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Flightless Bird

Chapter 2

I have to hand it to Dad, he has tried his best to keep life as normal as possible, under the circumstances. I think back on all the names I have had over the years…Formoso Raven, Alainn Finch, Joli Macaw, Divan Pionus, Kena Meyers and now Bella Swan. My real name is Isabella, but I haven't been called that in over four years.

The summer before my freshman year of high school my mother was killed as I sat quietly in the closet she told me to hide in. My mother, Renee, had been dating a man named Phil on and off for almost three years and it wasn't until he returned to our house, after almost of month of being gone, that I realized that their relationship was not right. My mother and paled significantly when she peered through the peep hole of the door and as she led me down the hall to the furthest bedroom and opened the closet door I knew that something terrible was going to happen.

When the fighting began all I heard were muffled words and raised voices. I sat as far back as I could in the dark closet, I could see just a sliver of the room through the gap in the door frame. My ears rang and I swear the sound of my heavy breaths could be heard from miles around. I jumped slightly when I heard them come into the room. Phil had been asking where I was and my mother had assured him that I was out of the house. I was supposed to be at school, but we were running late. He believed her easily and kept asking her questions about who she talked to and what she had said about him.

I never liked Phil; he wormed his way into our home and into my mother's heart. He was no good. He never really got to know us, and after three years, we knew just a bit more about him then we did after three months. He was secretive and would leave on trips for long periods of time. He was constantly paranoid around me and had told us on more than one occasion not to talk about him to any one. His picture was never taken, always finding an excuse to escape a situation in which a camera could record his presence.

A few weeks before the police had come to our house and had asked us questions about Phil, but we didn't have too much information to share. We were honest with them and when Officer Black handed my mother his card he had lowered his voice and whispered "don't be afraid of him, we can offer you both protection". My mother smiled and nodded and told them to have a nice day as she escorted them out of the house.

"Why were they here Renee? You didn't tell them anything did you?" Phil yelled as my mother cringed away. He smacked her across the cheek when she didn't respond immediately.

"N-n-nothing, Phil, I swear." She stuttered. He pushed her down onto the mattress across from the closet and my mother stared straight ahead at me telling me with her eyes not to make a sound.

"Good, it's going to stay that way". The gunshot was muffled by a pillow from the bed. Feathers and blood red spots littered the room as Phil dropped the gun beside my mother and left the house.

I didn't move except to take in ragged breaths. My vision was blurry from the constant stream of tears, my ears continued to ring and my lungs would burn reminding me to take another breath. I don't know long I sat there, but soon the room was filled with red and blue flashing lights and the sound of sirens.

Officer Black was the one that found me. He pulled me from the closet and held me close as he led me from the house, careful to keep my mothers body out of my line of vision. The ride from my house to the police station was quiet, no words were exchanged by anyone. The only distraction was the occasional call from dispatch. Arriving at the police station we made our way to Officer Black's office. It was at the end of the precinct sandwiched between interrogation rooms. Officer Black led me to a couch and offered me a drink and something to eat. I refused both with a simple nod, not even making eye contact with the man in front of me.

My dad showed up a frantic few hours later as I sat on the scratchy, gray sofa off to the side of Officer Black's desk. My dad lived a few towns over from my mother and we still saw each other regularly. My parents divorce was amicable and they had remained friends while raising me. As I grew up it was really great to be able to see both of my parents when ever I wanted. They always brought me over to the other person's house when ever I wanted. I felt bad for the kids in my class who only got the occasional weekend or two weeks over summer vacation to see their other parent.

Dad and Officer Black spoke briefly, their words were lost in the jumble that was my brain. Images played on repeat in my mind; the frightened look on my mother's face, the dark of the closet, the echoing bang of the gun, and the constant ring in my ears that made me dizzy. My dad wrapped his arms around me and the pain in my chest lightened considerably. I felt like I could breathe again. He just held me tight and rubbed a hand up and down my back until my breathing had slowed from panicked gasps to stuttering pants.

"You OK Kiddo?" he whispered as he held me tight. He wasn't expecting an answer back and didn't seem disappointed to not get one.

We left the police station, packed up a few belongings and never looked back.

Phil had fled and warrants were issued for his arrest, but even now he is still on the loose with no more leads as to his whereabouts. I wonder what Dad and I will do when he finally is found; could we ever stay in one place again?

I tried not to think to far ahead, it could be overwhelming. Especially with my eighteenth birthday approaching – would Dad and I continue like this or would I be expected to continue on alone allowing my dad to return to a normal life again? Maybe I could disappear onto a college campus, study abroad, or just disappear all together to an island far away?

Dad was always there for me and the sacrifices he has made for me over the past four years is amazing. I think he may have been dating someone when all of this started, but without another thought we disappeared. Dad left behind his house, car, job, and family, everything just to keep me away from the man that now knew I had witnessed my mother's murder. We left our lives behind with my mother and started a new life together, new names, new places, new stories.

Even though our identities changed with our zip codes, my dad always found a way to keep my name close to the one my mother had given me. My first name was always a translation of 'beautiful' and my last name was more of a private joke between my dad and me. He would change it to the name of bird, joking that we were always prepared for flight.

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