cup of hot cocoa that sat on his desk.

"Yes," the man before him answered, "and no one nearby the orphanage has found them ever since."

A string of silence fell over suddenly. The Ohio State Police Department succeeded with a number of cases before. Twelve hundred homicides and hold-ups. Three hundred molestation or rape cases. About one hundred and twenty suicides in high schools. If they could do all of that, then how would a simple evacuation be any difficult?

"Should I report this to Channel 5 news?"

The chief typed something into his computer at his desk. "Someone's bound to find those kids."

The fit man darted towards the entrance of his office. "I'll get Lisa Hunter on the phone."

O-O-O-O-O

The theme music for LLN Channel 5 came on. Every TV screen tuned in to LLN Channel 5 lit up green, yellow, and white. The logo was literally stamped on the title card, and then faded, revealing the female news reporter seated in a studio with many papers placed in front of her.

"Good evening, Lima, Ohio," the blonde woman spoke into the camera. She looked to be very alert and concerned, focused on the documents placed in front of her.

"Tonight's top story: four children have been missing from the Charles Holmes Orphanage as of October fifth. Nine-year-old Kurt Hummel, and eight-year-olds Blaine Anderson, Santana Lopez, and Brittany S. Pierce have all been reported to be missing from the orphanage, with no evidence of their disappearance. For more on the report, we go to Daniel Brown. Daniel."

A caramel-skinned man showed up on the screen. He was standing in front of the orphanage, wearing a brown jacket. It was about fifty-four degrees – maybe more, maybe less – but it was like a black hole out there, still.

A black fence surrounded the perimeter, which seemed to be around two thousand, seven hundred and ninety feet. A brown sign was planted in the ground on the other side of the fence on the lawn that read Charles Holmes Orphanage.

"Just four days ago, one of the orphanage mothers, Miss Elizabeth Callie, was getting all of the children ready for sleep. Just at 11:45 p.m., she did a room check on the girls' bedrooms before learning that Santana Lopez and Brittany S. Pierce had both left. An orphanage father, Mr. Eddie Winslow, discovered that Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel both vanished moments after the two girls. Once police have made it to the scene, no evidence of homicide or abduction could be found."

Miss Elizabeth Callie was seen on screen, with a microphone directed to her. The woman's brunette hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she had the most anxious facial expression.

"I can't imagine them escaping the area," she spoke, "and even if I did, I wouldn't imagine them going any farther than a block or two. They're just kids."

There was another shot of the neighborhood where the orphanage was located. Lisa Hunter's white woman voice can be heard in the background.

"Police are still on the search of these four children, interrogating some neighbors or people that had some relation to each."

A skinny blonde close to her twenties was next in the shot. She lived in the second floor of an apartment building. Books were scattered all over the dining room table, and a souvenir flag hung on the wall beside a photograph in a frame – of what looked to be the blonde and a couple of friends – that had the logo for University of Northwestern Ohio.

"There could be any logical reason for Kurt leaving the orphanage – any reason, I tell you," she spoke into the mike. A sense of guilt flew through her as she took in the memory of when Kurt was first sent to the orphanage. The poor boy was so alone – damn her for not keeping him for at least a while! "Look, I'll admit that he was mad at me, especially after I said I couldn't watch him that much longer on my own. I get it."

She gasped. It had been a while since she's seen the child. He could be out looking for her for all she knew. "Do you – do you think he's coming for me?"

The interviewer gave no response.

O-O-O-O-O

"Oh, she was such a sweetie pie."

The next shot was of a lower middle class neighborhood, but looked almost awfully trashed. The cameraman made it to the lawn of a happily married couple. The landscaping around them wasn't much clean – with the hanging clothes in the back, the scrambled toys, and the barbecue grill and all – but it was still decent.

An obese woman with glasses had tears running down her face. Her husband stood close behind with the same melancholy facial expression. They'd sent the little girl's parents to prison – or even to hell; like God would even want devilish adults taking care of such a young baby girl – if they weren't so violent.

"Sometimes, Jerry and I would go over to the house and visit the poor child when the family needed help with plumbing or any other glitches in the house," the woman sobbed and sniffled in between words, "and she would try to put on the least bit of a smile on her face, she would. It was – it was too hard on her. Majority of the time, she wouldn't look at us. And –"

She continuously shook her head and buried her face into her hands. How could she go on like this. Help her, dear Lord – that baby girl was so adorable, yet helpless. Her own daddy didn't allow her to open her mouth because she could end up tattling about the abuse she's been receiving all this time.

The man shot his eyes to the interviewer, gripping onto his wife's shoulders. "It was those goddamned parents of hers." He was seconds close to threatening to punch them in the face, already knowing that they got locked up years ago. "She couldn't speak up about it because of them! She done got fucked two times a day! She sat there in hard rock salt. She lived in a goddamned closet all this time!"

More sobs came from the weeping woman beneath him.

"Imagine all the opportunities we had to call the police on them crazy people," the man, earlier recognized as Jerry, moved on with his rant. "We could've done it. We could've saved her life, and we just sat there like nothing happened!"

The woman's cries turned into yells. "Oh, baby girl! Why they do this to you?" She fell into Jerry's arms, with her hands still buried in her hands.

Jerry felt like crying, too. He had to stay strong, though – for his wife and that poor, innocent child. Justice was going to be brought sooner or later. Someday, he hoped, that girl will come running free, in need of a home and a loving family. The two neighbors of hers would definitely be there for her.

"I only pray to God that she makes it back safely. She's had enough of this crap. She's had enough."

O-O-O-O-O

"I figured Cooper and Max would get along perfectly like any other child would with another."

The next shot was of Northern Bridge Elementary School. A female teacher with strawberry blonde hair was standing on the playground area. Behind her, kids were playing and pretending like nothing happened – well, almost all of them; some made dirty little faces in the camera from a distance and whatnot.

"This goes to show all those students out there in elementary schools and high schools that, you really can't trust anyone out there."

Her mouth ejected a lot of air after taking a breath. "Max sure did have cruel parents. When I first heard the news about Cooper and both of his parents getting killed by those gang members, I couldn't tell if they were proud of this or not. It was always about getting money with them – from what I learned from a couple of neighbors."

It was really unfortunate for this woman to be standing here and losing both of her students – one being shot by dirty, tattooed assholes, and the other being sent to a mental hospital to take care of his attitude. Society was turning its children into a whole bunch of shit, she agrees. The music, the weapons, the smut in books and on the internet.

One day, she'll see one of her kindergarteners in her junior year of high school with a baby bump, and just shake her head at how fucked up everything is.

"They were just in it for the money?"

The lady nodded. "Well, yeah. They were poverty-stricken for a little while, until Max turned around three or four years old. Don't get me wrong; I understand that they need to take care of the family, but why should they sacrifice their reputations by torturing other families – especially the ones with young children? They could at least get off their a – "

She turned behind her, watching the kids play and being cautious of her vulgar language.

"Their butts, I mean, and graduate from college with a degree, and then find themselves a job. Whatever Max's father was thinking – or if he was thinking at all – he pretty much screwed up big time. Him and his son."

"How do you feel about Cooper Anderson's family? What do you expect the outcome of their family lives to be?"

"Well, Cooper and both of his parents, I hope they rest in peace. I really hope they do. I pray for them every night in hopes they've moved on to greener pastures than whatever we're living in. The only one that made it out of that house alive was the youngest son, Blaine – Jesus, Blaine. He was only a baby back then. And now he's running somewhere, with no explanation of what happened. I hope he makes it back safely."

The woman brought her hand to her mouth, stared down at the ground, and let out endless tears.

O-O-O-O-O

"I'm gonna tell you right now, and I'm dead-on serious: Perry is a real bitch."

A skinny black female with a white T-Shirt and her teenage son's graduation picture on it glared at the interviewer, cursing out that wicked man in her mind as much as possible.

"I live two buildings away from where he lived," she continued. "I saw him out on street corners with this ugly ol' dude and this itty bitty girl. I'm like, he lost his damn mind to be selling drugs and accompanying a little tot like her. Why would people carelessly do this kind of crap and raise children?"

"Did you know about the death of his wife at any point when this was going on?" the interviewer asked, speaking into his mike before pointing it in the lady's direction.

"Well, when he was first arrested and it was put on the seven o'clock news, yes," the lady replied. "It took me a while to put the pieces together. Girl with a crack-head man, dude selling drugs with another thug – and then it clicked just like that."

She inhaled a little and her eyes wandered off past the camera. "Now…she's somewhere, running away. I'll bet it has something to do with her momma's death. I don't blame her one bit. I'd do that kind of thing if my momma was killed by some ugly old bastard. But I hope she makes it back somehow. I'm worried for her, and I bet her momma from heaven is, too."

O-O-O-O-O

Lisa Hunter returns on screen with the most serious facial expression, giving everyone the benefit of a doubt.

"Police are still on the look-out for these four runaways, getting input from different people on the streets, and eventually leading up to their final checkpoint. We'll be right back after these messages."

She quickly faded out of view, and a commercial for a bacon double cheeseburger from Duncan's Dungeon came on.


The dramatic theme music for the LLN Channel 5 came on. Lisa Hunter, now with longer hair put in a bun on the back of her head, wore a black suit with a skirt and a hot pink tank underneath the jacket. She listened to an earpiece that was on her ears seconds before it was her moment to speak.

"We interrupt this program to bring you a special report," the blonde spoke, stacking the papers in front of her in a neat pile. "A nearby corner store has been robbed, and three people have been killed on the inside. Police are investigating the scene and digging up evidence on who the murderer just might be."

The next shot was of the corner store in question, Quick Buy, which was surrounded by police cars and yellow tape. Some men were taking out three dead bodies and bringing them to the ambulance that parked in the street, its lights and siren going off continuously.

One female police officer spoke with some of the customers that were inside at the time, and another, Jessica Wynder, spoke to the interviewer behind the camera.

"One of the customers inside – I assume he was in the bathroom at the time – just spotted a male and a female with their guns aimed at the people in the front of the store, and got the whole scoop from another that stood by the frozen food area. The murderers just opened the door and got ready to go, and the man just brought this to our attention via his cell phone. Seems like the murderers weren't keeping a good watch on its hostages."

"W-Wait, there was more than one?" the interviewer asked.

Officer Wynder nodded. "Three. One was a female, assumed to be Latina or some sort. And there were two males involved. They didn't seem like gang members, but they were out for something, I believe."

Another shot of the corner store was shown, and the third dead body was carefully placed in the ambulance. Lisa Hunter's voice was heard, although her face not seen.

"Police are still finding evidence, and will track down the whereabouts of the three murderers as soon as possible."

O-O-O-O-O


Date: February 25th, 2012

City, State: Lima, OH

Time: 7:54 p.m.

Location: Quick Buy corner store


"Victim number one, facing west." A crime scene investigator stepped in the store, with a guy with a camera following close behind. He took photos of a man with a moustache – assumed to be some kind of Mexican – and a plaid shirt, laying on his side on the ground behind the front desk. Blood deeply stained his shirt, and it was spread out around his body.

"Armando Montgomery, male," the man observing the body spoke aloud, and a female in front of the desk took note of it in her notepad. "Approximately one hundred and forty-eight pounds. Two bullets shot through the upper left side of his chest, one at his forehead."

He walked from the desk to the shelves where the chips and snacks were stored. Another guy lay dead and on his back on the ground. He had on a white T-Shirt under a plaid one, which was awfully stained with blood on it as well.

"Victim number two, facing southeast," he spoke aloud, with the lady keeping a note of it. "Male. Approximately one hundred and sixty-two pounds. Trauma to the head, and three bullets at the lower stomach."

A few steps away was another victim that got shot by the murderers. The person seemed to have slid down to seating position when he got gunned down. Blood spewed out of his forehead and his neck down to his black hoodie and his blue jeans.

"Victim number three, facing north…east." Another was made into the notepad. "Male. Approximately one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Trauma to the head, bullet stuck in his forehead and neck. Hit on his right temple with a blunt object."

Still recording their findings, a police officer stepped next to him, holding a videotape in his hands. "We have…some footage taken from the security camera."

The man turned in his direction and saw the black object in his hands. "Alright, let's check it out."

The bodies have been taken away, and the crime scene investigator and the police officer went to the police department building to record their findings in the video.

The crime has been committed at 7:02, just about fifty minutes before everyone came to investigate. Armando, the cashier, had just confirmed a purchase a redheaded woman made, and was now opening up a can of Diet Coke.

Three teenagers walk in: one with a gray hoodie, a yellow sweater, and a brown, plaid bowtie, his hair black and full of hair gel; one with a black jacket, skinny pants, white shoes, and neatly combed and sprayed, chestnut hair; and another with lengthy, brunette hair, a black jean jacket, white tank, skinny jeans, and black Converse shoes, holding onto a black bag that hung over her left shoulder.

The two male suspects innocently look on the shelves for anything they need, and the female suspect walked up to the front desk, almost flirting with Armando.

He sort of walks into her little tricks, shooting smirks and punch lines at her. The female suspect tugs at the low-cut collar on her tank, almost showing her perfectly-formed breasts. The cashier almost looks down, admiring her feminine form, and snapping out suddenly.

The female suspect then asks for some money, but the cashier refuses. She continues to seduce him, coming behind the desk and touching all over his chest, believing that he'll pay him if she tried some tactics on him. Armando pushes her arm away, yelling at her and threatening her to stop seducing him.

Shaking her head slightly, she pulls out a Jericho 941 pistol, aiming it in his face. The cashier's hands fly up all of a sudden, backing away from the girl. She took steady steps towards him, giving him a three-second countdown. He threatens to call the police, his voice reaching to its peak. Customers in the store notice this, one of them hiding in the back of the store and another running out to their car.

The girl pulls at the trigger three times, and the man falls to the ground. Her head shoots up at the customers still in the store. The boy in the black jacket has a Browning High-Power automatic handgun, aiming at a male and three other females near the bread section. The boy with the gray hoodie holds another Jericho 941 at two males by the snacks area.

All witnesses fall to their knees, excluding a male in a black hoodie. The chestnut-haired boy shouts and tells him to get down, aiming his gun at him. The guy in the black hoodie pleads for his life. Unable to take much more of it, the boy in the black jacket tells him to shut up, grabbing a baseball bat that the boy with the gray hoodie brought in. He promised that he'll feel pain, beating him recklessly, giving him one last chance to get down on his knees.

The man brings his arms up, attempting to take the bat away. The girl aims her gun at the man, shooting him in the forehead and neck. He slides against the shelf and falling to the ground.

The obese guy gets up a little, giving the girl an angry stare and confessing that the guy in the black hoodie was his friend. Not really giving a shit, the girl takes the bat and hits him in the head. To finish him off, she shoots him in the stomach, and his mouth and open wound spews out blood.

The suspects still hold the rest of the customers hostage, and gather up some random food, drinks, paper towels, and some plastic bags. The boy in the gray hoodie, still holding his gun up, attempts to open the cash register, and takes a sack full of money, along with the donation jar. He rounds up the other two suspects, and they head out of the store.

The crime scene investigator and the police officer, still looking at the screen, took good observations of the dead bodies left on the scene.

"Looks like we've got our murderers," the crime scene investigator concluded, writing the last of his notes in his notepad.

The police officer nodded in agreement. "Now…we go out and find 'em."


Author's Note: Hey guys. I just wanted to see how you guys would like this story. I'm still working on my other fan fic, "Teach Me How to Love", if you guys are still wondering. That'll be uploaded some time this week. Anyways, thank you for those who left good reviews for that story, and I hope you'll like this one as well.