Peering up at the house, Victor sees the room’s bay window, which he had noted on the blueprints. Perfect. He unhooks a rope with a small grappling hook from its place on his belt, spinning it in his hands for momentum. As he tosses it up to stick to its spot on the second story, Victor prays, silen
As I regain my feet, Victor grasps my hand and pulls me to my bedroom door. The alarm is blaring – I’m struggling to think beyond it. He cracks the door open, peeking outside, and slams it shut. “Shit,” he says. “What?” “Your fathers Betas, coming down the hall. Quick, Evelyn, is there another way
“Yes,” I say, but for some reason, I can’t will myself to get up. It’s safe in here, in our little hiding spot, and a big part of me wants to relish this calm before whatever is coming next. Victor pauses. “Are you okay? Is everything all right?” I laugh because, obviously, nothing is all right. B
Victor and I dash across the lawn, my feet padding silently on the dewy grass as I work to keep up with him. My breath comes fast, ragged in my lungs, as I push, my eyes on the tree line ahead of us. Part of me is terrified, listening behind me for the sound of my father raising the alarm, of pound
“Boys,” Evelyn cries the moment she stumbles into the house. She’s still wearing her cotton nightgown, now splattered with mud and blood and grass stains, but she doesn’t seem to care. “Mama?” Alvin’s tired little face appears above the back of the couch. He blinks and rubs his eyes. “Mama!” he cri
“Thank you, Amelia,” Evelyn says, a little awkward. “For taking care of them tonight.” Amelia rolls her eyes and heads for the stairs. “You’re welcome. It was nothing. Glad you’re not dead, or whatever.” Evelyn and Victor watch Amelia make her graceful way up the stairs. When the bedroom door slam
When I wake up, it’s somehow the middle of the night. I sit up straight, almost hitting my head on the top bunk of Alvin and Ian’s little rocket bed. Alvin curled up next to me, fully asleep, with little Archie at his feet. I blink, trying to figure it out – how can it be the middle of the night wh
I turn to my left and open the refrigerator, stooping down to take a good long look at perhaps a dozen bottles of Amelia’s precious rose wine. I pull out a bottle and study it. I enjoy a glass of wine (or three) myself, but part of me suspects that Amelia’s entire caloric intake during the day comes