Love and Angels

one

Laney

I can hear the screams from next door. They must be fighting again. They're always fighting, every single one of them.

Sometimes, I can see the father hurting his wife or his kids through the shadows on the curtains. Mom tells me not to look, but I do it anyway when they get especially loud. The mother came to stay with us for a short time a while ago. She kept crying and hissing in pain, but she went back home after a few days.

My book falls to my lap at the sound of a gunshot, and I turn to watch the windows next door just as two more shots ring out. Someone screams, but the scream is cut short by a fourth shot. After one more, everything goes silent.

"Laney, dear," my mom says as she cracks open my bedroom door.

"Were those gunshots?" I question.

She looks to the floor before gesturing for me to come to her. "Come over here, honey, away from the window."

Lightning strikes the tree outside my window, disconnecting one of the larger branches on the tree. It falls to the ground and bounces a little once it lands. I walk over to my mom and she guides me downstairs, with her arm across my shoulder. She used to walk like this with me when I was much younger, but I would never tell her the gesture still comforts me now that I've reached my teen years.

"You want to watch a movie with me and your father?" she asks, and I know it is supposed to act as a distraction.

Lightning strikes again, and I jump. Mom rubs my shoulders then pats me on the back when we make it downstairs and into the living room. "Go sit with Dad and I'll put some popcorn in the microwave."

I hope she stops it early so the popcorn doesn't taste partially burnt. I hate the taste of burnt popcorn. There is plenty of room for me to sit down on the couch, but I choose to sit on the chaise next to the window, where I can see right out to the neighbors' house. Blue and red lights flash outside as police and paramedics arrive next door.

The woman who lives across the street will surely be over in the morning to gossip about whatever has happened tonight. Mom claims she's full of lies and tells me not to believe a word she says, but I've known her to tell the truth at times, at least a portion of it.

I inhale the aroma of freshly-popped popcorn and butter wafting into the room. I love popcorn, but the yelling outside draws my attention back to the house next door. According to town gossip, this isn't the first time something strange happened in that house. It had been vacant from the moment I was adopted until about three years ago. Supposedly, three years is the average time for people to live there.

"One of them is still breathing!" a police officer yells as he runs out of the front door of the home. "We need a paramedic now!"

Two men file out of the ambulance, rolling a stretcher. Pushing a button on the side, they raise the legs in order to carry it the rest of the way once they reach the steps leading to the porch.

One of the police officers, wearing a large, yellow poncho, lines the front yard with crime scene tape. Sure enough, when I glance toward the fire truck as the officer puts up the last of the tape, I notice the lady next door. Mrs. Gossip herself has shown up to witness the latest neighborhood drama.

"Laney, what movie do you want to watch?" Mom asks as she walks back into the room, carrying a bowl filled with popcorn. It doesn't smell burnt, and for a moment I'm torn between watching a movie and watching what is happening right outside the window. I might be no better than Mrs. Gossip.

"The police are next door," I respond, not answering her question.

My mom fidgets with the bowl of popcorn in her hands and looks to my dad. Dad pats the couch cushion beside him.

"Sweetheart, come sit by your old man and watch a movie with us. We'll even let you pick which one." He smiles, but even I can tell it's forced.

I turn back to the window as my parents begin speaking in hushed tones behind me. Two police officers come out of the house and down the steps carrying a stretcher. They lay the stretcher gently on the ground, and a man in slacks and a dress shirt walks over to it with a stethoscope. Squatting down on the ground, the doctor opens the collar of the person's shirt and places his fingers on their neck.

I feel my father's hand on my shoulder and I look up to him.

"They're dead, aren't they?" I ask, and he nods.

My mom sniffles from behind me, and I feel for her. The lady next door was her only friend. Most of the people in this town are not genuinely good people, including the father of the family next door.

Two more police officers walk out of the house with another body bag and two more body bags follow. Four body bags. There were only five people living there. I wait anxiously for the final person to come out of the house and after what seems like hours, a paramedic walks out of the house, his once white and crisp shirt covered in blood. He pulls off his blue gloves and tosses them in a bag one of the police officers holds.

An officer says something to the paramedic as he unbuttons his bloodied shirt, wearing a fresh pair of gloves. The medic pauses in his undressing and shakes his head. The officer runs his hands through his hair, wiping them down his face as he turns to walk away. Moments later, the other paramedic walks out of the house with another officer, carrying the last and final body bag.

I turn away from the window. My parents are no longer in the room, and the popcorn sits forgotten on the coffee table.

None of the children were my age. They were all either much older or much younger. That's how it is with all of the kids on the block.

"Mom?" I yell through the house. "Dad?"

Neither of them answers for a moment, then Dad walks out of their room, closing the door behind him. He looks at me, forcing a smile.

"I think we should all head to bed," he encourages.

I glance at the clock above the fireplace. "It's only seven."

"Your mom isn't feeling well."

I nod, picking up the popcorn bowl. "Okay," I concede, and climb the stairs leading to the second floor, where my bedroom is.