Killers

All Alone: Chapter 1

"Brendan, wake up!" A voice exclaimed. The voice was high and whiny.

 Brendan mumbled, rolling over in his Spider-Man bed facing away from the voice.

 "Please, wake up buddy! We need to go. Right now!" The voice said, pulling Brendan's arm so he sat up.

Still groggy, Brendan yanked his arm back from his brothers and started rubbing his eyes. Brendan yawned, stretching his arms above his head. Brendan's eyes opened slowly to reveal his brother, Brody. Brody was wearing a black t-shirt, light blue jeans that were torn by the knees, and red sneakers. His light brown hair had been brushed, but a few strands were still sticking up.

"What are you doing?" Brendan grumbled, again rolling away from Brody. His hands went to his covers to go pull them up over his head again, but Brody grabbed his arm forcefully, then put Brendan in his arms. Brendan who was four, had messy strawberry blonde hair, and he was wearing soft Spider-Man pajamas. His room was riddled with toys. So much so that Brody had a hard time walking through it.

"Hey! Let me go!" Brendan exclaimed, trying to squirm out of Brody's arms, but Brody was strong. A tear fell from his cheek as he sprinted downstairs, trying not to think of what he had just witnessed. 

In the middle of the night, he had been woken up by shouting and loud noises. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned and wanted to go check out what was happening, but something stopped him. 

"Go check on Brendan first," a voice inside his head told him. 

His eyes narrowed in confusion. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the headache that he just got. He yawned again, slowly walking towards his brothers room. He squinted in the darkness, but saw Brendan lying in his bed, snoring obnoxiously. 

He chuckled quietly, rolling his eyes and closed the door. Yawning again, he went downstairs. He sniffed, and smelled metal. Metal? What was going on? Brody sniffed again, trying to clear his nose, and smelled metal even more clearly. 

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't know why. He felt like he was about to cry. Then, he saw them.

His parents, lying on the kitchen floor, next to the fridge. 

Brody cried out, "Mommy?! Daddy?!" and quickly sprinted over to them. 

Brody's mom, 45 years old, lay in a pool of her own blood, her platinum blonde hair being stained red by the blood. She had been tied up with cords, using one of the kitchen chairs. Blood poured out of her stomach. Her blue eyes glazed over, staring at nothing. 

Brody started sobbing, shaking his mom, trying to get her to wake up, but she still wouldn't move. 

Brody ran to his father, 50, who was lying in a slightly smaller pool of blood. He was holding a black gun. Black powder was all over his hand. He had also been tied up, but not with cords. With duct tape, but it had been removed. 

After sobbing for a few minutes, Brody went over to the landline. He used a chair to grab it, then quickly dialed 911.

"This is 911. What is your emergency?" The operator asked, seemingly bored with her job.

Brody's voice started shaking, and tears fell from his cheeks. He was frozen. He couldn't talk. 

"911, what is your emergency?" She asked again, really annoyed. 

"H-Hi! Uh, my, my d-daddy and m-mommy, t-they're really hurt," Brody answered finally. He could hear the operator gasp in surprise.

"Okay bud. Where are they?" 

"K-Kitchen. Please help, they're really hurt." 

"Okay buddy, I need you to tell me where you live. Could you do that for me?"

Brody nodded, though the operator couldn't see and started repeating the address. His parents oddly had told him where they lived multiple times. In fact, they made Brody memorize it. 

So that's what happened. And now Brody was carrying Brendan away, being careful not to have Brendan see the kitchen. He didn't need to see something like that. So Brody and Brendan waited on the front porch, and then Brody saw blue and red lights flashing in front of the house. Cops asking them millions of questions. Brody could hear the cops whispering about the crime, but he tried to blur everything out of his mind. 

Brody squinted, and he saw a man over by a police car just staring at him and Brendan. It would have creeped Brody out normally, but it was a cop. He was wearing a black suit, a white shirt under it, and shiny black shoes. 

The man noticed Brody staring and started walking over to him. "Oh great, more questions," Brody mumbled. 

The man walked over, sat down in front of Brody, but didn't say anything. For a few moments, all there was was awkward silence. 

"Okay, Brody?" Brody looked up, not happy at all. "I know you're not feeling too happy right now. Let's all go to my house and we can talk more. Does that sound okay?"

Brody thought about how his parents used to say not to trust any adult who says to go to their house. "Uh, no, m-my parents don't- didn't want me to go with any adult."

The man nodded, then pointed to a car. Brody squinted, and in the front seat of the car he was standing next to, Brody saw a little girl with long black hair. She was wearing black rimmed glasses. She waved, giggling excitedly. 

"That's my daughter, Marty. You want to come now?" 

Brody still felt hesitant, but he nodded, walking over to the man's car. The man opened the passenger door and lifted Brody up into the car. Brody hurriedly put his seat belt on, then put his hands around Brendan. He was going to protect Brendan. No matter what happened, Brendan was going to be safe. 

Then they drove off. Nobody really talked, which to Brody, was a relief. He'd answered questions all day. He'd had enough. 

But as they all drove off, all Brody could think about was his parents. His last thought of his parents was this: When he and Brendan were older, he was going to find out who killed his parents. He had to.