It was 0530 hours, and the police arrived at the front door of Samantha’s home. They didn’t even pretend to be polite. They arrested Samantha’s parents, and took Samantha with them, to put her in protective services. One officer tried to keep them safe from harm. “You’re better off here with me. I can protect you from them. And whatever it is that’s blowing shit up.”
Samantha looked around, and saw nothing abnormal. But she spoke anyway. “You’re there, aren’t you. Watching.”
A voice from nowhere answered, “Yes.” The officers drew their guns. “I’m watching. And if you, or your parents are hurt. In any way.” I paused. The officers pointed guns at Samantha.
She nodded, “I know.”
I didn’t speak for a moment. The air was still. The neighbors watched, peaking from their windows, and standing on their front porches. “If they hurt you. I’ll know. And I’ll kill them all. Every last one of them.”
“Please,” she whispered, “hasn’t there been enough violence. Enough shooting. Enough dead people?” She waited a moment for me to answer, “Wasn’t what happened to Michelle enough?”
“They want everyone dead.” The officers swung their guns everywhere, looking for my voice, looking for me. “Even you, Samantha. Even you.”
“Because. You’re different.”
The officer next to Samantha spoke, “Who are you?”
“I am the violence.” My voice came from nowhere. “Birthed by blind hatred. That hatred dies, I go away.”
They never found me. No matter where they looked.