Welcome Home, Rose

Prologue

Today, my parents died.

It started out as a normal day at the Turner household. My mom Delaney Turner making breakfast in the kitchen, humming along to the radio. My dad Elias doing his due diligence mowing the lawns of the Sheriff's station and the fire station. Tyson, my older brother currently in the process of packing his bags. He, alongside his girlfriend Florence, her brother Brooks and his best friends Josiah and Montana had been signed by a hotshot record company out of Orlando, Florida. When my old man was done with his lawncare we would be heading to the airport to drop him off.

"Confession time, you gonna miss me when I'm gone Rosie?" Tyson leaned against the doorframe to my room.

"Not one bit, I'll be celebrating the second you're out of sight." I tossed a glance over my shoulder.

"You wound me, baby sis." He pouted. I rolled my eyes, trying and failing to contain my smile.

"I'll miss you; summers won't be the same without you." I walked over hugging him tightly. He wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me until I began gasping for air.

"Heather! Tyson! Breakfast!" mom shouted up the stairs.

"Race you downstairs?" Tyson grinned evilly.

"You're on." I bolted out of my room, sliding down the railing, running into the kitchen, and hoisting myself onto the stool by the kitchen island. Tyson slid in mere seconds after. Mom shook her head sadly, smiling she slid two plates filled with food toward us.

The front door opened, dad's footsteps retreating up the stairs. We heard the shower prompting us to eat the contents of our plate. When Elias Turner was home and there were plans you had best be prepared and ready to go, a feat that would forever be halted by the deliciousness of Delaney Turner's cooking.

"All packed Ty?" dad grabbed a piece of bacon off the plate on the counter. Tyson nodded in confirmation; mom huffed slapping dad's hand away handing him a plate. A roll of the eyes (dad), a kiss on the cheek (also dad), a full-blown kiss on the lips (mom), and a chorus of groans (Tyson and I), all of these were typical of a Turner family breakfast.

Thirty minutes later with Tyson's bags loaded into our silver Ford Explorer we were off. Dad rounded the corner being joined by the squad cars of his fellow officers. Neighbors, classmates, and teachers were line up, congratulating the son of the Sheriff and Fire Chief on his record deal. Tyson waved, blowing kisses to the crowd relishing the praises of his peers. I put in my earbuds, grabbing my book out of my bag. The parade lasted as far as the town limits, with the airport about two hours away. I made it a personal goal to get halfway through my book before we arrived.

One of the many things my dad was known for was taking the backroads to any destination. He hated highway driving with a passion, the backroads he knew like the back of his hand. Tyson always joked that we would be sitting ducks for serial killers.

"Surrounded by fields with the occasional farmhouse, no one would hear our screams." He would tease earning mom and dad's signature eye roll. We were halfway there when hit the spike trip.

Dad swore out loud, trying his best to avoid them, but it was no use. He managed to keep his Explorer on the road easing it onto the shoulder to avoid impeding traffic. The look he gave the three of us was clear "Stay in the car". I glanced up from my book, a few feet ahead sat an unmarked Honda Civic. Before my dad could even open the door mom grabbed his hand...

Just at the first shot was fired.

I felt something warm splash onto my face. Mom screamed "Elias!" at the top of her lungs. I felt Tyson wrap his arm around my shoulder, crushing me into his side. The seatbelt dug painfully into my shoulder and my torso, music still playing over my earbuds, my book laid abandoned on the floor. The second shot went off more warm liquid decorated my face...blood my brain screamed at me. My body's instincts demanding that I run. My heart hammered in my chest; the pain almost unbearable the seat belt alone was going to leave a bruise. That would be the least of my worries.

"Stay still." Tyson whispered; his voice unusually calm. Just like our father my brother had the ability to remain calm no matter the situation.

The passenger door opened, my entire body locked into place, my breath caught in my throat. I felt a hand brush my cheek hearing them swearing underneath their breath.

"We don't have time for this! Come on dumbass, we have to go!"

The owner of the voice sounded female, impatient and pissed off. They swore again the door slamming shut; tears were threatening to fall down my face. My brother released me several minutes later, gesturing for me to get out of the car. I unclicked the seatbelt my hands shaking as I struggled to open the door.

"Rosie, don't look." Tyson warned, his phone already out calling the emergency line.

Despite my brother's warnings, I looked over covering my mouth fighting against the desire to scream my lungs out and the desire to be sick. My parents were both slumped forward, both shot in the head, their eyes frozen open staring blankly to the side. My legs, no longer able to support me brought me straight to the ground.

Sirens began to sound my eyes still glued to the car, to my parents' bodies, tears streaming silently down my face. I caught every other word of the conversation between Ty and the police. No, we could not give them the appearance of the shooter he was wearing a mask and gloves. No, we were not hurt the blood belonged to our parents. No, the shooter did not come after us, we remained still in the car acting like we were passed out from the shock. No, we did not see their accomplice nor the direction the car went.

"I got you, baby girl."

His Southern accent hit me like a warm blanket on a snowy winter day. I turned, burrowing my face into the chest of my godfather, my dad's childhood friend Randy Ebert. I heard the cops asking to speak with me, Tyson insisting I had seen nothing. I confirmed it, Tyson had me pressed up against him. I followed every single instruction he gave me in the car. His quick thinking kept us alive.

The medical examiner and his assistant loaded my parents into the back of their van. Randy attempted to talk Tyson into delaying his trip. Ty refused, the relationship he had with our parents had been rocky to say the least. One of dad's coworkers, an Officer Nathaniel Lincoln was one of the few who could Ty down when he was like this. In the end, Lincoln would be escorting Ty personally down to Orlando within the week.

With the Explorer now labeled as evidence, my brother and I were loaded into the back of Randy's truck. The last thing I saw before he pulled away was a single rose lying on the pavement amongst the shards of glass blood decorating its white petals.

A single image, a sole memory that would haunt me the rest of my life.

(A/N: Welcome to Welcome Home, Rose an original fan fiction starring one of my oldest original characters, Heather Turner. I cannot wait for you to see her story. I will update as often as I can. If there are errors, rest assured they will be corrected. I do go back and proofread my chapters several times before posting, but I occasionally miss one. Thank you for reading.)