Page 2 of Deadly Wrath

She freezes for a second before zipping up the suitcase. “I don’t know, baby.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I swallow them back. I need to be Mommy’s big girl. I push the blanket off me and shuffle to the window. Outside, everything looks different. No park, no big oak tree, just a bunch of old, broken buildings. I don’t like it here.

She throws open another suitcase, clothes spilling onto the floor. My pink shirt and matching shorts fall out by her feet. She grabs them and shoves them into my hands.

“Put these on,” she says really fast.

I stand there, not moving. “Mommy?”

She stops, just for a second, then kneels in front of me, brushing my red curls back and giving me a tight hug. Her perfume usually makes me feel safe, but now it smells out of place with the musty apartment air.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she says. But her voice sounds… wrong.

Then…

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Mommy jumps up so fast she almost knocks me to the ground. She goes to the door and looks through the peephole. She sucks in a breath, like she’s about to cry,then pulls open the door.

Standing in the doorway is a man about Daddy’s age with short dark brown hair, dressed in a suit that’s all wrinkled like he slept in it. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, but he smiles a little when he sees me.

“Mrs. Johnson,” he says. “It’s time to go.” That’s grandpa’s last name. Why didn’t Mommy give our last name?

Mommy grabs our suitcase and takes my hand. I barely get my arms into my coat before we’re stepping into the hallway.

The man looks down at me. “You can call me Phil, kiddo.”

I don’t say anything back to him. I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.

Mommy’s hand tightens on my arm. “If you ever need help,” she whispers, “Detective Clover will keep you safe.” Her voice sounds like it’s shaking, but I nod to her.

The days all melt into each other, like crayons left in the sun too long: new towns, new beds, new names. The walls are different though, and the air smells strange. And nothing ever feels like home. Mommy says this is temporary, but I don’t know what that means anymore.

I try to do my homeschool work like she tells me, but the words blur together. The numbers don’t make sense. My hands keep reaching for my pencils, but my mindkeeps drifting back to my old school, my old bed, and Daddy. I miss him. I miss my real life.

I’m picking at the leftover spaghetti on my plate, twisting the noodles around my fork but not eating them. Mommy stands by the window, staring outside, her arms crossed tight against her chest. She hasn’t eaten either.

When the new cell phone Detective Clover gave Mommy rings, we both freeze. We don’t get many calls because nobody is allowed to have our number. Mommy’s head snaps toward the sound, and her hands shake just a little as she reaches for it.

“H-hello?” She answers carefully.

I stop twirling my fork. My stomach twists when I watch her face go pale. She doesn’t say much, just listens, nodding every now and then. When she finally hangs up, her hand lingers on the phone like she’s afraid to let go. I wait with my breath caught in my throat. When she turns to me, her face is hard to read. Her lips press together, and her eyes flicker with something… something I can’t name.

“Your father says it’s safe to come home.” My heart does this weird thing, like it wants to jump but doesn’t know if it should.

Home.

The word feels too big and too good to be true.

“Really?” My voice barely comes out.

Mommy hesitates, just for a second. She bites her lip, her eyes flicking toward the window like someone might be watching. “I think so,” she says finally. But her voice isn’t strong. It wobbles at the edges. I should feel excited, but something nags at me, pulling at my insides.

That night, I sleep with my clothes on, just in case we have to wake up early.

Daddy picks us up the next day, early in the morning. The car smells like him, coffee, and aftershave, and for a second, it almost feels normal. He hugs me tight, too tight, lifting me off the ground like he used to when I was little.

“Missed you, Livy Bear,” he says, and his beard feels rough against my ear.

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