Divergent FBI

Chapter One

My shoes click against the side walk as I follow the brick pathway up towards the front door to my house. I'm surprised to find the front door halfway open. My family is usually oddly firm about the safety of our home. All doors must be locked behind us as we leave or come home. My parents have always acted as if someone is going to randomly choose our house to break into. Then again, they grew up in a time period where house robberies were common and locking doors was recommended. With a sigh, I slip inside my house and lightly shut the door behind me. I twist the lock and simultaneously slip my sneakers off. They flop down sideways against the foyer wall. I don't bother to sit them up right. Our foyer area has dozens of dishelved shoes. For a family of four, we have a ton of useless shoes that nobody ever really wears. I toss my backpack on to the mess of shoes with a sigh.

"Mom? Dad?" I call out. My stomach sinks lightly when I don't get a reply. Both of their cars are out in the driveway. 

"Dad?" I repeat, a bit louder. My heart skips a beat and I glance back at the previously unlocked door. 

Reaching into my pocket, I grip my key chain. Attached to it is a bottle of pink mace. My dad insisted on me carrying mace on me, ever since I was sixteen. He claimed it was for my safety. I've never need to use it. Until right about now.  As quietly as I can, I begin to make my way through the dining room area. My house is usually out the loud side. My brother is usually playing video games, with the volume echoing through the house. My mom is usually cooking dinner with music on the loud speakers to drown out the noise from my brothers' video games. Right now, it's so silent that I can hear my own ragged breaths. 

Upon entering my kitchen, my bare foot sinks into a sticky, cold puddle. I look down in terror. There's a dark red puddle forming on the floor, stretching from the island in the middle of my kitchen, all the way to threshold that separates my kitchen and dining room.

A gasp leaves my mouth, my head spins as my eyes frantically search the dark kitchen. Then I see him. His skin is a sickly blue color and blood is pouring out from a wound in his chest. I scream out in terror, dropping my key chain tot he floor and frantically throwing myself on to the floor next to my dad. His head is lolled to the side, lifeless. "Dad!"

"Dad, dad please wake up!" I shriek in panic. Without any hesitation, I jump into action. I sprint back to the foyer, where I shakily snatch my phone out of my backpack. I need to call for help.

"I need an ambulance at 48 Parker Court, my dad.... he's been hurt." I sob into my phone as I rush back into the kitchen, stepping in his blood once again. I hold back a sob as I snatch the nearest rag off of my kitchen island, then I throw myself back on to the floor. 

"Can I please have your name?" The lady asks through my phone speaker. 

"It's Tris, my name is Tris. My dads' been shot in the chest I think. He's lost a lot of blood." I try to list as much information as I can. That's what they always do in the movies. They begin telling the dispatcher any information that could help the EMT's save a person's life. As I gaze at my dads' lifeless face, I realize that there might not be any saving him. 

"Please, please. I need an ambulance right now." Anxiety presses against my chest as I put as much pressure as I can against my dads chest. 

'Dad, please." I whimper out.

Minutes tick by, it feels like hours are passing me. I don't hear the cops and EMT's arrive. I'm brought ack to earth only when a hand falls down on my shoulder. A gasp leaves my mouth, as if I've been drowning and just only resurfaced for air. Someone attempts to pull me away from my dad but I scream out and clutch on to his shirt. By now my hands are covered in his blood. The blood on my feet is crusted over. Tears are dried to my cheeks.

"Help him! I think he was shot, I-I-"
"Miss, please step away from him. We're going to get him help." The person soothes and lifts me off the ground. I'm yanked out of the room, which is filling up with unrecognizable faces. EMT's and police officers. I try to fight back against the arms that are pulling me away. But I'm useless.

I'm pulled through the dining room, into the foyer. A group of people are gathered in my living room. They're not wearing EMT or Officer uniforms. They're wearing everyday clothing. Which makes me question who they are.

"FBI Agent Myra Lincoln." One of the ladies says. She walks towards me and sticks her hand out to me for a handshake. As if my hands aren't covered in blood and shaking in distress.

"Beatrice Prior, I need you to come with me. I'm so sorry for you loss. But I need to get you to safety." She says as her hand drops back to her side.

My eyes wander as my mothers' lifeless body is wheeled past me on a gurney. My heart clenches and I quickly look away. My eyes train back on Myra and she sends me a small, sad smile. The world spins around me as I glance back and forth at the unfamiliar faces in front of me. 

"Your parents were secret agents. This was a planned attack, not random. Which means that it is not safe for you to be here. I need you to come with us so we can get you somewhere safe." Myra repeats and puts her hand on my back. She attempts to push me towards the front door. But I don't budge. I plant my feet into the floor and shake my head, back and forth, worsening the lightheadedness that I'm feeling.

"No! What the hell are you talking about? My mom is a nurse! And my dad, my dad is not a special agent. He works at a bank." These people are absolutely insane. What kind of twilight zone did I just step into? 

"Beatrice, please. We need to get you to safety. I don't know how to put this. But your parents are dead and the people who killed them are going to be after you next." Me? Why would someone be coming after me? I'm merely a seventeen year old high school cheerleader, who has remained unseen for her entire high school career. What could Ii possibly have done to have someone after me? 

"Who killed them?" I whisper through tears. 

"We don't know. They've been after your parents for years now. Your parents have been aware and trying to keep a low profile. It was just a matter of time before they were found." she softly replies. Suddenly anger is taking over me. My tears begin drying and my heart clutches in my chest as I come to terms with the last hour of my life. My parents are dead, murdered. "I want to find whoever did this." I say through clenched teeth.

"We are-"
"No." I cut Myra off, "I want to find them. I will find them and I'll put a bullet through their eyebrows."

"Tris your parents would want you safe. Not in the middle of all of this." she says softly.

"I understand that, but it's not their choice. I am in the middle of this. I want to help." I say. She stays quiet for a few minutes then nods in understanding.

"I would want to do the same." She seemingly admits, "We'll see what we can do. But, first, we need to get you out of Chicago. It's not safe for you here."

"Okay." I say in submission. I take a deep breath and glance around my home for what'll be the last time. I'll probably never see these horribly painted green walls again. "Get me out of here."