It was dark out by the time I finished. Cleaning out the pantry took longer than it should and it set me back on the rest of my work. I locked the door behind me and began walking back to my Uncle's house. My parents had died two years ago in a fire caused by a drunk. Since I had nowhere to go my Aunt and Uncle decided to take care of me instead of sending me to an orphanage. I was very thankful for their help and everything but I was tired of being a burden, they had children of their own, an extra mouth to feed was not appreciated. I was saving money to get my own place, it wasn't much but I had a good start.

Brooklyn was always so peaceful at midnight. It was a weekday, the drunks only came out during Friday's and Saturday's. All the streetlights were dimmed, and the moonlight would illuminate the sidewalk with a silver glow. Rats scuttled in the alley and Cats yowled in the distance. Okay, maybe it wasn't so peaceful but I liked it.

I decided to pick up my pace. Mrs. Frinsger spent the whole afternoon talking about the murder that occurred a couple of days ago. Although I liked to think of myself as a realistic person the gruesome detail in which the article was written was getting to me.

My uncle's home was only four blocks from the bakery. So my trip wasn't terribly long and full of hoops to jump through. We lived in a tenement, like much of New York. The kitchen and the living room where joint and there was only two tiny rooms for Six people. The entire tenement was infested with cockroaches and during the winter with mice. Aunt Rita had bought a cat to keep them out of our apartment but that always didn't work. I lived much better with my parents, I was an only child in a good part of Brooklyn. My father made more than enough with his carpeting business and Mother would sell her paintings to anyone who was willing to buy them. The night that they died the whole building burned, leaving me with nothing. Absolutely everything was destroyed in the fire.

Reaching the apartment building I climbed up the stairs as quietly as I could. Flinching as the steps beneath me groaned in protest. We lived in the third floor, there were four in total. The building manager would cut your rent down if you cleaned for him. Which was what I would find myself doing every now and then. Taking one for the team.

The ugly scratched door with the number 5 painted in red appeared in my line of vision. Home sweet home. I turned the knob, it remained unlocked until I got home.

Wails of protest hit my ears. Not again.

"I don't know where it is! I already told you!"

Uncle Roger was, as clichéd as it may sound, a struggling drunk. He could go a week without a drop but as soon as that seventh day hit he was right back at it.

"You hid it woman! I swear you did!"

Aunt Rita would hide the alcohol in the house, she would also stash the money safely away so Uncle Roger wouldn't spend it all.

Thankfully the screams never did seem to make it out of the apartment. It was made completely of brick. A plus if you didn't want the neighbors to hear but bloody cold in the winter.

I threw my lunch pack on the only table we had and made my way to my shared room. Someone had to keep an eye on the kids.

Fletcher, the eight year old, was completely passed out. Rose who was two years younger than Fletcher stood next to the window, gazing out into the night. She never slept when her parents argued.

"Rose, what are you doing? You should be in bed"

She didn't answer. I walked closer "Rose…"

An ear splitting scream tore in the room. I jumped three feet in the air.

The sleeping Fletcher woke, thrashing in his bed.

I raced to the six-year old.

"Rose! What's wrong?" I grabbed her bony shoulders and spun her around.

The moonlight coming in through the window illuminated the lack of color and the trembling of her lip.

I searched her face only to find terror. Holding her closer, I peaked out the window, feeling the blood in my body drop to my toes. A shaky hand came to my lips to stop me from screaming.

"What is going on in here?"

I heard my relatives come in. I couldn't look away.

"Why did you scream, Rose?"

Aunt Rita took Rose from me and kneeled to her height while Uncle Roger looked at what I was staring at.

"R-Rita…get the landlord. We need a phone" Uncle Roger gulped, while his hand reached behind him for my Aunt.

"Roger?"

Pulling myself from the gore, I raced out of the room and out the front door. My wobbly feet making me stumble over the stairs. I reached out for the bar handle to keep me from falling. Reaching the first floor, I pounded on the landlord's door.

I didn't trust my voice to shout.

Grumbling came from the other side of the door before the sliding of a bar.

"This better be good" The greying landlord came out, tucking his shirt in his pants and pulling on his suspenders.

"I-I n-need to use your p-phone" The words barely came out.

His brow furrowed and then he rolled his eyes "Who are you going to call in the middle of the night?"

"The police" His eyes widened. I made a gesture towards the inside of the apartment.

"Why?" He asked, but still moved over. His apartment was filthy again. Cigarette smoke still lingered in the air.

I knew where the phone was.

"Operator? Yes, can you connect me to the police station? All right thank you." I held the phone in my shaky hands and waited.

"John, what's going on out there? Who is that?"

I glanced up to see a door opened a quarter. In the room, I could see an undone bed and the shape of a woman. The landlord wasn't married, was she his mistress?

Before I could dwell more on this the phone spoke up.

"This is the Brooklyn police department. How may we help you?"

What was I supposed to say? "Umm.. There's been a crime committed"

I heard a sigh on the other side of the line. "Mam I'm going to have to ask you to be more articulate" the droning voice said.

"Outside my window I saw a man assault a defenseless man…with a knife" Did that sound urgent enough?

There was silence on the other side.

"I'm going to need an address"