I didn’t come alone, though. I had to take my grandparents with me, or the people who were after me would’ve killed them. They knew about my father’s death. They knew the people coming after me were the ones who killed him and got rid of the body.
That was only half the truth, though.
Because they didn’t kill him.
I did.
CHAPTER 2
ELARA
I know teachers aren’t supposed to have a favorite student. Yet we do. We all do.
And mine is Brody Quinn.
The sweet eight-year-old boy who never smiles.
Never laughs.
Never even likes to be hugged.
Not anymore. Not since he lost both of his parents last year, I’m told.
He barely even looks at anyone. Like he’s afraid even that would be too much communication, and it breaks my damn heart.
I adore him, and I wish there was something more I could do.
But I try. I talk to him during snack time or lunch, when he’s sitting alone or next to people who are talking. While he’s just there, existing in his own head. In his own pain.
I know all about that too.
Closing my eyes, I see her.
Nonono! Mom! No!
I remember my screams. The blood. So much blood.
I can’t unsee it. Her body contorted on the shower floor. Her eyes lifeless.
I blink away the tears.
Don’t go back there. Don’t you dare go back there.
Losing my mom almost killed me. But losing the people you love at a young age is cruel and unfair, and Brody lost his mother right after his father was killed.
The school counselor told me his mom committed suicide after his dad died from a boat accident.
He found her.
His own mother.
A pang hits my chest, and I pinch the bridge of my nose to stop from crying.
Tears swim in my eyes anyway as I stare at him, quietly eating his pretzels at his desk while others are chatting with one another.
Gathering my bag of popcorn and Oreos, I get to my feet and grab a chair, placing it beside him. A movie plays for the kids to enjoy as they eat, and it’s the screen that has his attention.
“Hey, Brody,” I whisper. “Whatcha got there?”