"Emily, if a stray dog coming into your treehouse is what you consider an emergency, I will shove you out of that window," I told her, rolling my eyes. She told me she had "an emergency" and that I needed to hurry to her treehouse before it was too late. I rushed to her treehouse immediately, thinking that she was injured and couldn't contact her parents this late at night, only to find her curled up with a little black puppy with a red collar.
"I personally believe a puppy is enough a reason itself to wake you up at 1 am, but don't worry that's not why I told you to come over," Emily reassured. "Sit down and stay awhile, Fire Boy"
"Ha ha, very funny," I retorted. That's been her nickname for me since third grade, after I called her Beaver Girl for her ginormously large front teeth. She fired back with Fire Boy for my insanely wavy red hair and it quickly turned into a fist fight that left me with my only suspension and "my sworn enemy who I will hate forever and ever and ever". That didn't last long as soon I realized she was actually pretty cool if you didn't get on her bad side, and I found my best friend. I reluctantly fell back into the bean bag beside her, and immediately felt at ease. This is where the two of us would always hang out when we were little, and I missed that. I remembered our adventures as "Fire Boy and Beaver Girl", but eventually we grew out of make believe and stopped playing in the treehouse. Once this room was filled with warmth and laughter, now it was filled with dust and cool breeze in the crisp autumn air.
"If we're not here because of the dog, why are we here?" I questioned, picking at the side of the bean bag. We both had a science test first thing in the morning, and I for one would like to know what was so important that I had to be up at one am on a school night. Emily pulled the dog closer and started playing with it's collar.
"Another one of Charlie's classmates was found dead." She whispered, barely making a sound.
My heart shattered. "Who was it?" I asked.
"Micheal Abbott, Charlie's best friend" she told me, shaking with sadness.
Tears began to fill her eyes, and she ended up squeezing the dog so hard he leapt out of her arms and ran off. I was stunned. This was the third kid this week to be killed in her little brother's class, and knowing that there was nothing that could be done about it. I quickly gave her a hug and tried my best to console her.
"Did they find the person who was marked?" I asked, desperately hoping they found the killer.
Emily looked at me with a glare that chilled my bones to the core, and then slumped down in disappointment. "I don't think finding who is marked will help".
I know Emily is devastated over the loss of her little brother's best friend, but surely she couldn't be serious. If someone has a red wristband tattoo on their wrist, it meant they were responsible for the death of a child. For the past three years, police have been using that system to determine the culprits of child murder cases in order to bring peace to the family, and there has never been a mistake since. Or at least that's what we all want to believe. When someone is marked, they are taken into custody immediately, and most are killed soon after. I really hope Emily is wrong, otherwise so many innocent people are dead. "There has to be a misunderstanding. The marking has never made a mistake." I cautiously replied.
"Like you would know". Her bright green eyes glared with anger, reminding me of a villain in a Disney movie. "You've haven't watched classmate after classmate die. With each new one they arrest the person who was marked, and you hope that they might finally stop. Then a few days later the cycle starts again." She began to cry even harder, but stopped herself so she wouldn't wake anyone inside up. "You don't have to go through each one wondering if next time, it'll be your own little brother. And there will be nothing you can do to stop it."
I looked down at the dusty wood boards, and thought about what she said. She had a really good point, but I still don't think that's really enough to prove the system doesn't work. "Goodbye Emily" I told her, making my way down the ladder of her treehouse. I dashed into my yard, and snuck back inside. If I was lucky, no one will know that I was gone, I won't get into trouble. Or at least no more than the trouble we're all in if Emily is right.
