Chapter 1

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Virgil was a happy, young boy in his early years. He had a loving family--a mother that was kind and nurturing and a father that was funny and sweet. The three were joyous.

But joy cannot last, as many stories prove.

It was late and Virgil's mother shook him awake before quickly hushing him. He looked around, confused and tired. His door was closed, which it never was, and a ruckus could be heard from downstairs. "Mom?"

She hushed him again, pulling him into a hug as she rubbed the back of his hair. Once close to him, she whispered, "There are some bad people in the house. I need to get the phone and call the police, like you did in school, remember?" Even now, her voice was soft, calm, and kind. She pulled away.

Virgil grabbed at her, tears rolling over his cheeks, begging her not to leave, but she slipped out the door. Virgil looked around the room again. What could he do; what could he possibly do? His first instinct was to hide and his eyes fell upon his closet door. He looked between that and the door leading to the hallway, somewhere behind which any number of intruders could lie.

He got up, grabbing a stuffed animal he had deemed his favorite, and hid in the closet. He might have cried--silently in the dark--but the memory was foggy.

The next thing Virgil could remember was blinking his eyes and seeing lights--bright red and blue lights. Fear kept him frozen.

"Look," a stranger's voice said, "a kid's bedroom."

"So?" another asked.

A sigh sounded through the closet door. "If there's a kid's bedroom, there's probably a kid."

A minute passed before the door opened, revealing Virgil holding himself.

Awash in red and blue, the police officer crouched down, smiling gently. "Hi. My name is Officer William Webster." He tilted his head to the side. "What's yours?"

Virgil didn't speak; he just stared.

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