Slaughter Daughter by Eve Langlais
2
No feeling can compareto finding out your parents are serial killers. And not just suspected, I should add. My parents were honest-to-God, caught-on-camera killers. The fancy kind that created great big ol’ pentagrams as a stage for murder.
I’d heard of them, the Pentagram Killers. Everyone had. They’d been all over the internet since the documentary came out. Apparently, someone had noticed a trend in crimes spanning more than a dozen states and going back about eighteen years. People had theories about those murders because they were quite extraordinary. While it was clear that someone had died, no bodies were ever found.
After that report came out, a pentagram had been found in my town. Same modus operandi or MO—the fancy term everyone used since that crime scene was similar to those in the documentary. Made scarier by the fact that the cops had no real suspects. Knowing a killer might be in their midst brought out the fear in the residents. Neighbors eyed each other suspiciously. Calls to emergency increased as everything got overly scrutinized.
Even with my internet blackout, I’d heard about it and asked my parents. They’d shrugged and said not to worry about it. Probably just someone copycatting because of the miniseries.
We dropped the subject because Mom suddenly asked, “Did you decide on a college yet? We really should get packing for a move.”
“Is Abigail a killer, too?” The high-pitched, giddy exclamation had me turning cold and snapped me back to the present.
“No. It’s not true.” This had to be a nightmare. Only I could see by the faces of the adults eyeing me that it wasn’t.
Shock set in, making me a malleable doll who followed the police down the hall and out of the school to the police car sitting near the curb. I halted. This couldn’t be real.
“Keep moving.” The barked command jostled free my voice.
“No. You aren’t allowed to take me.” I knew my rights. Kind of. “I want my parents.”
“So do we,” was the snarky reply.
“Are you just going to let them take me?” I asked in desperation as I glanced at the principal and the other teaching staff watching. None of them stepped in. No one said a word. Surely, this wasn’t legal.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” was the principal’s halting reply.
“Fine?” An incredulous rejoinder that led to the cop losing patience.
“Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“The police station.”
The nightmare thickened. “Am I being arrested?”
“Given the situation, you’re being taken into custody for your own safety.” A hand on my elbow jerked me forward, and I stumbled.
“I’m not in any danger, though. Whatever you think my parents did, you’re wrong.”
“Don’t fight, or this will get much harder,” the older cop interjected, his tone weary.
But I wanted to fight and scream. This couldn’t be happening.
I got into the back seat of the police car, simmering at the unfairness. I’d committed no crime. How dare they treat me so unjustly? My parents would be so mad when they found out. Because whatever the rumor floating around on the internet, it couldn’t be true. My parents weren’t killers.
The two cops didn’t show me any softness as they ordered me to accompany them into the police station. We had to brave a crowd holding up their phones, screaming questions.
“Is that the daughter?”
“Does she know where her parents are?”
“Did she help them?”
The very idea had me sinking deeply into myself. What’d happened to my morning? It’d begun so well, too, with a new box of my favorite cereal—pure crunchy, sweet, sugary deliciousness. As I ate, my mom had told me there used to be toys inside the box when she was young. Whereupon, I’d argued. Why would a company need to bribe children to eat? Shouldn’t the food be good on its own?
Shock swept me past the mob of faces and into the police station. I’d never been inside one before. But I wasn’t given time to stand around and gawk. The cops ushered me into a room, the walls white with scuffs all over. The table was metal and bolted to the floor. The chair also fixed in place.
The officers left me alone but didn’t take my phone. I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. I was a mess of nerves. What would happen to me? I just wanted my mom and dad.
How long could they keep me here?
I really had to pee.
Didn’t feel well either. The room felt too small. Confining. Without even a window. Did it have enough air? It felt thin. I panted and sweated. Felt worse and worse. My stomach heaved, and with nowhere to throw up but the floor, I leaned over and spewed my not-so-sweet-now cereal.
Which was when the cop came in.
