Hit 'Em Right Between the Eyes - Mafiatale

Chapter 5

~-~-~Amber's POV~-~-~

Christmas was never your favorite holiday, or season. You didn't get why people would celebrate a dead guy, or why they would like winter. Winter was always cold, and you couldn't play in it. Not that you could play outside normally anyways. But you would do it for your sister, from time to time, so that had been what you were doing.

"Sissy~! Come on~!" Isabel whined. You were ten, and she was barely a little 4-year-old, tiny even for her age. Elizabeth was 7, but acted like she was an adult, and looked way older than she actually was. You both got that from your father.

"One sec, Bel! I'ma go inside and check on... Dun dun dun! The parents!" You gave her the oh-so-fabulous jazz hands, delighted to hear her equally fabulous, bright little-kid giggle ringing throughout the clearing. The park was all of your favorite places, including Eli, so you went there often, seeing as you lived a short walk away from it.

You waltzed inside your apartment, literally shuffling forward in the square-step or whatever the hell it's called. Heck, you remind yourself. Mom hated it when you swore. You were glad she wasn't like some other parents, though. She never hit you, ever.

"Momma! Dad! Can Bel, Eli and I go walk through the woods? We promise we won't get lost!" you yell in the general direction of the hallway. You had a fairly big apartment, and you figured it must have cost a fortune; 2 bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen/living room mix.

You stopped for a moment to admire your Tannenbaum ( Look it up ). There was no theme to it at all, but it looked nice in it's own way. It was a smorgasbord of your family's adventures and accomplishments, as well as a few miscellaneous other things. An anniversary ornament, an ornament for the pet that was probably the most spoiled pet in the universe, and a small snowman angel adorned the top of the tree.

During your admiration, you heard your stomach growl at you unhappily, so you spun and twirled towards the pantry. You opened it, grabbing for the well-known and well-loved granola bar box-

Except it wasn't there. The pantry was... empty?

You were sure Momma had gone to the grocery store lately. Right? Upon closer inspection, it looks like the shelves were emptied quickly and gruffly; scrapes marks and scuffs that weren't there before,

Fear strikes your heart. You know the area of New York you live in isn't as perfect as everyone makes it out to be, but you doubt someone would attack your house... right? Then, something even more devastating than a 'no' sounds from your parents' room: silence. Awful, dreadful, silence.

Sprinting, you crash through the bedroom doorway, only to find absolutely nothing. No note, just plain old nothingness. You search everything: Under the table, the downstairs laundromat, even in the fridge ( which is empty too; how the heck did you not notice that on your search for food? ) until the only room you haven't investigated is the bathroom.

You notice a suspicious bleached-looking spot just before the door, and just as you put your eyes on it, the overwhelming smell of cleaning spray hits your nostrils, and you gag. Not because of the smell - you were a demented child and had liked the stuff from birth -, but because of the ever-faint scent behind it.

Blood.

Opening the door confirms your morbid thoughts. The black-red liquid is everywhere; on the walls, the floor, the bathtub, everywhere. You follow the trail with your eyes, and you're appalled by what you see.

2 bodies. Fully-clothed. Bullet wounds in the forehead, shot with deadly accuracy. You've trained yourself to analyze everything, trying to follow up on the career you wanted: a detective. You've researched everything, including forensics, which you put to use now.