Reed (Book 2, Southern Royals Saga)

Chapter 1: Trouble

Brandon Reed, age 12

November 21, 2008

Selma, Alabama

"Are you ready, son?" Anthony asked as he shut off the car; we were at a funeral home in Selma. I looked down at the flowers Rose had helped me pick; they were white.

Peonies, Aunt Liz had said.

Rose was 16, and my adoptive cousin of almost a year now; Owen, who was 11, was my adoptive cousin, too. Anthony and Liz adopted them together as a package deal from the orphanage in Decatur.

My uncle and I made our way across the packed parking lot, to the glass doors. A black sign with white lettering stood by:

Charles David Walker.

I didn't know why we were here, paying respects to a man who may or may not have killed my dad two years ago.

Anthony and I each grabbed a door handle and swung the doors open.

Met with shocked, and angry stares, we walked down the aisle. My eyes wandered to various people in the pews, staring as I kept in step with my uncle.

An old woman sat in the front pew at the end, a Kleenex tucked in her hand as tears continued to stream down her face at the sight of us.

A blonde woman sat next to her, bouncing her small brown-haired child in her lap, all the while shooting me an angry stare. The only one without shock or anger directed towards me or my uncle was the girl beside her.

The girl looked to be my age. Pretty.

Her skin was what I noticed most about her. Soft.

She looked at me differently. She wasn't shocked or angry; she was curious.

I had a hard time pulling my eyes away, afraid if I did, I'd never see anything so innocent again.

The girl shifted uncomfortably, causing my gaze to drop.

I made her uncomfortable.

I clutched the flowers tightly in my hand as I caught up with my uncle. I turned one last time and glanced curiously at the girl.

What was it about this girl?

"Come along now, son," Anthony whispered, guiding me closer to the casket.

He was pale, the man in the box. His face was clean-shaven, and he had dark brown hair, the same shade as the girl with the curious gaze.

"He killed Dad," I stated, staring down at the dead man.

Anthony sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "I'm not so sure, son."

I shook my head slightly, not enough for anyone to notice, "Who else would've done it?"

Anthony placed his hand on my shoulder, "I have a couple of ideas."

I look up at him and he nods behind us, telling me to follow. I felt eyes burn into me; I wondered if the brunette girl was one of the pairs of eyes that were embedded into the side of my skull.

"Vincent," Anthony greeted, shaking the man's hand. The tall, broad-shouldered man wore a scowl; the same as everyone else behind him.

Anthony moved past him to another man, whom I learned was Marcus. Like Vincent, he said nothing as he shook hands with my uncle; the only one with a half-way friendly gaze was the dark-skinned brunette that clung to Marcus' arm. His wife, I'm assuming.