Arrived (Book One)

Chapter 8: Welcome Home

After seeing the m******e, the police took their time wisely to inspect every crook and cranny of the area. While the police were surveying the mansion, Dad called Mom, explaining the entire thing from A to Z.

Mom must have been angry, because my father handed his cellphone to me with an apprehensive look on his face. "Hey Mom," I said sheepishly. "Cleo," Mom sighed in relief. "Are you okay? Did you get anything on your sneakers?"

"No," I answered. "Thank goodness that you and your father are alright," she said. "Your father told me that there was a massacre." "Yeah," I replied. "But the weirdest part was, I couldn't hear the screams or the sound of the bullets."

I heard a weary sound coming from the phone. "Do you think this was a professional killer's doing?" I asked. "I think so," Mom said. "Dad and I are going to check and see if we miss anything," I explained. "Can you and Uncle Seth-"

"Help you guys out?" Mom guessed. A thick heavy blush appeared on my cheeks. I couldn't believe what I was saying. "Cleo," Mom said calmly. "As a mother, I think this is a bad move, but as a detective, I will help you and your father with your case."

I swallowed hard then ran my fingers through my hair. "Are you sure, Mom?" I asked. "What about your job?" "First of all," Mom began. "Call me Cole, and second, I am sure my job can wait."

"But-" I started to say. "Cleo," Mom interrupted firmly. "Trust me, I can handle this with your uncle's help." I thought about what Mom said then smiled at the memory of her and my father working together when they were kids.

"Okay," I shrugged. "I will talk to you later." "I love you," Mom said. "Don't do anything stupid." "I won't," I insisted. "I love you,too." After hanging up the phone, I handed it back to my father.

"Mom says that she and Uncle Seth will help us," I responded, earning my father a confused look. "Doesn't you mother have a job?" he asked. "She says that it can wait," I shrugged again.

"Your mother is something else," Dad chuckled to himself. "Is Mom always like this?" I asked in disbelief. Much to my surprise, Dad nodded. "Your mother is stubborn," he stated. "But she is brave and stubborn at the same time."

Just then, Senior Goodman ran towards us with a destroyed expression on his face. He was about to speak, but his panting took control of his mouth.

"Perfect timing," Dad said after Goodman stopped panting. "What do you know about the incident?" "Did you have any friends or enemies?" I asked. Senior Goodman looked at us, but slowly shook his head.

"Everyday," Goodman began. "I woke up, have Luna and my servants cook breakfast for my family and me. I was going to do some business with some employers, so I grabbed my suitcase and hurried to catch a bus."

"The time that you left the house was ten or twenty minutes before we came into the house, right?" Dad asked, not looking at him in the eyes. Senior Goodman bobbed his thick neck up and down.

"Yes," he croaked. While I ask some more questions, Dad kept staring at his clothes. For a moment, I thought Dad was envious of his wealth, until he mumbled something to Goodman then shook hands.

I watched as Dad's finger pressed on Goodman's forearm, checking his pulse. I started to realize that Dad had never trusted Senior Goodman since the moment that he saw him.

Before we followed Senior Goodman to his house, he told me to be polite to him, but he never said for me to be friendly. "Is there something bothering you, Ben?" Senior Goodman asked.

He must have saw my father staring at his clothes. Dad quickly looked up at Senior then shook his head. "No sir," he lied. His finger was still lingering on his pulse. "I am just thinking about my wife."

"Is she okay?" he asked in shock. "Shouldn't you be checking on her?" "She's stronger than you think," Dad explained with a smile. "Trust me." Senior let out a small laugh then slapped his beefy hand against my father's shoulder.

"That's how women are these days," he laughed. After the police were finished with their job, they packed up and began going home. The remaining cops took pictures and examing the dead bodies.

As soon as a huge ambulance came in, the press began flooding through the mansion, holding their microphones like swords. "Oh boy," I groaned. We'd better get out of here.

The three police who inspected the red grass came to our aid as they prevented the cops away from Goodman. Dad took me by the hand then left the scene in a hurry, worried that the stupid newspeople will see us and try to interview us.

As much as I wanted to go back for Goodman's mansion to search for more clues and more answers, the only thing I needed right now is to find a place to stay and make plans with Dad.

He took my arm then ran across the busy street while I was scampering on my heels. Loud honks hurt my ears as a sleek yellow taxi cab driver slammed his hand on the car horn. "Move it!" he cried. "Are you serious?"

Ignoring the cab driver's rants, we ran until we saw a small house not too far across the street. It has green roof and an light orange texture. The windows were scrubbed squeaky clean and the door was recently painted in an olive green color.

The small building is surrounded by a lot of perfectly trimmed bushes, a solid gate, and a bird fountain right hand corner of the house. Dad relaxed his grip on my arm as he pounded his fist on the door.

I stared at the ivy leaves resting besides the window in fascination until a golden door knob turned on its own. As I turned my head to the sound of rustling, I saw a small, old woman standing in front of the door, giving my father an annoyed look.

White hair was curled into perfection, bags rested under her eyes, and beady black eyes fixiated on my father. She wore a long red dress that covered her feet. The old lady looked at me for a moment then back at my dad.

The old lady wiped her large nose then quietly gestured us inside. But as soon as we got in the house, the old lady reached something her back pocket then pulled out a large rifle. Dad stared at the gun calmly, but I could see his hands fidget.

"Please don't do this," I said slowly, raising my hands. "We are good people." The old lady ignored my plea then faced my dad.

"I have been waiting for a long time," she hissed. "An a FBI agent, easily fell for my trap." She pressed the nozzle against my father's chest then snickered. "Say goodbye," the old lady laughed before pulling the trigger.