Life deals a cruel blow to a ten year old girl... who will someday be a detective seeking answers for this tragedy.
"Aaagh! Dad! Put me down! Hey! I mean it!"
Catherine Francisco chuckled as her husband draped their daughter upside down from his shoulder, much to the child's chagrin.
"Oh put her down, Richard. Benji's the monkey, not Sam."
Richard Francisco smiled."Mmmm, I dunno. I don't think she wants down."
He ruffled her hair, eliciting a squawk of protest from her.
"Daaaa-ad! Put me down! Y-erg!"
Finally, he turned her upright and set her on her feet. She mock glared at him for a minute, then smiled and hugged him. Catherine and Richard exchanged amused glances.
He patted her head and directed her to the stairs in the hallway. "Come on. It's way past your bedtime."
She gave him her best puppy dog expression. "Aw dad..."
He folded his arms in mock seriousness. "Samantha..."
The pitiful expression trembled until she was struggling not to smile sheepishly. Her father was having trouble keeping down a grin of his own.
"Go on," he goaded, waving her up the stairs. She obeyed, if reluctantly. Before long, Richard heard the sounds of a ten year old brushing her teeth. He smiled. Good.
Greeting his wife with a kiss, he asked, "You going to bed too?"
She stifled a yawn. "I suppose. It is getting a bit late. Are you coming?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm staying up to read for a while. I'll be up when I get tired or when I finish the book. Whichever comes first."
Smiling, Catherine bid her husband goodnight with a kiss, and retreated up the stairs to bed. Richard Francisco curled up in a chair, picked up a book, and began to read alone downstairs.
Soon the house was quiet. He breathed a sigh of relief. His wife and children were asleep, and he had a chance to catch up on his reading. He could almost engross himself in the book, were it not for that feeling in the back of his mind...
He put the book down. He did not bother to mark the page. Eyes narrowing, he listened. It was quiet. Too quiet. He stood. The world inside his book was left far behind. He was back in his world now. And something told him that not all was right in his world. He frowned. His gun was in his bedroom. He should go and get it.
He took a step forward, then stopped. This was ridiculous. He had no reason to worry. All was quiet. There was nothing to indicate trouble of any kind. He sat back down and forced himself to pick the book back up. He would return to his reading, he determined. He'd ignore the strange feeling in his mind. He had no cause for alarm. Somehow, though, he read past the words. The world inside the book was far from his thoughts. Something...something was wrong.
Go get your gun, his mind screamed.
No. There's no reason to worry. It's just quiet. You're paranoid.
Go get your gun!
No!
The urgent silence was broken by a squeak. He jumped to his feet. That was the noise that squeaky floorboard in the hallway made...
"Sam? Catherine? Are you still up?" he called. Somehow, though, he knew it was not his daughter or his wife. The presence his mind felt was by no means friendly.
Icy, paralyzing fear began to seep into his veins as he listened, hearing the soft tread on the carpet. It was too heavy to be Samantha's. Certainly not his son Benjamin's. And Catherine would never try to sneak up on him...
Should have gotten your gun...
He did not argue with the voice in his head now. He knew it had been right. Could he still make it? If he tried, could he get up to his bedroom and get his gun before...
A shadow fell on the wall just outside of the living room. Richard swallowed. Trapped. He was defenseless. His only chance was to catch the intruder by surprise. He slinked noiselessly behind a bookshelf, wishing he had had some heavy object to wield. His breaths came quietly, shallow and controlled.
If only you'd gotten your gun...
He kicked himself for it now. He should have gotten his gun. He knew better than to be without it. He should have acted upon his first inkling of suspicion...but it was too late now. It was the intruder and himself. Judging by the icy dread that was numbing his mind, it was no mere burglar, either.
In a noiseless, fluid motion, a figure slipped into the room, gun barrel first. Richard clenched his teeth and his fists. Him...
Quietly, the man scanned the room for his prey. For a split second, his back was turned. A swift, mighty lunge knocked the intruder to the floor, sending the weapon sailing across the room.
Richard's mind whirled as he struggled, wrestling with his adversary. An assassin...he's dressed in black, his weapon's got a silencer, and he's not even remotely interested in our stuff. An assassin...
A punch to the jaw sent him reeling, and he crashed over the coffee table, upsetting a lamp. The assassin scrambled for his gun. Both men seized the weapon at the same time. A struggle followed. Richard's thoughts were shrieking.
Why oh why didn't you get your gun when you had the chance???
The depression of a trigger interrupted the deadly tussle. Both men froze. A ribbon of smoke trailed from the gun in the assassin's hand.
It's too late...
Slowly, Richard began to feel the blood.
It's too late...
The intruder half smiled, turned, and ran.
Dad...
Richard slumped down against a wall, leaving a crimson trail on the white surface. A hand fluttered weakly to his chest. More blood.
Dad!
He shook his head. No. Had to get up. Had to stay awake. Had to fight.
"Dad!"
He turned. Samantha was bounding toward him, eyes wide with horror. Catherine stood at the doorway, hands over her mouth, face whiter than chalk. Appalled, shaken, she turned and ran to the phone.
"Dad!" Sam cried, falling to her knees beside her father. The carpet squished beneath her. "Dad what happened?"
"Sam�" he gasped. Blood filled his mouth, hindering his speech. "Sam, listen to me..."
"Dad..." She was nearly in tears, clutching him desperately. "Don't die..."
"Samantha...listen. Listen to me. Listen!"
His sharp tone startled her. She stared at him, half composed but listening.
"Sam, love, did you see the man?"
She nodded vigorously.
"Do you remember what he looks like?"
She nodded again. He drew a shuddering breath.
"Tell your mother. Have her...have her call the police."
She sniffed, wiping away tears with a bloodstained hand. "Dad, don't die..."
He closed his eyes. "One more thing...listen to it."
"L-listen to what?"
He put a trembling hand on hers. "Listen to the voice in your head. Trust it. I know you hear it, Sam. Listen to it. When it says you're in danger, do what it says. Listen to it. Do you understand me?"
She did not understand, but nodded and cried again, hugging him, holding to him with all her childish strength.
"Dad..."
But he was gone. Just down the block, sirens began to pierce the night. Samantha Francisco did not hear them. She did not feel her mother's gentle hand or hear her sad voice. She was not aware that she had been peeled from her father's body by a paramedic, or that they had taken him away. The ambulance lights did not flash, and the siren did not blare. All was strangely silent again.
But her life was forever shattered...
