PROLOGUE

Newport Beach
December 1996

It was a flat tire. That's what the five-year-old's father told her mother, grandparents, uncles, and aunts. But the brunette little girl didn't know what that was, and frankly, she didn't care. It was Christmas Eve, and all she could think about as she clung gleefully to her mother were the many presents she was to get.

After a while of walking, the young and beautiful woman that was the child's mother pointed out a strange group of men. To ensure their safety, the family ducked into an alley. The small girl was beginning to worry, and their new surroundings were anything but comforting.

Puddles from a rain that had taken place days earlier were scattered about, making the stench of garbage stronger. Nearby, against a red brick wall, someone had thrown out some furniture: a ratty old armchair that had rips and holes, with stuffing poking out of it; a dirty, stained mattress whose fabric was peeling off; and a small, wooden kitchen table that looked as if it had been gnawed and scratched at.

Suddenly, a growl came from the shadows, as if from an animal. Then, something as fast and black as a shadow itself launched at them. In the attack, the five-year-old was shoved from her mother. She fell and rolled underneath the table, slamming into the wall. The force knocked the wind out of her.

As she struggled to catch her breath, the languid little girl watched with horror as the creature that moved with such speed and grace slaughtered her family. One by one, they dropped bonelessly to the ground. At last, she saw her mother's frame tumble to the cold, hard asphalt. The body gazed at her with dead, empty eyes.

Trembling, she watched blood trickle down the corpse's throat, and then as the murderer leaned down and unhooked the fancy gold locket that was on a gold chain around her mother's neck.

He (or it) was stealing the jewelry, most likely for money. The child, of course, did not know why he was taking it, nor was she trying to guess. All she was focusing on was staying perfectly still, and not making a sound. The only part of the victimizer that she could see were his scuffed, dirty black boots. She watched them nervously as they turned slowly towards her hiding place. They were so close, that she could've reached out and picked a piece of gravel off of the toe.

After what felt like an eternity, the creature let out an irritated snarl, turned away, and ran off into the night. The girl crawled out from underneath her hiding place and stood up. Not one of the eight bodies before her moved or made a sound.

She bent down and reached into the front pocket of her mother's cotton red dress. Out of it, she pulled a small gold key on a red ribbon, then tucked it into her own pocket.

With nothing else to do, and nowhere else to go, she ran, the lone survivor of a back alley slaughter. And as anger and sorrow over came her, the innocent little girl no one would've expected swore vengeance on whoever or whatever had done this.