Warriors {Peter Maximoff~Book 2}

-Chapter Two-

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I sped down the old road I use to walk to school on. All of the buildings looked the same, but older. Paint was chipping off of one while the roof was sinking in another.

Dogs barked and growled as I rode by one of the houses. I remember an elderly couple use to live there. The man was obsessed with his yard. He had to keep it perfectly cut and green. The lady loved dogs. They had three of them, but they were small and sweet. Nothing like the big dogs that inhabited the overgrown yard now. I would always waved at the couple as I walked to school. They spent two hours every morning sitting on their porch, reading. I always wished for a relationship like theirs. They were happy. They loved each other. They're probably gone, now.

I drove up to my destination. The house looked exactly the same, as all of them did, except for the age. The light yellow paint was chipping off the sides, most of it already faded and gone. The bricks at the base of the small house were crumbling and the roofs shingles were falling apart. The house was once bright. Light and music use to stream out of the broken windows. This street use to be happy and full of families and happiness. Not anymore.

I walked up to the abandoned house and opened the unlocked door. The house was looted and forgotten, so nobody needed to lock it. The inside had the same layout. You step into the parlor with the kitchen off to your right. I walked into the parlor. This is where my father was killed. This is where they dragged my screaming body away and locked me up to experiment on my mutant genes. The blood has long since been scrubbed from the floor, but the screams still echo off the walls.

I walked into the kitchen, remembering the smell of freshly baked biscuits my mother use to make. She would slather them in butter and serve them with ice tea on a nice spring day. The windows would be open as a warm breeze glided through the house. I loved the smell of the warm breeze. But now the house just smelled of dust and dirt.

I walked up the stairs that stood right in front of the doors. The stairs led into a small hallway with only three doors. The first one was a bathroom, the second way my parent's old room, and the third was my room.

I walked into my parents room, forcing the creaky door to swing open. It was just an empty room that held a lot of memories. I would come in here and sleep with my parents whenever I had a nightmare or it was thunder storming. I hated thunderstorms when I was younger. We use to have late night dance parties in here. When I couldn't sleep, my mom and dad would turn on the radio and we would all dance around until I was too tired to dance anymore.

I walked out of the room and came to the final door. My room. My room was much smaller than my mother's and father's, as it should be. I had one singular window on the far wall that I would star gaze out of. I stared at the small corner that my bed had sat next to. That was the corner my mother and I were huddled in, the night of their murders and my kidnapping. I closed my eyes, remembering every detail of that night.

My mother and father were reading me a bedtime story when we heard loud footsteps from downstairs. My dad told us to be quiet as he went downstairs. My mother and I waited in anticipation as we heard a lot of loud noises before it went eerily quiet. My mother pushed me down into the corner and covered me with her body, the bed blocking the image of both of us from the door. We heard loud footsteps come up the stairs and slam both the bathroom and my parent's rooms door close. Until they came to my room. Three men dressed in all black barged into my room, immediately finding my mother and I and dragging us downstairs and into the parlor room. I screamed and scratched at the men, but they didn't release me.

We were held in front of my father, who was on his knees with his hands behind his back. He stared up at my mother and I with sunken eyes. He whispered an apology, tears pooling in his eyes. I looked down at his wrist to see a metal bracelet. I didn't know what it was then, but I do now. I had spent years wondering why he hadn't used his powers that night. My mother escaped from her holder's grasp, running forward to my father. One of the men behind my dad acted first and ran forward with his knife, stabbing her. Her body fell to the ground, blood pouring out of her chest. My younger self screamed in pain, watching the life go out of my mother's eyes.

And the rest was history.