Up With The Birds

Prologue

Three thundering knocks boom against the strong oak doors. Reluctantly, I tear my eyes off of my book. I can hear my mom vacuuming the floor upstairs. My dad is probably in his office, picking apart the details of his latest case.

The living room is quiet again. I wait patiently, wondering if the knocking was the Fed Ex man or an actual visitor. Three knocks come again, louder, and more impatient this time. Mumbling to myself, I trudge to the doorway and yank open the door.
"Sir?" I say, tapping my toe. "How can I help you?"

The man standing in front of me is wearing dark clothes, which conceal most of his body. He avoids my eyes, keeping his head down. I raise an eyebrow.

"I'm here to see Mr. Keen," his deep voice growls. "I'm supposed to deliver information to him."

"I'll call him down," I say, blocking his way in.

"I am to deliver it to him personally," he emphasizes. His eyes meet mine, and they are cold, unfeeling eyes. Nervous, I speak again.

"I'm sorry, sir, but it would be better if I just had my father come down and get the information from you." I turn and walk towards the stairway. A sharp click catches my attention.

"Miss, I would stop if I were you." The man is holding a gun in his hand, his finger raised over the trigger. "I won't give a second thought to shooting you."

Shocked, I just stand there. "DAD!" I finally scream. "Dad, he-" A sharp kick to my leg stops me mid-sentence. I drop the the floor, and rough hands cover my mouth. I claw at the man's fingers, but I cannot get him to release me.

"Oh Mr. Keen!" he says in a dangerous tone. "I have a special package for you, but if you don't hurry, I may harm the package. It's quite fragile." My dad leans out of his office, his eyes wide in horror when he sees me. I hear the vacuum upstairs stop.

"L-Lana?" he stutters. His face twists in rage. "Dakota Rider?" He says, recognizing my captor. "Let my daughter go, you damn bastard!" He rushes towards Dakota. Dakota raises his gun, pointing it directly at my dad.

A gunshot fires, and I scream in terror. Shaking, I watch my father, expecting his body to slump to the floor. Instead, the vice grip holding me lets go. I hear a thud on the floor.

Dakota Rider lays behind me on the floor, his eyes glazed and empty. Blood trickles from a wound in his head. I back away slowly, unable to fully comprehend the situation. My father holds me in his arms.

"Shhh.." He shushes. "It's okay, Lana. Nobody can hurt you now." He strokes my hair gently, trying to comfort me. I sob into his shoulder; tears soak his shirt.

My mom stands at the top of the stairs, looking grim. A slick, lean gun rests in her hand. It hits me like a runaway train.

She killed Dakota Rider.

• • •

The police arrive twenty minutes later. I rock back and forth on the couch. My father speaks tersely to the sheriff, while my mom paces in the hallway.

"He was a suspect in your case," I hear the officer say. "He was going to kill you to defend his identity. If he was willing to go this far, he must have companions who would be ready to come finish his job."

My father frowns, and his eyebrows furrow. "What should we do?" He asks, frustrated.

"Well," the officer begins. "I suggest you go far away from here. I'll file a request to the bureau, and get you funding to leave the country. Until then, I want you to stay at the station so that we can all sleep a little better at night."

For a week, we stay at the police station. A week of the clock slowly ticking away, each second a second closer to whatever card we are going to be dealt. But at last, the bureau confirms a grant for our immediate evacuation.

• • •

My dad smiles at me as we walk towards the airport. My mom walks beside me. "Where are we going to go?" I ask, my voice quivering slightly.

My mom squeezes my hand. "We're going to London, England sweety. Isn't that exciting? It's such a beautiful city." She winks at my dad. "It's a little romantic as well, isn't it Franky?"

"It's as romantic as we make it, Clara," my dad says, blowing a kiss at my mother.

"Get a room you two," I say, pretending to gag myself. My dad is named Frank, after Frank Sinatra. He says my grandma was absolutely obsessed with the man. She was a "swooner," back in her day. I can't blame her. When she passed, anything and everything Sinatra she owned was passed on to us. I fell in love with the records.

As for my mother, she's a mystery to me. I don't really know anyone from her side. She always tells me that there isn't anyone on her side who I would even want to know. But I've heard my dad argue with her about it, and I always hear bits and pieces about how they my mom's family hates her. As for why, I have no idea.

I trip on the ramp into the plain, and curse quietly. The flight attendant welcomes me aboard, and we take our seats. I gaze out the window, looking at the clouds beneath us. They look like a soft blanket of snow in the sky.

I try to imagine what life in London will be like. Crazy is what it sounds like to me. Crazy, but incredibly exciting. Britain seems to always have the best things on this Earth. With blissful thoughts in my head, I fall asleep, drifting along into a dream world.