It was a sentence that looped through my mind. A hope I knew deep down to be false.
There were vehicles outside our house. Black vehicles. Directorate vehicles.
No, no, no, NO!
I raced down the driveway and past the two men collecting evidence near the front door. It was whole and untouched, showing no sign of forced entry, and yet the fear in me increased.
I flowed into the entrance hall. There were voices deep in the house. Familiar voices. Riley and Rhoan, and one other. One I didn't expect.
Director Hunter.
Why was she here? What the hell did she have to do with my mother?
They were in the kitchen, at the rear of the house. I rushed on, the fear in me so heavy it was beginning to weigh me down.
There was blood on the marble tiles just outside the kitchen doorway.
And more blood on the door itself.
And smears of something else—something that almost resembled flesh—on the wall inside.
Please don't let it be Mom. Please don't …
I swept into the room. Saw Riley. Rhoan. Hunter.
Saw them hunkered near the center island.
Moved to the right so that they no longer blocked my view.