“Hey, you kids can’t go past that line,” an overweight cop with a clipboard yells, walking toward us.

   “I live here! Please tell me what’s going on. Where are my mom and dad and sister?” I hold her as she starts to sob. She looks up at the cop, her voice breaking. “Please tell me what’s happening . . . I need to see them.”

   The cop looks at her, sadness and pity in his eyes. “Sweetheart, just give us a minute, okay? We need to do our jobs.” He squeezes her shoulder. “Mendoza!” he calls. A younger cop talking to people in the crowd and taking notes comes over to us. “This is Miss . . . ?”

   “Jones,” Kayla says.

   “Mendoza, this is Ms. Jones. Can you please escort her to the ambulance until we finish up here?”

   Mendoza’s eyes widen in surprise then understanding.

   “Sure, boss.” He nods. “Come with me.”

   Kayla digs her heels into the ground and grips my left arm tightly. “With all due respect, sir,” she says to Mendoza, “just tell me what the fuck is happening!”

   “Micky!” a guy’s voice booms behind us. We both turn to see James running toward us. Kayla hides behind me, and I step protectively in front of her.

   “Get the fuck away from me, James. I don’t want to deal with your shit right now!” she yells.

   “Micky . . .” he sighs. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He tries to reach behind me to get to her, but I block him. “Who the fuck are you?” he spits, squaring his shoulders.

   “James, I swear to God, just go! I don’t want you here!”

   “Micky . . .” He tries to reach for her again.

   “I don’t think she wants you here, asshole,” I say between gritted teeth, my hands balling into fists.

   “Fuck you!” he shouts and lunges for her again.

   So I punch him.

   Right in the face.

   Like I should have the first time I saw him.

   He falls to the ground.

   Cops start coming over, but a guy who must be his friend peels him off the ground and helps him limp away. “Asshole,” I mumble under my breath.

   Then I hear her gasp, and she seizes my arm again. I turn to face her. All the blood has drained from her face. Her body gives out and I struggle to help her fall to the ground gently. I envelop her small frame. Then she wails, a scream so deafening that the crowd instantly falls silent.

   I look toward the house and see them.

   Three gurneys. Three body bags. And one so small it can only be a child’s.

EIGHT

MIKAYLA

   Somehow I end up in the back of an ambulance. I hear voices and smell Jake all around me. I sit up, a little dazed, and realize I’m wearing his tuxedo jacket. I sniff it.

   Then I remember.

   My entire family is dead.

   I close my eyes and pray this is a dream—a nightmare. But when I open my eyes, I’m exactly where I was. I feel my heart pounding hard against my chest. I can’t breathe. My throat tightens and my vision blurs. I need to find a way to make this better. I need James. I need Megan.

   Then I remember more.

   How can everything be taken from me instantly? Anger consumes me, and my body trembles with the need to release something from within.

   I want to die.

   I want to be with them.

   There’s nothing left.

   No one.

   Nothing can hurt more than this.

   Nothing.

   My face burns, and my voice is hoarse from crying. I feel strong arms wrap around my shoulders, rocking me like I’m a child. Jake sits next to me, smoothing my hair away from my face and shushing to comfort me.

   “It’s going to be okay, Kayla. I promise.” He kisses my temple.

   I open my eyes and look into his midnight-blue ones, red and raw from his own tears.

   “Jake . . .” My voice breaks, and I begin to sob again in his arms.

   We stay like that for what feels like hours. My mind is completely void of any thoughts. I’m a shell of a person.

   “Ms. Jones?” Mendoza tries to get my attention.

   I bury my face deeper.

   “Have you got somewhere to stay tonight?” he asks cautiously. “The house is going to be a crime scene for a while. You’ll need to stay somewhere until we clear out all the evidence.”

   I still have no idea what happened to them. “What happened?” I whisper, looking at Jake.

   “It’s okay. We’ll talk later,” he reassures me. To Mendoza, he says, “She can stay with me.”

   “And what’s your relation to Ms. Jones?” Mendoza sounds suspicious.

   “I’m her boyfriend.”

   “I don’t know if that’s appropriate. Has she got any friends she can stay with?”

   A sob escapes me, and I grip Jake more tightly.

   “Seriously, dude?” He sounds pissed. “We’re both adults! And do you really think I’d be here right now if I didn’t care about her? What the fuck?” Jake’s accent is so thick right now, I barely understand him.

   “Jake?” A woman hesitates at the open ambulance doors.

   “Mom?”

   “She’s your mother?” Mendoza asks.

   “No shit, Sherlock!” Jake growls.

   “Jacob!” his mom reprimands him.

   “Ma’am,” the cop begins, “your son says that he’s Ms. Jones’s boyfriend. He says she can stay with him tonight. I just want to confirm that this is a suitable arrangement.”

   Jake’s mom doesn’t miss a beat. “Officer, my son is an adult. I am here for moral support, not to write out permission slips. It’s obvious my son cares for Ms. Jones, or they would not be in the position they are in.” I’m still sitting next to him, cradled in his arms. “You might consider being a bit more sensitive in a situation like this.”

   “Yes, ma’am, just trying to do my job,” Mendoza replies. I hear his footsteps as he walks away.

   “Jake, honey, let’s go home.”

   Jake pulls away from me so he can see my face. He has to hold my head up, because I can’t seem to function at all. “Kayla?” I blink. “I’m going to carry you to our car, and you’re going to stay at my house tonight, okay?”

   I nod.

   “Okay,” he says, pulling the hair away from my eyes and planting a kiss on my forehead. Then he lifts me and carries me to a minivan. He sits in the back with me and resumes his hold. His mom drives to their house in complete silence.