At 2:00 AM, deep in sleep, I was shaken awake by my brother. In the darkness, he was trembling violently, his face a mask of terror as he pointed a shaking finger toward the living room. "Sis," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Someone’s in the house." 1 I woke up instantly, panic seizing my chest as I stared at the bedroom door. From the living room came the shuffling sound of footsteps. Someone was definitely out there. My heart hammered against my ribs. Mom was out tonight. It was just me and my two younger brothers at home. Who could it be? A burglar? I pulled Hunter, my brother, tightly into my arms. That’s when I realized he was alone. Blood drained from my face. I grabbed his shoulders, hissing, "Where is Gunner? Why are you alone?" Hunter was sobbing silently, shaking his head frantically. "I don't know. He got up to use the bathroom... and he never came back." I felt like I was going crazy. Had the intruder found him? I gritted my teeth. I was the big sister; I had to protect him. Mom had taken the only cell phone in the house, so we couldn't call 911. I gripped Hunter’s shoulders, staring him in the eyes. "Hunter, hide in the wardrobe. Do not make a single sound, no matter what you hear. Do you understand?" Hunter nodded vigorously, his large frame quivering. I quietly slipped out of bed and stuffed him into the closet. Then, I tiptoed to the bedroom door and cracked it open just a sliver. Through the gap, I saw a man standing in the living room. He was wrapped head-to-toe in a rain poncho. He was currently bent over the coffee table, rummaging through the drawers. One of his hands was gripping something, but it was too dark to see what. Is it just a thief? My heart settled slightly. If it was just a burglary, that was the best-case scenario. Most thieves just want money, not lives. And given our family’s financial state, he wasn't going to find much. I sniffed the air. There was a faint, metallic scent drifting in. I couldn't think too much about it. I widened the crack just a fraction more, desperate to spot my other brother, Gunner. Suddenly, the intruder seemed to sense something. The beam of his flashlight snapped toward my door. I ducked back instantly, heart pounding. I didn't think he saw me. Then, he moved. He picked up whatever he was holding and slowly walked toward the kitchen. I leaned my back against the door, listening. The noise stopped. Did he leave? I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and peeked through the crack again. A pair of eyes, rolled back into a white stare, were looking right at me. Goosebumps exploded all over my body. I slammed my hands over my mouth to stifle a scream. It was Gunner’s eyes. His severed head was hanging from the top of my doorframe. Blood dripped from his neck—drip, drip, drip—onto the floor. My brother was dead. I shook violently, an uncontrollable whimper escaping my throat. He was just a thief. Why did he have to kill? Suddenly, footsteps approached again. I almost died of fright right there. I slammed the door shut and locked it. "Heh heh... so you're awake too." The killer’s voice drifted through the wood. Then, THUD! A heavy blow slammed against the door. I was sobbing silently now. The room was tiny, and Hunter was already in the closet. My only option was to scramble under the bed. The door was sturdy enough; he banged on it a few times but couldn't break it down. I heard him sigh. Then, the sound of dragging footsteps moving away. My heart was trying to beat out of my chest, tears blurring my vision. I couldn't believe Gunner was gone. Who was this? Why break into our house? Why kill my brother? I lay under the bed, weeping in silent despair. Then, the footsteps returned. My body went rigid. He hadn't given up. Next came the sound of a key sliding into the lock. My blood turned to ice. Oh God. There’s a spare key in the living room. Click. The door creaked open. A pair of blood-soaked boots stepped into my view. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. You like playing hide-and-seek?" A raspy male voice filled the room. He casually tossed something onto the floor. It rolled and stopped right in front of my face. It was Gunner’s head. The metallic stench of blood was overwhelming. Gunner’s eyes were wide open, staring into nothingness. Dead. The killer seemed to notice something. He rushed to the window and looked down. To mislead him, I had opened the window earlier to make it look like we jumped. We lived on the third floor; it was risky, but survivable. "Damn it! They ran?" He leaned out the window, cursing angrily. Then he turned around and walked toward the bed. Just as I thought he was leaving, he suddenly crouched down. A pair of bloodshot eyes stared directly at me under the bed. "Found you." 2 I screamed, scrambling backward, trying to squeeze deeper into the darkness. But there was nowhere to go. The killer reached in, grabbed my ankle, and dragged me out with terrifying ease. I shrieked and kicked, fighting for my life. But I was a malnourished sixteen-year-old girl. How could I overpower a grown man? He pinned me down, grinning beneath his hood. "Lucky me. A little girl left behind." He reached for my pants. I realized instantly what he intended to do and gripped my waistband with a death grip. The next second, a cold blade was pressed against my throat. "Move again, and I gut you." I froze. The killer let out a sleazy chuckle. Just as he was about to continue, he suddenly let out a howl of pain. "Let go of my sister!" Hunter had burst out of the closet, wielding a cleaver from the kitchen. He had slashed the killer’s back. The killer let go of me and spun around. Hunter swung again, hitting him in the chest. But the killer was unnaturally calm. He caught Hunter’s wrist mid-swing and kicked him in the gut, sending him flying. I scrambled up, trying to help, but it was too late. Right before my horrified eyes, the killer brought his knife down on Hunter’s neck. Hunter’s eyes bulged. He tried to speak, but only blood gurgled out. Hunter was dead. I let out a wail of pure despair and charged at the killer. He backhanded me effortlessly, sending me crashing to the floor. Then, laughing maniacally, he hacked my brother’s head off with two brutal chops. Face splattered with fresh blood, he turned his hideous grin toward me. "Now... it's your turn." He took two steps toward me, then suddenly, his legs gave out. He collapsed. He looked down, realizing he was bleeding heavily from Hunter’s first strike. Glaring at me with pure hatred, he dragged his injured body out the door and fled. Overwhelmed by terror and shock, my eyes rolled back, and I passed out. 3 I was woken up by my mother’s screaming. I prayed it was a nightmare. I prayed that when I opened my eyes, my brothers would be standing there, alive and whole. But the bloodstains on the floor told me the truth. I heard Mom wailing in the living room. I struggled to my feet and stumbled out, crying as I ran to her. She was on the floor, cradling the severed heads of Hunter and Gunner, crying until she nearly fainted. I lowered my head, afraid to look at her face. I tugged her arm, sobbing. "I'm sorry, Mom... I didn't protect them..." Mom’s eyes were bloodshot. She swung her hand and slapped me hard across the face. "What good are you?! My sons are dead, and I don't want to live either!" My face burned, but my heart hurt worse. Mom called the police. As the only witness, I was taken to the station. "Don't be scared, sweetie. Just tell us what you saw and heard last night." I sat in the chair, head down, staring at the table, nervously picking at my fingernails. The officer in front of me was in his forties. Detective Miller. He had a square face but gentle features. Even meeting him for the first time, I felt a strange sense of safety. "Let me think... I can't remember clearly." My voice trembled. With tears streaming down my face, I knew I looked pathetic. Detective Miller looked sympathetic. He cleared his throat. "Don't worry. We will catch the guy who did this." I nodded and poured out the story of what happened last night. After I finished, I peeked up to gauge his reaction. He was frowning, twirling a pen in his fingers. The room fell into a weird silence. Miller seemed to be thinking. He took a sip of tea, his eyes suddenly locking onto my arm. I flinched, instinctively pulling my sleeve down. He smiled gently and gathered the files on the table. "That's all for now. You can go back with your mother." He looked toward the door, where my mother’s screeching voice could be heard. "She's been waiting a while." I nodded, standing up on shaky legs, curling inward like a wounded animal, and walked out. Miller watched my thin frame retreat, a thoughtful look on his face. Outside, Mom was screaming at a group of officers. "What good are you cops?! My sons! Give me back my sons' lives!" Her voice was shrill, drowning out three or four officers trying to calm her down. They looked annoyed but held their tongues—she had just lost two children, after all. When I walked out, the cops looked relieved. "Ma'am, please. Your daughter is here. Comfort her." Mom went quiet. She turned slowly to look at me. "Mom..." I whispered, keeping my head down. SLAP. Her hand cracked across my face. It was so hard my cheek turned instantly red, the sound echoing in the hallway. I didn't dare cry. She slapped the other side of my face, then kicked me hard in the stomach. I groaned and fell to my knees. "Why?! Why wasn't it you?!" "Why did my sons have to die?!" "You useless bitch! Why did you hide instead of protecting them?! I'll beat you to death!" Face twisted in rage, she raised her hand again, but the officers finally rushed in to stop her. "Hey! What are you doing hitting the kid? She's a victim too!" "She's my daughter! I'll beat her if I want! Get off me!" I knelt there in silence, fists clenched. After they pulled her back, she calmed down slightly. "Let's go home." I shivered and looked helplessly toward Detective Miller. Miller paused, thinking for a second. Then he cleared his throat. "Ma'am, actually, I have a few more questions to clarify. How about you go home first? When we're done, we'll drive her back." "We want to catch the killer as soon as possible for your sons, right?" That last sentence hit the mark. She glared at me, snorted, and left. 4 Detective Miller took me to the cafeteria. He frowned as he watched me wolf down the food. "You're so thin. Do you not get enough to eat?" I paused, forcing a smile. "No, the food here is just really good." Yeah, at home, I ate great. Rotten cabbage, meat that smelled off, three-day-old rice even the dog wouldn't touch. If they were in a good mood, maybe I got a bone with a shred of meat on it. Miller smiled kindly, but his eyes were scanning me. "What's with the injuries?" I froze, swallowing a mouthful of rice. "I fell." "Fell? Your mom hits you, doesn't she?" I looked up. "Not always. Only when I'm disobedient." Truly, not always. Only when she was happy, she'd give me a slap. When she was mad, she'd give me a slap. If anyone outside upset her, she’d tie me up and whip me with a cattle switch until my skin split and blood ran down my back. While she whipped me, she’d scream, "You useless little slut! Waste of space!" It was routine. She never hit my face or arms where people could see. Did my strong, healthy brothers protect their sister? No. They watched and laughed. If they were in the mood, they’d take the whip and have a go. They hit harder than Mom. After the beatings, I had to wash my own blood-soaked clothes and drag my broken body to do the chores. Sometimes I wished they’d just kill me so the suffering would end. Without realizing it, I had started crying. "What's wrong?" Miller asked. "Nothing. Just... missed my brothers." I wiped my tears, deflecting. Suddenly, an officer ran in, looking urgent. He saw me, hesitated, and called Miller out. My stomach tightened. I clenched my fists under the table. The officer whispered something to Miller and handed him a report. Miller read it, and his face changed completely. He looked back at me through the glass, confusion in his eyes. "Lily, come with me to the interrogation room." My heart dropped.
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