Page 2 of Reed

"You have to. They're coming." He's right. I can hear two men arguing in the hallway. "Here," Caleb says, picking up and tossing his oversized bean bag chair out the window. "I'm going to drop you on that. Once you hit the ground, start running. I'll be right behind you."

"No, Caleb. I can't. I'm scared." I'm crying hard, snot is coming out of my nose, and I can't breathe.

"You can. You are the bravest girl I know. I'll keep you safe." He leans forward and kisses my forehead like Daddy does when I have a headache. "I love you forever, Sissy."

"I love you too, Bubba." He helps me climb up to the window and grabs my arms. He starts to lower me down, his hands slipping up my arms to my hands.

The sound of his door being broken fills the air. An intense heat hits my legs as the fire from downstairs breaks the window and fans out. Pain shoots up my legs, and I stifle a scream.

"Grab him, and let's go. The house is about to go up in flames."

"Run. Don't look back. I love you," Caleb whispers and lets go of me. A scream falls from my mouth as I fall toward the ground.

My body jerks forward, and the thin, dirty sheet falls away from my chest, pooling at my waist. My body is sweaty, and I'm trembling like a leaf in the wind. My heart is racing, and tears are pouring down my cheeks. I close my eyes and rub my legs through the sheet. I feel the rough, scarred skin from where thefire burned my legs that night. The small alarm clock on the floor next to my twin mattress starts to beep, and I hurry to shut it up.

It's been twelve years since the night someone broke into my childhood home. Twelve long years since they butchered my father, raped and killed my mother. All before setting the house on fire, thinking no one else was inside. Twelve years since I watched my older brother's lifeless body fall from his window while I hid behind the big oak tree that sat in our side yard. That night changed my life, and nothing has been the same since.

Chapter One

Ali

Night after night, I relive the worst days of my life and fight through the pain of losing everyone. I would love to be able to say that the night I lost every member of my family was the end of my suffering, but it wasn’t. Without any other relatives and the people who killed my family still on the run, I was put into the foster care system under a new name and moved from home to home. The only good thing that came from my time in the system was learning to not depend on anyone or expect anything to be handed to me. Instead, I realized that the only person that would look out for me was myself.

Making sure I miss the spots that creak and walk on my tippy toes, I sneak out of the small bedroom and head into the kitchen. It’s four in the morning, and I’m exhausted. But that is nothing different; I’m always tired. The only light I turn on is the one above the stove because I don’t want to wake anyone else up. I grab the big soup pot off the top of the stove and fill it with water from the sink. I place it back on the stove and set the burner on high. A couple more nights like last night—where tips were good—and I’ll be able to turn the gas on, which means instant hot water and heat in the winter. Until then, I will continue to make do with what we have.

Opening the refrigerator, I pull out the small take-out bowl I took from work last night. It’s not much, it’s half full of chicken noodle soup that would be thrown away because it was what was left at the end of the day. I don’t want to risk using the microwave and waking anyone up, so I settle against the countertop and eat it cold. It’s nothing to rave about, but I can’t be picky, and it will keep me going for a little while. I’m going to have to stop by the local food bank in town this afternoon, even though it makes my stomach curl.

Once I’m finished with the soup, I wash the bowl out before tossing it in the trash and turn my attention to the boiling water. I carry it into the small bathroom off the kitchen and pour it into the tub. It takes a couple of times repeating the process before I have enough hot water. Once I’m done, I turn on the cold water and slowly mix it in until it’s perfectly warm. I grab the only two towels I own and lay them on the closed toilet seat. Heading back into the bedroom, I open the small blue tote inside the door, pull out two outfits, and take them to the bathroom.

When I return to the bedroom, I take a minute to look at the two small, larger-than-life boys taking up most of the bed. My eyes start to tear up, but I refuse to let them fall. Their dark brown hair starkly contrasts with their pale skin and green eyes,but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I sink down onto one knee and press a kiss to each one of their foreheads. They start to wiggle and make little noises that make me smile.

Today is the beginning of a new life for all of us, and while I’m nervous, I know I’m making the right decision—the right decision for all of us. I ruffle their hair and wait for them to open their eyes.

“Good morning,” I say once they are both semi-awake. When they were born, looking at them hurt more than anything because not only do they remind me of how they were conceived, but they are spitting images of my brother. I’ve always wondered what he would look like now if he had survived that night, and I guess I might find out with my boys.

“Mommy.” Caleb–named after his uncle–is the first to speak as he sits up and crawls into my lap. He is my calm and angelic baby. He barely cried as a baby and doesn’t get upset quickly. Nothing seems to shake him, and the little things make him happy.

A sigh comes from Jacob–named after his grandpa–and I can’t help but giggle. He might only be two, but he acts like a grumpy old man in the morning. He is the complete opposite of Caleb and keeps me on my toes. When he sees Caleb in my lap, he slowly crawls over to join us. They both lay their heads on my chest, and I soak in the love of my little family. The only family I have now.

“Are you ready for a bath and some breakfast?” I ask, juggling them as I stand up. They are getting too big for me to carry them both, but I will do it as long as they let me. They don’t answer me, but I don’t expect them to. It’s early for them, but this is our new routine, and they will get used to it soon. Once they are settled in the bath, I let them wake up and play with their small toys for fifteen minutes, but I never leave them for one second. Then I wash them and get them dressed. Caleb doesn’t fight me,but Jacob does because he has hated clothes since he was born. When I pick them up later, I’m sure he will be wearing nothing but his underwear.

I get them buckled in their highchairs, which I picked up at the local flea market. They needed a little sanding and paint, but they worked perfectly. I grab the last banana and split it between them. I fill their cups with milk and scramble some eggs for them. While they eat, I rush through a fast bath with cold water. Leaving the door open, of course, and the radio on to entertain them.

I quickly get dressed in one of my five pairs of jeans and a top given to me by our last neighbor before we were evicted. I pull my light blonde hair up into a ponytail. After cleaning them up, I grab their bag of spare clothes—because while they can use the potty, they sometimes have accidents—and my backpack, we head out the door. Buckling them in takes a while because Jacob wants to sit in Caleb’s seat.

“No. Not mine. Cal’s,” Jacob cries, kicking his feet. “His is blue,” he screams, pulling a few looks from people heading toward their cars.

Sighing, I look at Caleb. “Sweetie, can Bubba ride in your seat today?”

Caleb looks up from the duck he was silently playing with. “Yes.” I thank God for my angel boy. Don’t get me wrong; I love each one of my twins, but sometimes Jacob pushes me to the breaking point.

Finally, both boys are buckled in, and I run around to the driver’s seat. Glancing at the cheap watch on my wrist, I see that we are right on time, even with the meltdown. I hold my breath and pray my Jeep starts. After a few tries, the engine turns over, and I huff out in relief. It’s been touch and go lately, but after having to move again, I don’t have the money to fix anything—at least not yet. After a ten-minute drive across town, I pull up outside our old apartment complex.

After getting the boys out, they grab my hand and amble up the broken sidewalk. Once we reach our destination—apartment thirteen—I slowly raise my hand and knock. The door instantly swings open, and Mrs. Vance moves back so we can come in. She drops down and opens her arms. “How are my two favorite boys this morning?”

Caleb and Jacob both giggle before running into her arms. The sight has an ache forming in my chest. Since I met her two years ago, Mrs. Vance has been a guardian angel. She quickly became a surrogate grandmother to the boys and a mother to me. When I lost my job at the local theater due to its closing and had to move, I cried because I was going to miss her.

“How is the new place?” she asks, standing up and pulling me into a hug, like she did the boys. Speaking of boys, they walk over to the two little chairs she bought for them and sit down to watch whatever movie is on the TV. When we moved, I had to sell our TV, and I know they weren’t happy even if they couldn’t tell me.

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