The mute witness

prologue

Avalon (Harley)'s POV

'Hell of a story you're getting yourself into, Harley, shit, Avalon,' I thought to myself, getting into my seat on the plane that is currently taking me to a foster home in Alabama.

The tears have barely dried off my face since whatever happened, happened -- I'm honestly still trying to get my head wrapped around it, and so far, I've come up with blank after fucking blank.

"Miss, are you alone?" The flight attendant asked me. I was 16, I almost forgot. I hoped that I would look old enough, but I guess that my age was obvious.

I fumbled for my tablet, "Yes, is there something you need?" I asked in writing because I really don't feel like speaking.

"No, not at all Hun, we just want to make sure minors are safe, sorry to bother you, sweetie," the attendant said, "How about some free pretzels, huh?"

"That sounds great! Thank you, miss." I wrote, might as well have a snack for this two-hour flight ahead of me, might as well get some sleep too. 

The seats are so uncomfortable, but my body ignores the discomfort, and the nightmare comes.

It's a night I won't forget, ever, and the worst one of my live.  It's still going on a week later.

It was a normal night in the Mills family, dinner, shower, movie or games, then bed.

Until they came in, I didn't know for sure who they were yet, but I do now... sort of.

It all happened so fast, I was told to run, but I didn't. I stayed in the house, one room over, eyeshot with my parents.

"HARLEY, GO, NOW!" my mom yelled, but I could hear the fear in her voice before I heard an ear-splitting deep sound and then my own cries, and another gunshot, the smell of gunpowder in my nose, tears threatening to shed and bile threatening to come up.

I am running faster than I have ever ran, and I'm in the woods, getting cut at my legs, but I don't care, I need to get to the police station because I can't call 9-1-1. I'm so scared my voice won't work.

It's dark, my hair is still wet from my shower and my eyes are blurred from tears.

I see the police station, desperately rushing to the door as tears covered my face.

I grab the notepad on the desk and put a finger up to say "one second" as I write.
"I just ran from my address, 1358 West Tremont St, my parents were shot by 2 men I couldn't get facials of, my name is Harley Mills, my parents were Janett and Seth Mills" I mess up and almost say are, erasing it and changing it to were.

"Ok, honey, but why aren't you speaking?" The officer asked me, her eyes staring at my injuries.

"I can't speak, I'm a mute," I wrote, trying to pay no attention to where her eyes were looking

"Selective or-" she gestured, needing more information, I guess.

"Selective," I wrote.

"Ok, let me take you to a back room so we can get you safe and you can talk to another officer about what happened, ok?"

I nodded. The scenario was cut short, however, as I get jerked awake by the flight attendant.

"Hey Hun, are you okay? You're crying--" The flight attendant, concerned, stopped speaking halfway through as she noticed me starting to write again.

"Yes, I'm ok, just a nightmare," I wrote, "where's the bathroom?"

"Right back there, honey." She pointed to the back of the plane. She smiled at me as I quickly got out of my aisle seat and put my hand from my chin, back down to sign "thank you" to her.