The Tempest

Prologue

Rayna

8 years ago

15 years old

I'm startled out of my sleep, when I hear voices coming from somewhere in the house. What the hell? What time is it?

I groan and look at my phone, squinting at the harsh light until I can see the time, 3:21 AM. Everyone should be asleep right now, so then where are those voices coming from? When the voices grow a bit louder, I quietly get out of bed and walk to my closed door, careful not to step on the creaking floor boards. Turning the handle on my door, I open it and walk down the stairs on silent feet. Once I step off the last stair, I walk towards the living room–which is where I hear the voices coming from.

"Where is it?!" A man's voice I don't recognize, demands angrily. I peek around the wall, where I can look into the living room without being seen. And what I find is something out of a nightmare, so much so, that I pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming, but nothing happens.

My parents are tied to wooden chairs facing four big men in suits with tattoos all over the back of their hands and peeking out of their suit collars. Who are these men? And what the hell do they want with my parents?

"I will never tell you anything." My father stubbornly says, as my hands begin to shake when I take in the state my parents are in.

Both of my parents are covered in their own blood with bruises forming on their body's. One of the men in suits steps up to my father and all I notice are three deep scars slashing across his face. He punches my father so hard across the face that I swear I hear something crack. My mother pleads for him to stop, but he ignores her and hits him again.

I want to scream in anger. I want to rage and beat their faces in, like they've done to my parents. I have the training, I could do it. I know I could and just as I'm about to barge in there and show them they messed with the wrong family, the scarred faced man says something that stops me in my tracks.

"Oh, but you will." He growls out smugly. He snaps his fingers at one of the men standing behind him and orders, "Go get the brats from their rooms and bring them down here, I want to see if Mikey here will start yapping if I kill his kids one by one in front of him, but I'll start with his wife first."

For a single minute the world seems to slow down as I watch in horror, as the scar-faced man pulls out a gun–a silencer installed at the end of it–from inside his suit jacket and aims it at my mother's head. Before he pulls the trigger, my mom's eyes slowly connect with mine, as if she could sense me there and gives me a small smile that says "you know what to do. I love you." No. No. No. No! This can't be happening, I'm not ready. I still need her.

I have to stop him! But before I can do anything, the scar-faced man pulls the trigger, ending my mother's life with one bullet. No! This isn't real. This. Is. Not. Real. It can't be! Oh god. Oh god.

All the memories I have with my mother flash through my head in seconds. My mother and I, watching a movie together. My mother reading a book to me before I go to bed. My mother dancing and humming to music as she cooks. My mother and father laughing, happiness shining in their eyes. My mother...Oh god. The pain in my chest is unbearable. It feels like someone just shoved a hot poker through my chest. Why does it hurt so much? This pain is unlike any pain I have ever felt before and I don't even have a scar I can physically see. Why? Why? Why?

The world resumes back and I watch as my mother's body slumps forward with my father's cries filling the room. I grieve the loss of my mother for one more second before I wipe my tears and lock my emotions in a box where I toss aside to go through later. I can't focus on what I'm feeling right now because I have a job to do. And I know that if I let my emotions consume me, I will break and that can't happen. Not with my siblings lives in my hands.