Help. (Chapter 2)

November 11, 2032 (An hour after the tiresome interview)

I sat in the basement of my dead parents house. Drinking my fathers liqueur. Exactly how he did. I like to this that this is how he died. Drinking his sorrows away, while my mother one the other hand, died trying to save the old people at the homes. My parents were married young. Barely knowing each other. My mother, Jaime, a bubbly university student, was blinded by my fathers "blunt yet mystical charm". As she always put it. She was studying to be a nurse. He was studying to be in the police force. One wrong move after the other and there were rings and me. After 5 years of marriage, my fathers temper got the better of him. He used his forensics knowledge to overthrow the police and ended up stuck in stupid ruts. My mother kept herself busy with work, pretending she had the happy little family she always dreamed of after watching her parents fall into the abyss of hell.

The telephone rang. A rare occurrence. Especially given the circumstances. I picked up anyways, placing the beer on the side table.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Banks." It was the interviewer.

"Yes?"

"Have you seen the news?"

"No," I was wondering what the hell was good on the news.

"Everyone working with the government is being brutally murdered, with their families. Mr. Banks, I have an 8 year old daughter, Gracie. Please, take care of her. She's special."

"Ma'am,"

"Please! She can't die! She's all I have! Promise me you'll get her in the storage room at the water facility." My brain in a rats nest, my heart hurting from her pain, and a girl in my head screaming for help, forces me to say yes.