Hidden Shadows (The Shadow Series Book 1)

SIXTEEN

Sprinting through the dying autumn grass, Jenna made it to the backyard in seconds. And saw no madman snatching her children, neither had fallen nor were injured, all looked to be in place—except for the crying and screaming.

"Peerrryy," Jacy sobbed, standing just inside the screened-in porch, her little body leaning against the open door as she cried.

Dawson slouched beside her, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes.

Jenna moved to the porch, soothing as she crossed to the corner where she'd strategically placed Perry that morning so he'd have shade throughout the day. And saw the mess. The colorful, bloody mess.

In a heap, at the bottom of the pretty white cage, was Perry. Squashed. As if a hammer had come down directly on his small body. The beautiful feathers that once adorned the bird were now in clumps, matted together by pools of blood.

A lump formed in her throat and hot tears stung the corners of her eyes.

"Mommy," Dawson quivered behind her, "what's wrong with Perry?"

She turned, shielding the cage as best she could with her body. "He went to heaven, baby. But we're thankful he was ours for a while, aren't we?"

Dawson nodded, swiped his arm across his nose.

Jenna spotted the soccer ball in the yard, pointed it out. "While I take care of Perry, why don't you see if you can kick the ball from one side of the yard to the other three whole times?

Dawson's eyes widened. "Three."

Jenna nodded enthusiastically.

He skipped out, still knuckling at his watery eyes. She'd talk to him more later, but now, she needed to deal with the tender heart of her daughter.

And the mutilated bird.

She went to Jacy who cried softly now, gathered her child in her arms. "What happened to him, Mom? He's dead, isn't he?"

Jenna patted the small back, squeezed. "Yes, baby, he's dead."

Jacy's breath hitched, brought new tears. She pulled back from Jenna, wet trails staining delicate cheeks, snot gathering under the petite nose.

Jenna felt sadness, heartache for the pain her child was in, for any pain the sweet bird might've felt. But boiling to the surface, quick and hot, was rage.

She may have convinced herself this madman didn't want to harm her, only wanted to intimidate, to threaten (thought she still couldn't figure out to what end), but things had moved far beyond that now. This was murder, plain and simple. And it hurt her children in the process.

She wouldn't stand for that.

She may cower, not confront her own demons, but she would never back down when it came to her children. Never.