Chapter 1

Shanelle

The afternoon sky was clear and blue, silver trees sheltering birds migrating from trunk to branch and limb. A light chill lingered as Shanelle followed her usual path home.

Normally the walk was brief, yet today it stretched on for what seemed to be miles. In truth, Shanelle didn't want to go home. No... not today. Not "these" days when she wasn't sure anymore what awaited her.

In reality, she appreciated school. It comforted her to smell the scent of erasers, both new and old library books, and the cheesy aroma that wafted from the cafeteria. It tickled her ears hearing rusty lockers open and close. She adored the warmth that kissed her back and savored the freedom she experienced while swimming with her team, whether during practice or at a competition. School was her only escape, the place where she felt most safe and in control. She could manage her academic performance or how well she did in the water. What couldn't be changed was the home she had to go back to every day.

Shanelle wasn't a "popular" girl, but then again, high school wasn't anything like the movies. You had cliques of course, but no one really cared who would accept them. And bullies? Everyone's been a bully at some point. Especially Shanelle.

With just one block remaining, she winced at the memory of the previous day. On this very route, she had entered a house that was far from tranquil. James, her mother's boyfriend, had shattered the coffee table, destroyed the remaining lamp stands and furniture, and hurled several dishes in a fit of rage, glazed eyes reflecting the consequences of drinking.

Attempting to creep the perimeter of the living room, she had no idea what sparked the chaos, though was entirely unmotivated in finding it out. Getting involved never ended well.

Her mother, Teresa sat, back hunched on the only couch in their living room, which just so happened to be the only furniture in the house. Gazing blankly as if she were merely present in body, James gave her a brief look before bursting into a dark laughter.

"Where's my stuff Teresa?" he sneered. Pacing, he mumbled strings of words that flew miles per second, sentences unrecognizable and jumbled. He circled a dark stain on the carpet four times before coming back to her.

Reeling his hand back, he snatched a fistful of Teresa's mangled hair, pulling her face close to his. She groaned in pain, her eyes distantly focused on him.

"I ain't gon ask you no more..."he stilled. Suddenly he barked. "Shanelle!"

Shanelle jumped, stopping in her tracks. She was almost in the hallway. James hadn't tore his face away from Teresa. Had he been watching her the entire time? How did he see her?

"Mama?" Shanelle stammered, looking in fear and question at her mom.

---

Her mother's cheeks were wet with tears as she gazed weakly, raising a frail hand, surrendering with much effort.

"James... let my baby be...," she pleaded, voice deep and cracking.

With an indescribably twisted expression, James released her hair. Straightening, he faced Shanelle, gaze icy with a wicked smile playing on his face, as if he'd gotten a pleasurable high from successfully tormenting Teresa.

"You black...bony, good for nothin' fool! I said come her!" He shouted. Wincing at every word, Shanelle kept her eyes low, hoping he'd disappear and she'd wake up from a terrible dream. He stood swaying, the pause between them growing longer, sweat forming on his tanned skin.

Glancing to the hallway, instantly Shanelle fled, James right on her tail. Body banging against her bedroom door in attempts to open it, she realized, in dread, her step-siblings had locked it from the inside. Instead, she darted to the bathroom, slamming the door shut just before James could reach it. Amidst his shouting, she heard the soft whimpers of the girls in the adjacent room.

James pounded on the door with such intense force that the hinges began to loosen and detach. Terrified, Shanelle retreated into a corner.

"Mama!" she cried out desperately, tears spilling out in buckets. Suddenly, the banging ceased. It became quiet.

There was a tense silence on the other side of the door.

"Teresa, you come this way I'll kill you.." James threatened in a slurred voice that sounded equally deadly to the threat.

Shanelle's heart sank as she heard her mom's frantic voice and the sound of something hitting the wall. Soon, muffled thuds accompanied by screams and curses filled her ears.

Then came a sound that shattered her heart: her mom's cry—a cry of pain.

Present fear forgotten, she flung open the door, witnessing James grappling with her mother as they struggled on the carpet.

Unsure of her next move, Shanelle acted on instinct, seizing the porcelain toothbrush holder and smashing it against the back of James' head.

Staggering to his knees, he slumped down, full weight collapsing on top of Teresa.

In disbelief, she stared at his motionless body and at Teresa, who was still trapped. Shanelle hurried to help her mother roll him off. Seeing blood drip from her hands, she released the shard she was holding. Had she injured him? Did she kill him?

As she glanced at her trembling hands, the blood flowed more intensely. She was the one who was bleeding! Feeling dizzy, she steadied herself and walked past James' body lying on the ground. Observing his still form, a wave of revenge began to consume her. She hoped he was dead.

"Ma we gotta call the police. " Shanelle couldn't peel her eyes away.

"Baby, your... Your hand" Teresa limped over, faint.

"No ma, I'm okay. Call the police so he can leave."

She could feel herself getting angry.

"The, the blood... You're bleeding-" Teresa tried to come to her.

"Ma!" Shanelle screamed, pulling back, her voice shaking. Her heart was pounding intensely, and she couldn't bear to look at her mother... It tore at her to raise her voice at Teresa. Mixed emotions of guilt, shame, and unfathomable despair swirled within her. What if she hadn't cried out when James came after her? Would her mom have even gotten up from the couch? Or would she have remained there like a coward?

---

Teresa placed a hand on her temples and frowned as she regained her balance. Nodding without resistance, she made her way to the front where she thought her cell phone was. Somewhat understanding James' frustration, Shanelle nearly broke. There once was a time raising her voice just an octave above normal guaranteed a butt whooping and no dessert. All Teresa's fight was gone... And Shanelle knew she could blame none but herself.

"Where... Where did I put my phone?" Teresa stopped, fumbling through her empty pockets.

"Never mind." Shanelle snapped, grieved and disgusted.

Passing by her mom in the hallway, she grabbed the phone from the carpet and called the police. The service wasn't on though she could still place an emergency call. After giving them the information they needed, she handed her mother the phone and stepped out of the house, body surging with adrenaline. She needed to think straight.

A suffocating pressure began to build in her chest as she raised her hands above her head.

"No... No... no, no no! Not now!" she whispered in a choked voice, fighting to suppress the rising anxiety. Falling to her knees, she shook her head violently, as if the action could somehow aid what caught hold of her.

Mila and Honey were in the locked room, and there was no telling how long they'd been there. She couldn't give in. Shanelle breathed raggedly, tears hot as she pushed against the ground and heaved. Closing her eyes, she coerced her body to still itself. The girls needed her. They needed her. She needed to. Get. Up. Now.

Willing herself to rise to her feet, Shanelle shook her head once more and wiped her face. The panic had subsided but still lingered, intimidating, though not completely gone.

Hurrying to the side of the house, Shanelle tapped on the window of the bedroom. "Mila, It's me. Open up."

After a few moments, her four-year-old stepsister managed to push the window up and open with considerable effort. Her large, brown, red-rimmed eyes, peered through the screen. Soft, fuzzy hair sat wild on top of her head, a dark line creasing beneath her right eye. Mila's eyelid and upper cheekbone were swollen, colored with plum purple, and a nasty yellow. Shanelle felt a rush of heat at the sight; the child was clearly traumatized and frightened.

Honey, age 3, lay next to the stained mattress on the floor with a cover draped over her face. She'd evidently fallen asleep after hiding for so long.

Shanelle's heart twisted bitterly. There she stared into an innocent face adorned with doe eyes that, regrettably, had been inherited from a monster of a man.

"You aight?" Shanelle asked.

Mila nodded instinctively, her eyes filling with tears as her bottom lip jutted out. "Nelle, daddy got upset. He, he, he got upset cus Honey kept saying she was hungry and didn't eat," Mila said, rubbing her eyes.

"But I told her to shush cus daddy get mad if we cry. Nelle, I told her to stop..." Tears streamed down her young face, voice breaking as Shanelle tried to keep her own emotions in check.

"It's okay Mila. Don't worry, I'ma get you food. Just stay back here. Don't make a sound, or else the police can take you. Do you want that to happen? DO you want to be taken away?"

The young girl shook her head with wide eyes and a trembling bottom lip that protruded even more. Oh how Shanelle felt sorry for her.

"I'll be back later. Going to get food, and going to Jasmine's. Okay?"

Mila nodded once more, cheeks tearstained.

Sirens echoed down the street. "Mila, go! Hide! Don't wake Honey..."

Swiftly, the 4-year-old slipped her small hand through a gap in the screen, reaching out for Shanelle to hold it. Taking it, Shanelle pressed the fingers against her cheek. "Please tum back..." Mila pleaded in a soft helpless voice.

Unsure of what else to say, Shanelle nodded, pulled her hand back, and stepped away. Despite not being old enough to be a mother, Shanelle had a protective maternal instinct that was prematurely active and troubled. How could it be possible to love someone else's child as much she loved those girls? They weren't truly related to her, but somehow it didn't matter. She cared for them just the same.

Mila, on her tiptoes, looked for a hiding spot and hurried into the closet, leaving the window ajar.

Looking both ways, Shanelle took off, jogging down the street to the Matthews' corner store. About five blocks away, she allowed the exercise to settle to her unraveling nerves. She didn't want to face the police. She couldn't. Every time she had in the past, they asked the same questions, probed the same bears, and he mother would lie and cover for James. This time, it had to be different. Somehow, if she closed her eyes real tight, maybe her mother would make the right choice without her being there.