I was nine when it happened; when the Miami police took my mother away from my brother and I. My mother got arrested when she sold illegal drugs to an undercover cop disguised as one of her clients and busted her. She always said not to go in the basement because her ‘supplies’ for her clients where there. My brother and I thought she was a real estate agent, even though she said it herself, but she was hiding marijuana and cocaine downstairs. Apparently, she was fired from her job when I was four and John was one and she never told anyone, not even my father. Eventually, my father found out when I was five and left us. She said they were having problems and that he would come back, but he never did. We heard later that week that he jumped off a bridge and committed suicide. My mom didn’t even shed a tear.
When they caught my mom she tried to run, but instead they had shot her right in front of John and I. We saw everything. I screamed for her but she was gone. All that was left was her lifeless body and the trickling blood on her head from the gunshot. The cop that shot her said to me, “She deserved to die,” in a rusty, crackled voice. I would never forget the people or Him that caught my mother. They took her away and John and I went straight to foster care. John was only six when we went to foster care. He’d only talk to me, but only in a hushed whisper. He cried every night, calling for mother. We stayed only for a month and snuck out of the house. We walked down a street until we found a pay phone and called my cousin from Daytona Beach.

“Hello?” she asked

“Ali! can you pick John and me up? We wanna go home,” I replied. I started sobbing. “I want mom back!”

“Hush Kate,” she hushed, “Of course I’ll pick you up. Where are you?”

“We... We’re in a diner in Miami, Jen’s Diner I think,” I sobbed. John started tearing up too, making wet spots on my t-shirt. She didn’t respond for a few seconds but I could still hear her breathing.

“Ok honey pie, you just stay there. I’ll be there as soon as I can. And Katey, do not move. Ok?”

“Yes Ali,” I replied. We hung up and waited inside the diner. Ali finally got to the diner and took us back to her house. Eventually, the foster people sent an ‘Amber Alert’ saying that John and I were missing. To avoid that, we moved to Boise, Idaho, in the middle of nowhere. Ali still had to work 2 jobs, so I had to do everything else. I still went to school, but after walking a mile back to the house, I had to do everything and anything. Cleaning, cooking, you name it.
When we were on vacation down in the Florida Keys, they caught us. I was seventeen and John was fifteen. The cops grabbed us by our wrists and said that we were under arrest. Even though we were in their grip, we weren’t going down without a fight. Ali got away and stared running. She fell on the ground when I heard a gunshot just seconds before. I kicked the cop that had tackled me and ran to her.

“Ali!!” I yelled. The cop tackled me again but a got away again and struck him in the face with his gun handle. As I was running again, he shot me in the arm. I collapsed on the ground, shrieking and crying. I could hear John screaming in the cop car, trying to get the door open with his hands, full of blood. The cop pinned me to the ground and put handcuffs on me.

“That’s what you get for slapping me in the face. Plus a few weeks in juvy,” he whispered. My eyes went wide open. I knew that voice. He was the cop that killed my mom. That same old rusty voice. I got tossed in the car, crying, and with a bullet in my arm. I rested my head on John’s shoulder and started sobbing. We got to meet with a judge and said that we were off the hook since we were underaged. We drove back to Boise, packed up and moved to Maine. I went to college there, while John was in high school. We moved to a very tiny apartment. I had to work full-time while John had a part-time job. He became more independent. He had days where he never talked, not even to me. But eventually he went to college in business management.
I became an Augusta police officer. And that where I met Jason, my wonderful husband. I was his partner. We started dating and eventually I moved in with him. John had already moved out. He was the secretary of Pump it Up Gas Station. He had also moved in with his girlfriend, Monica. We were both happy, at the same time, in a long time. When Jason proposed to me, we went down to Florida. We both got jobs in the Miami Police Department and moved down there. We got married at 26, and had twins, Chelsea and J.J, at 28. Now at 31, my plan is ready. The plan on killing the people who killed my mom and Ali. Who said life could have a happy ending? I wish mine did.