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I could hear the door as it rumbled and shook from the man hitting it and kicking it. He was yelling and grumbling, screaming words I couldn't make out.

My father swiftly guided me to the stairs, shoving me up the first few steps. “Go hide, Fiona, and don't look back!”

I wanted to ask so many questions, but he didn't give me a chance. Turning his back to me, my father stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes piercing the garage door.

The door flew open, wood splintering like sharp thorns across the kitchen floor. Glancing around my father, I could see the man, his eyes black as death with a vile grimace on his face.

His forehead was riddled in thick angry lines, a deep frown plagued his lips, and his arms were hanging by his side with precision. The gun he had been holding was now pointed at the floor as his other hand clenched into a fist.

The front of his left thigh was drenched in blood, his pants wet and dark as more and more blood seeped from a frayed hole in the upper muscle.

“Dad, what's going on?” I knew I was asking a question he probably wouldn't answer, but I was frozen. I wanted to run, but I didn't want to leave them.

“Go!” Giving me another shove, my mother rushed to my side and grabbed my hand.

“Fiona, Honey, do what your father says. Everything is going to be fine, but you need to listen. Go.” Forcing a smile as she spoke, she nodded her head, trying to reassure me.

“You fucking piece of shit.” The man took a shaky step forward, raising his gun in the air. “You stupid fucking piece of shit. This is on you, all of this is on you.”

I wasn't sure if he saw me or not, or if he just thought my parents were trying to run from him. But he looked pissed.

My heart raced inside my chest, my anxiety a whirlwind of fear and confusion as I took the steps by two. For some reason I stopped at the top of the stairs, I didn't run directly into my room. I should have kept running, I should have sealed my eyes shut and done as I was told.

Looking down, my dad had his hands up, and my mom was crying, begging the man for mercy. I didn't see any mercy on his face, not a drop of it.

A click lit the air on fire as I watch from my perch, and everything that followed seemed to happen in slow motion. I watched as my dad's head snapped back and his body folded onto the stairs. A thin trickle of blood started to run from a small hole in the middle of his forehead and my mother let out a scream like I had never heard before.

I stood there shocked, confused, frightened. I was staring down at my father's lifeless body and it wasn't until I tasted the metal in the air that I ran to my room and dove under the bed. There was nothing going through my head right then.

Instinct kicked in and my muscles took over, taking the load off my brain. Covering my ears with my arms, I buried my face in the carpet. A second shot rang out, and I knew instantly where that bullet went. Because the screaming stopped.

He shot my mom. . .

He's killed my parents.

My heart stopped in my chest, and all I could do was listen. I listened for my mother's voice or my father to call up to me that it was over and everything was alright.

Those voices never came.

Heavy footsteps started up the stairs, so I held my breath. I didn't want him to hear me, I didn't want him to find me and kill me too.

Shit, shit, shit. Does he know where I am?

Am I about to die?

The tips of his shoes twinkled under the light in my room, and he slowly walked closer to my bed. I was trying not to look, but no matter how much I tried to close my eyes, I couldn't.

Bending to his knees, the man's face loomed closer and I couldn't stop the tears from coming.

Sliding his hand under the bed, he yanked me out in one quick jerk. Kicking my legs, I threw my fists around trying to hit him.

“No! Let me go! Let me go!”

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, snagging the back of my neck in his strong hand and holding me still.

“I'm. . . I'm Fiona.”

“Why are you here?”