Part Two: Chapter One


August 3, 1984

Moonlight was beginning to shine into a small, black, pickup truck. The light illuminated the dashboard and passenger seat, where the still figure of Sara sat. Her legs were folded in her seat, her arms crossed, and back hunched over, as though she were attempting to fold over and disappear from the face of the earth.

Visions were still flashing into her mind; those horrible visions. The shouting, the missing knife, the blood, the words her mother said; "You don't love me, you don't love me," Those words would probably haunt her for the rest of her life. Now her father was dead. How could he be dead? She had never anticipated his death, at least not until she was an adult, out of the house, a job, a husband, kids maybe even.

Not anymore.

She wanted nothing more to do with anyone, there had been barely anyone in her life before, and afterwards would be no different, she would make sure of it. Back in the room with her mother and now deceased father, Sara had lingered for a few more minutes, staring, taking in the scene, forcing herself to be younger, to be five, to be carefree. It didn't work.

Sara placed her head in her hands, elbows on her knees, emotion pulling a lump into the middle of her throat. She couldn't cry, she would not cry. After those agonizing minutes of inevitable defeat, staring at the bloody floor and her hysterical mother, she called the police, Laura remaining in the room. Sara could still remember her own frightened words over the receiver.


"911. What is your emergency?" The woman's voice drawled in an agonizing sort of buzz.

"My mom! She…she killed my dad! You've got to send the police1 He's…She stabbed him!"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes!"

"How old are you?"

"Almost 13! But that's beside the point! Please! Help!" Sara broke out in frightened sobs. It was as if the world were wobbling on top of thin poles and now it had crashed down upon her, causing her to lose all the control she had managed to withhold inside the room.

"What I want you to do is go outside your house and wait on the front yard. Where do you live?"

"418 N. Rightwood Street!"

"Thank you, Police will be arriving very soon. Do as I told you." Then the tone sounded…


Sara stared unblinkingly at her lap, almost hoping it would make the entire situation disappear, to go away. This had to be a dream, a nightmare. She was going to wake up any second in her room with Herbert in her arms, children books piled around her on the floor, parents laughing about something out in the living room.

A small sob escaped her thinking about her past life. It had been nearly perfect. It was gone now. It was gone forever and would never come back. Sara frantically wiped a tear from her face and drew a shuddering breath. It felt like she was trapped, an animal cornered in an inescapable cage.

Suddenly a knock on the passenger side window sent Sara out of her thoughts. A woman was standing outside her door, waving at her, gesturing for her to open the door. Sara once more wiped away some freefalling tears and opened the door. The woman smiled and squatted down to look Sara in the eye. Sara stared back angrily; she didn't in the least bit feel like socializing right now.

The woman had curly red hair and brown eyes. She was slightly underweight but then again who was Sara to judge?

"Hey there Sara." the woman began quietly. "I'm Diane. I'm going to be taking you to your new home."

Sara looked back down at her hands and remained quiet. Okay, so she wasn't going to live here anymore. She knew that. She wouldn't have expected anything less. Sara could feel Diane's eyes on her, as though analyzing her, taking in her appearance. Sara remained silent, staring at her hands, rubbing them together as though trying to grasp the facts.

The sound of another set of footprints reached her ears and she could sense another presence.

"Is that her?" asked the voice of a woman other than Diane.

"Yes. She's not really much of a talker. I don't know how much you'll get."

Sara could tell they were trying to speak as quietly as possible so she wouldn't hear; it wasn't working very well.

"Hey there Sara." whispered the second voice. Sara looked up from her lap again and stared into the brown eyes of a tall woman with long blond hair. "I'm Marie Marlon with the San Francisco Crime Lab. I just want to ask you a few questions."

Sara looked away then back again with a barely audible 'Okay'.

"Good," The woman smiled and pulled out a pad of paper and pen. "First off, tell me what went on before the stabbing occurred."

Stabbing. The word left a sour feeling in Sara's senses. She went silent for a few seconds, fixing her eyes on her hands again. Finally, Sara gulped down her emotions and spoke, voice cracking several times.

"I—er—was hungry."

The woman instantly began scribbling on the pad of paper. Sara gawked at her as she wrote down at least two sentences of her three-and-a-half word response.

"Okay, then what happened?"

"Uh—I went to make a sandwich and I noticed that a knife was missing." Sara stammered, gaze snapping from the furiously writing pen.

The woman scrawled again.

"I looked for it real quick but then I heard my mom and dad in the other room."

Sara's voice shook as she recalled the frightening situation she had just gone through. It was horrible knowing it happened, but to admit it happened by recollecting the event was torture.

"I guess I was…too late. When I opened the door he was lying there in a pool of blood." The lump in Sara's throat reached its peak and she could no longer talk. She went silent and pressed her hands together tightly, lacing her fingers together and squeezing.

The woman gazed at her sympathetically for a few more moments before muttering a 'Thank you,' and walking away.

Sara sat in the moonlight, alone once more. The lump in her throat pushed another couple of shaky sobs out. Sara did her best to contain them by pressing her hands over her mouth and attempting to hold her breath. After they passed, she stared out the side window, watching the people beyond the crime scene tape milling about, coming in and out of her home carrying bags here, crime kits there, and eventually an ominous black bag with the figure of a dead man inside.

Another few minutes later, Diane entered the driver's side of the car and turned the transmission on.

"Sorry I took so long. I needed to make a couple of phone calls. I've found a family who'll take you in for a while."

Sara was silent.

"They're the Nelsons; you'll be okay with them. They live a little ways away from here, out of town, so you'll be using a different school district."

She continued her silent stupor as the car pulled off the side of the street. She could feel Diane's eyes on her as they rumbled away.

"Are you all right Sara?" the woman asked.

Sara could feel a snide laugh creeping its way out of her silence but she held it back with a shake of her head. Well her father was just murdered; did that make her all right?

"Well, obviously," Diane scoffed, "You're obviously not all right emotionally. What about physically? We know your mother was beat by him."

Sara tensed. She hated talking about that. Ever since it started, she had chosen to ignore it.

"Did he ever hit you?"

"No, never," Sara gasped. Words were a lot of effort right now. She picked at her nails distractedly, throwing fleeting looks out the window as they rolled by houses and trees.

Diane glanced down either side of the road then turned towards the highway.

"Never raised a hand, threatened you or anything?"

"No, no, he loved me." The last few words cracked as Sara said them. She wouldn't cry. She couldn't cry in front of this woman who felt it her business to poke around in Sara's home life.

Diane left it at that.


The road was long and the night drifted on, Sara falling in and out of restless sleep, filled with dreams of knives, blood, pain, and her mother's words. Around midnight Diane pulled the car into an off road running past more rows of houses.

"They're around here somewhere. I'm sure you'll like them."

Diane had said that every ten minutes whenever Sara was awake. 'I'm sure you'll like them.' Well by the time Diane stopped rambling about how much Sara would like the Nelsons, she sure wasn't going to like Diane.

Five minutes later the pickup turned into a gravel driveway, illuminated by a porch light. The house was relatively well kept, two stories, two well-trimmed bushes by the doorway, and pansies were growing well in a couple of flower-boxes.

Diane stopped the car and turned to look at Sara.

"Are you ready to go in?"

Sara responded by opening the car door, slamming it, opening the back door, grabbing her duffel bag, slamming that door, then stomping briskly up to the front door of the house and ringing the doorbell. She had gone from shocked, to sad, to annoyed, to angry in a time period of five hours, leaving a trail of aggravated side effects.

By the time the front door was opening, Diane was struggling with her seatbelt, one hand fiddling with the buckle, the other carrying a stack of papers.

Sara rolled her eyes and turned her gaze to the middle-aged woman who had just appeared in the doorway. She had to be somewhere in her mid-thirties. Her hair was beginning to gray though it was mostly still brown. She had a charming, comforting smile and a just as cheerful pair of hazel eyes. Those eyes were directed down on Sara, though they had bags under them from being up late.

"Hi there!" Her voice was as pleasant as her eyes and Sara knew (However much she hated to admit it) she was going to like the Nelsons just as Diane said. "You must be Sara!" the woman stated. She reached out a hand to shake and Sara shook it with one light movement.

Diane, hopping on one foot, her other, struggling to fit in a high-heeled shoe, came up to the doorway. The papers, tucked under her arm, were threatening to fall as she wiggled her foot around attempting to fit it in the shoe.

"Darn shoe! It's always falling off!"

"And you must be Ms. Howard, the social worker. I'm Jillian Nelson. You can call me Jill Sara," Jill added. "Why don't you come in?" Jill opened the door a little further for Sara and Diane to enter. They walked straight into a toy-littered living room. A gently crackling fire burned merrily in the middle of the far wall. A television was to the left, facing diagonally towards the right. A couch was up against the right wall beneath the windows, if it could be called a couch. Toys to the millionth were piled upon it. It was more like a lidless toy-box.

"Excuse the mess please. I haven't gotten around to my usual cleaning sweep. I usually clean after dinner every day but today I was busy getting ready for you. Why don't you and I, Ms. Howard, talk in the dining room. Sara, if you want to watch television that would be fine. I'll give you a quick tour of the house later."

Jill and Diane veered slightly to the right, past a staircase and through a doorway leading to the kitchen. Sara did as best she could to walk through the sea of toys, kicking them gently out of her way as she walked. When she reached the couch, she brushed some toys to the side to form a clearing and sat down. She didn't in the least bit feel like watching television. She always ended up becoming distracted. Instead, she reached into her duffel bag for a book.


"Thank you! I assure you she'll be just fine here." Jill called after Diane as the car started in the driveway. They had finished their meeting within the hour, Sara sitting quietly in the room and reading for that space of time. Jill turned to face her, hands on her hips.

"I thought you'd up and died you were so quiet. You know you could have turned the television on, correct?"

Sara nodded, folding over a corner in her book, closing it, and placing it back in her duffel bag.

"Well, I'll just give you a quick tour and then I need some sleep. Come on this way," She led Sara over to the staircase by the front door. Sara followed, making a great effort not to trip on the mounds of toys. They walked up the stairs, which thankfully was clear of all possible tripping items, and then stopped at the beginning of a two directional hallway.

"The bathroom closest to your bedroom is right over there," Jill whispered, gesturing at a doorway at the end of the left wing. "This is my and my husband's bedroom," she continued gesturing at the door directly in front of her. She then strode down the hallway. The first room she stopped at she waved at the doorway again. "This is Mike and Taylor's room. They're twins and monstrous ones at that. They're the ones that leave cars on the steps most days so you fall down them on your way down to breakfast in the morning."

Sara's eyes widened in her eminent doom, should she wish to walk down the stairs half-asleep. Jill then walked to the very end of the hallway and pointed at a graffiti covered door.

"That's Derek's room. He's not very charming on the outside, he's sort of standoffish, but he's really a sweet boy. You'll attach to him soon I'm sure." She then quietly opened the doorway into the final room, a bright pink one. There were two beds inside, one occupied. More toys were littering the floor in here, though instead of cars and other plastic things, they were dolls and stuffed animals.

"This one's messy too but I'm sure you won't mind. Not many kids aren't accustomed to mess these days. You sleep in here with Meg. She won't do much to bother you. Have a good sleep," Sara walked into the room, quite repulsed at the atrocious color. Pink? A glance at the sleeping figure showed she wasn't much older than five. 'Oh…' Sara thought.

She set her duffel bag gently on her bed, the only clean thing in the room. An end table resided next to it, a lamp on it, though enough clear space to allow for any pictures or keepsakes. Sara hadn't brought any. She quickly and quietly changed into her pajamas, shoving the duffel bag under her bed for safekeeping. Sara wasn't sure if she was going to accustom herself right away, but at least people weren't trying to kill their spouses here.

Eventually, Sara drifted into an edgy, knife-riddled dream.


A/N: Hey everyone! I thought now would be a good time to insert an author's note and I'd like to thank ALL my reviewers! You guys are great! I had no idea this would be so popular! I'm sorry it took so long to get this one out. I've been busy with school. 8th grade is torture, seriously. I've got a Spanish exam on Monday so I've been studying for that all weekend instead of writing but I've finally got it out for you guys! Maybe if I fail my Spanish exam (Which I won't, I'll like die if I do I seriously studied for like 5 hours a night for three nights) I could say I was doing something educational. Writing is so, anyway, right?