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Tasha's POV

I gently pry Geisha's hands away from my neck and pull myself away from her sobbing self.

"It's alright" I whisper for what seems to be the hundredth time. She nods weakly and dries up her tears with the back of her sleeve.

"If something was to happen to you... I don't know what I would do" I know this phrase by heart. "It's so stupid but I thought... I thought the dogs had gotten you, I should have known you were smarter."

"Did they actually manage to catch someone" I have to ask. I silently cross my fingers, please no more dramas. My heart drops when Geisha starts crying again and I have to control myself with all the patience I can manage in order not to grab her shoulders, shake her and scream to stop crying at once and talk because her tears aren't going to chance just how fucked up our society is.

"Who" I ask instead.

"Billy and Frankie" she must notice my puzzled look as I try to figure who they are because she adds, "Emily and Greyson Roosevelt's sons. Nathan, Kris and Aaron used to share a house with them a couple of years back."

"No" I whisper, feeling an all too familiar pressure settling on my chest. No, no, no it can't be them. They were only children, five and seven when Kris lived with them, they must have been seven and nine now; only children. They were the Roosevelt's only sons, their parents must be devasted.

"How did it happen?" Kris used to tell me how protective Emily was of her sons, how could tue dogs have gotten to them?

"Greyson told a friend's mother that Billy got into a fight with his mother about doing the laundry and stormed out of the house. He must have known that taking his little brother out in the evening would stress his mother, I suppose that's why he did it."

"And now they're both dead" dead eaten by muts, teared to pieces and their rests left scattered by dogs like the ones Cole killed yesterday.

"No, only Frankie died. Billy's in a critical situation but he's not dead yet, Doctor Christian Bells is attending him."

I don't miss the yet after dead, that yet that says he's practically a goner. Even if he manages to live, then what? He'll have to get past the grief and then live his life knowing his younger brother payed the consequences of a tantrum he threw because he didn't want to do the laundry.

My thoughts travel back to last night, the way Cole killed three dogs that terrorized us without even breaking a sweat whist I was blinded with fear. How? He looks strong but no man is stronger than three dogs. He said he knew how to fight. I have to ask him to teach me. The sensible part of my mind quickly thinks out of it, I barely know the guy and he's here for work so he won't stay long. But another part of my mind, the larger part that has been forced to submission by fear for years slowly comes out and pushes me out of the front door and into the street looking for I don't exactly know what. The only thing I know is that I don't want to live this life, I don't want people to be terrorized and killed for no reason.

Aaron's POV

"Fuck!" I punch the already crumbling wall so mini pieces of stone and gravel fall on the dirty street. The unfamiliar urge to cry obliges me to lift my face towards the grey clouds in order to keep the tears in. I've always managed to stay strong for my people, not that I had much of a choice, someone has to maintain the tiniest bit of hope in our community and my brothers and I took it upon us to do so.

I don't flinch when I feel a delicate hand, almost feather like, rest on my shoulder. It's nearly as white as Frankie's face when we found him. White as the dead. Frankie and the word dead have difficulties assembling in my head, this kid had always been so full of life, so curious to know about everything. He deserved better, better than this miserable life and horrible death. He deserved happiness in a place where he could have eaten as much a he would have liked and could have played in the street without having to worry about guards and dogs and death. Dead, he's dead and I have to blink back quickly when I feel a small tear fall. I can only imagine Emily's grief, Frankie had always been he favorite.

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