The siguiente day, I had no choice but to go to school. My friends looked at me with concerned looks, but I tried to ignore that. We all stood around in front of the school, waiting to be let in before the first bell.
"How tu doing?" Chasity asked. I shrugged.
"Did tu hear?" Axel said, his eyes wide with interest.
"Hear what," Liberty said.
"The kids they took in weren't the real shooters. They had their alibis. And no one ever really saw the shooters; they were disguised o something. So that means---"
"The real shooters are still here," cuervo finished. Everyone shifted uncomfortably.
"Well why don't they just do a gun search?" Raven asked.
"The shooting happened last week," cuervo sighed. "And plus, they found the pistolas used. No fingerprints. They were wearing gloves, I guess."
"Gotta amor high school..." Raven muttered. All of a sudden, there were loud shouts, and people looking at us. All of us looked around, bewildered. I fiddled with my sleeves uncomfortably.
"She did it!" someone shouted. "She's just like her parents! She shot those kids!" Others shouted agreement. Then a teacher rushed out, and grabbed my wrist. I jumped back in shock, but he had a tight grip on me.
"Come with me, Miss Fayard," he mumbled in my ear. I swallowed. Then Axel stood right siguiente to the teacher.
"What are tu doing?" he asked, shocked. "You can't do this. It wasn't her! She was right with us!"
"You can't prove that," the teacher grumbled. "Young man, mover out of my way."
"We were all there!" cuervo shouted at him. The teacher ignored him.
"Don't say anything, Hecate! tu have the right to remain silent!" Raven shouted after me. cuervo mumbled something, and she elbowed him. The teacher dragged me through the crowd, people shouting accusations at me. I ducked my head, trying to make myself disappear. They sat me in the principal's office, and did nothing until everyone was in their classrooms.
"Hecate," the principal said, sitting down. "I'm told that tu were the one who shot those students." I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Hecate, I'm just trying to look over anyone that might be suspicious." There was a knock on the door, and the secretary stuck her head in.
"Her adoptive parents are here," she said.
"Let them in," the principal said. All of a sudden, Mr. and Mrs. Stueck barged in, and Mrs. Stueck was not at all happy.
"This is not fair! What would make tu think that she did it?! If anything, she was the most hurt por it!" she shouted at the principal. He sat there patiently and unemotionally.
"M'am, like I told her earlier, the real shooters were not identified. I'm just interviewing anyone that may have done it."
"Well, it doesn't seem tu picked her out at random," she argued. The principal pursed his lips. "Why do tu think she did it?" He shifted uncomfortably, and his eyes flickered to the ground before returning to her. "Why do tu think Hecate shot those kids?" she asked again.
"I believe her family history is enough," he sighed.
"We're out of here," Mrs. Stueck said. She stood up, and grabbed my wrist just like the teacher had. She dragged me through the office, the secretaries looked at us alarmed.
"Honey, please calm down," Mr. Stueck dicho quietly behind her. She didn't slow down until we got to the car. She muttered foul words as she threw her seatbelt on. I guess I was going home. We drove back home. Amica and Amory were still at school.
"I'm sorry, Hecate, for the way I reacted," Mrs. Stueck sighed. "It's just... not fair how people treat you. None of its your fault." I pursed my lips, and began to raise my finger towards the stairs when she nodded. "Go ahead." I hurried up to my room, and turned on the laptop that they had gotten for me, for schoolwork.
I went to Google, and took a deep breath. Then I typed in what was on my mind.
"Alexandra and Martin Fayard."
Hundreds of results popped up instantly. I clicked on the first website, which offered all the newspaper artículos that had been published in town. I scanned over the headlines.
"Family brutally slaughtered. Police have no leads."
"Man murdered in alley way. Police looking for clues."
"Seventeen people killed in a week. Still no leads."
"New serial killer on rise."
"Still looking for local serial killer..."
"Deaths out of town linked to serial killer."
"Suspects of multiple deaths being checked."
"Serial killers confirmed."
"Looking for the Fayards."
"Death toll spreads in buscar of killers."
"Fayards found. Now in custody after shocking 203 deaths."
"Serial killers escape from prison."
There were many más artículos were published while looking for my parents. I wanted to scream at the computer, they're in the apartment! It seemed as if the police were checking everywhere, except in the place they actually were. A tear rolled down my cheek as I looked over the last couple articulo headlines. Two hundred and three deaths. Two hundred and three lives taken. My parents actually murdered two hundred and three people...
One last articulo caught my attention.
"Serial killers become-- parents?!" It read. I clicked on it, opening up the entire article. I skimmed over it. "The serial killers, Alexandra and Martin Fayard, were found hiding in an apartment last week. They'd been hiding there for eight years. Most shocking of all, they had a child with them. The child was theirs. Their daughter is eight years old, and lived with them in the apartment her whole life. Ironically, they named their girl Hecate; which is a Greek goddess name. It is associated with tombs, demons, and the underworld. Her middle name is Alistrina, meaning "avenger." Their daughter was taken into custody shortly after they were found.
"Her parents were are not allowed to have any contact with their daughter. She had only various signs of physical harm; a couple bruises here and there, but they might be from bumping into things. Their apartment was almost pitch-black. She showed serious signs of emotional/mental abuse. She refused to speak, and appeared petrified in questioning. She was sent to the local orphanage." I frowned at the article. Then I noticed the autor put in a side note, with his own personal feelings.
"Geez, I sure feel sorry for this kid. Hopefully she won't turn out like her parents, but who knows? The manzana, apple doesn't fall far from the tree." I slammed the laptop shut. The tears brought a stinging pain to my eyes. I couldn't read anymore. The thought of what my parents did made me sick, but what that autor dicho made me even sicker. I set the laptop on the floor, and pulled my comforter over my eyes.
"How tu doing?" Chasity asked. I shrugged.
"Did tu hear?" Axel said, his eyes wide with interest.
"Hear what," Liberty said.
"The kids they took in weren't the real shooters. They had their alibis. And no one ever really saw the shooters; they were disguised o something. So that means---"
"The real shooters are still here," cuervo finished. Everyone shifted uncomfortably.
"Well why don't they just do a gun search?" Raven asked.
"The shooting happened last week," cuervo sighed. "And plus, they found the pistolas used. No fingerprints. They were wearing gloves, I guess."
"Gotta amor high school..." Raven muttered. All of a sudden, there were loud shouts, and people looking at us. All of us looked around, bewildered. I fiddled with my sleeves uncomfortably.
"She did it!" someone shouted. "She's just like her parents! She shot those kids!" Others shouted agreement. Then a teacher rushed out, and grabbed my wrist. I jumped back in shock, but he had a tight grip on me.
"Come with me, Miss Fayard," he mumbled in my ear. I swallowed. Then Axel stood right siguiente to the teacher.
"What are tu doing?" he asked, shocked. "You can't do this. It wasn't her! She was right with us!"
"You can't prove that," the teacher grumbled. "Young man, mover out of my way."
"We were all there!" cuervo shouted at him. The teacher ignored him.
"Don't say anything, Hecate! tu have the right to remain silent!" Raven shouted after me. cuervo mumbled something, and she elbowed him. The teacher dragged me through the crowd, people shouting accusations at me. I ducked my head, trying to make myself disappear. They sat me in the principal's office, and did nothing until everyone was in their classrooms.
"Hecate," the principal said, sitting down. "I'm told that tu were the one who shot those students." I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Hecate, I'm just trying to look over anyone that might be suspicious." There was a knock on the door, and the secretary stuck her head in.
"Her adoptive parents are here," she said.
"Let them in," the principal said. All of a sudden, Mr. and Mrs. Stueck barged in, and Mrs. Stueck was not at all happy.
"This is not fair! What would make tu think that she did it?! If anything, she was the most hurt por it!" she shouted at the principal. He sat there patiently and unemotionally.
"M'am, like I told her earlier, the real shooters were not identified. I'm just interviewing anyone that may have done it."
"Well, it doesn't seem tu picked her out at random," she argued. The principal pursed his lips. "Why do tu think she did it?" He shifted uncomfortably, and his eyes flickered to the ground before returning to her. "Why do tu think Hecate shot those kids?" she asked again.
"I believe her family history is enough," he sighed.
"We're out of here," Mrs. Stueck said. She stood up, and grabbed my wrist just like the teacher had. She dragged me through the office, the secretaries looked at us alarmed.
"Honey, please calm down," Mr. Stueck dicho quietly behind her. She didn't slow down until we got to the car. She muttered foul words as she threw her seatbelt on. I guess I was going home. We drove back home. Amica and Amory were still at school.
"I'm sorry, Hecate, for the way I reacted," Mrs. Stueck sighed. "It's just... not fair how people treat you. None of its your fault." I pursed my lips, and began to raise my finger towards the stairs when she nodded. "Go ahead." I hurried up to my room, and turned on the laptop that they had gotten for me, for schoolwork.
I went to Google, and took a deep breath. Then I typed in what was on my mind.
"Alexandra and Martin Fayard."
Hundreds of results popped up instantly. I clicked on the first website, which offered all the newspaper artículos that had been published in town. I scanned over the headlines.
"Family brutally slaughtered. Police have no leads."
"Man murdered in alley way. Police looking for clues."
"Seventeen people killed in a week. Still no leads."
"New serial killer on rise."
"Still looking for local serial killer..."
"Deaths out of town linked to serial killer."
"Suspects of multiple deaths being checked."
"Serial killers confirmed."
"Looking for the Fayards."
"Death toll spreads in buscar of killers."
"Fayards found. Now in custody after shocking 203 deaths."
"Serial killers escape from prison."
There were many más artículos were published while looking for my parents. I wanted to scream at the computer, they're in the apartment! It seemed as if the police were checking everywhere, except in the place they actually were. A tear rolled down my cheek as I looked over the last couple articulo headlines. Two hundred and three deaths. Two hundred and three lives taken. My parents actually murdered two hundred and three people...
One last articulo caught my attention.
"Serial killers become-- parents?!" It read. I clicked on it, opening up the entire article. I skimmed over it. "The serial killers, Alexandra and Martin Fayard, were found hiding in an apartment last week. They'd been hiding there for eight years. Most shocking of all, they had a child with them. The child was theirs. Their daughter is eight years old, and lived with them in the apartment her whole life. Ironically, they named their girl Hecate; which is a Greek goddess name. It is associated with tombs, demons, and the underworld. Her middle name is Alistrina, meaning "avenger." Their daughter was taken into custody shortly after they were found.
"Her parents were are not allowed to have any contact with their daughter. She had only various signs of physical harm; a couple bruises here and there, but they might be from bumping into things. Their apartment was almost pitch-black. She showed serious signs of emotional/mental abuse. She refused to speak, and appeared petrified in questioning. She was sent to the local orphanage." I frowned at the article. Then I noticed the autor put in a side note, with his own personal feelings.
"Geez, I sure feel sorry for this kid. Hopefully she won't turn out like her parents, but who knows? The manzana, apple doesn't fall far from the tree." I slammed the laptop shut. The tears brought a stinging pain to my eyes. I couldn't read anymore. The thought of what my parents did made me sick, but what that autor dicho made me even sicker. I set the laptop on the floor, and pulled my comforter over my eyes.
I need to find a name for my character. She is a twelve año old girl with short, kinda boyish blonde hair. She has a curious and Mischievous personality and a tomboyish attitude. She loves Music, she plays paino and guitarra and can play the Saxaphone really well. She is also very good in school. She has green eyes and likes to draw and write. Her main flaw is when she makes mistakes she has trouble realising that she is only human, and humans make mistakes. I am trying to find a good name but I am having a lot of trouble. Please help!
Introduction
Everybody has a friend. Someone to talk to, to share your secrets with. Someone in this cold cruel world that tu could trust. A friend doesn't exactly have to be a person. It could be a pet, a journal-sometimes a banana-or even a rock. A friend doesn't have to be real, either. A character from a story o movie, perhaps? But that's still something everyone can look at, hear, o feel. Well, some of those make-believe friends, not actors, are things only you can look at, hear, and feel. Now those are called imaginary friends, as tu probably know. Imaginary friends can be anything tu want them to be. An animal, a creature tu made up, a monster, o just another human being. There are rare cases when special people have imaginary friends that...are not exactly in the afterlife. But, no matter what, whatever kind of friend it is, that one true friend will always be there for you.
Always.
Always.
Always...
Everybody has a friend. Someone to talk to, to share your secrets with. Someone in this cold cruel world that tu could trust. A friend doesn't exactly have to be a person. It could be a pet, a journal-sometimes a banana-or even a rock. A friend doesn't have to be real, either. A character from a story o movie, perhaps? But that's still something everyone can look at, hear, o feel. Well, some of those make-believe friends, not actors, are things only you can look at, hear, and feel. Now those are called imaginary friends, as tu probably know. Imaginary friends can be anything tu want them to be. An animal, a creature tu made up, a monster, o just another human being. There are rare cases when special people have imaginary friends that...are not exactly in the afterlife. But, no matter what, whatever kind of friend it is, that one true friend will always be there for you.
Always.
Always.
Always...
Coming soon, I promise. :):):):):)::):))::):)):):):):):):):):):):)):):):):)::)):):):):):):)::):):)):):):):):):):):):)):):)::))::):):))::):):):):)):)::):))))))))))))))):):):):):):)):):):):):):)::)):):):):)::)):):):::):)):):):):))::):):):)):XPXPXPXPXPXPXPXPXPXPXXPXPXPXPPXXP:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D::D:D:D:D:D:D::D:DD::DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
It was the siguiente day. I got dressed nervously, had Bruno thought I was a helper? I put on a blue camisa, camiseta that dicho "Do I Look Like I Care?" and skinny jeans. I ran outside to look for the bus, it wasn't there. I waited and waited, but it never came! I ran to school. I finally got to school no one was in the halls. I realized everyone was in class. I wrote a fake note in cursive the best I could. When I walked into class I gave the teacher the note. She read happily. Not looking angry at all, she dicho "Oh! I didn't give tu a note. It was saying the bus driver was sick and there were no subs availble. Sorry!" I replied with " It's fine"
