Time freezes. Two round puncture wounds are prominent on the side of my mom's neck. My body stiffens with confusion and fear at what looks like fang marks. My big brother rushes to her side to comfort her but she is already cold. He places his hand on her neck to see if there is a pulse. As sadness creeps across his face and he tells me there is no beat, tears run down my cheeks and begin pooling at the top crevice of my lip. He wipes the tears from my face, leaving a red smear at the top of my cheek bone. The words “911 what’s your emergency” echo in the back of my head. Red and blue lights flood the inside of our apartment creating a purple hue throughout the front room. Men wearing all black make their way to the back bedroom. I can only make out the C, O, and the R that lines the back side of their uniform jackets, before they turn the corner into my mom's bedroom. They are wheeling what looks like a sketchy small bed on wheels into where the door meets the wall.
Not long after, a woman who couldn’t be much older than my mom, wraps her bony arms around me, hugging my waist tightly as she lifts me from the sitting position I have been in from the time the police arrived. She begins to carry me to the front door of the apartment. I peek out from between her blonde curls that rest on her neck. The men in black are still in my mom’s bedroom. I can hear them talking in hushed tones. Resituating me higher in her arms, the woman opens the front door. Her heels sound like an antique typewriter as she walks me down the single flight of stairs that leads to the poorly lit parking lot. When we get down to the bottom, she puts me down and grabs my hand. She leads me to the black cars with red and blue lights that flood our apartment. As we depart, I take one last look at my home and see something completely strange. A small black bat hanging over the frame of the front door. I feel as if the bat is watching my every move, until it swiftly flies away after the men in black start to wheel that sketchy bed on wheels down the walkway of the apartment building. But during this trip, the wheeled bed has a large black bag on top of it. I know what that bag contains and my head starts to spin. Tears fall from my swollen eyes and worsen the red smear that lay upon my cheek. We reach one of the black cars and the woman puts me in the back seat and sits next to me.
Moments later, we are entering a brown building and she hands me fresh clothes that I assume are for me. She stands there and holds out her hand, expecting me to meet her halfway, so I do. I slide my hand inside of hers fitting perfectly inside like a freshly made key and I am surprised at how reassuring it feels. She motions to me to sit in a chair next to my brother. I look at my brother for a sign of what will happen next, maybe a sign of reassurance. But he just has a blank faraway look in his eyes which seem unable to grasp reality. I watch the woman who was so comforting to me walk out the door. I wish she could stay. Just then something catches my eye. A small black bat hangs on the door frame. The bat coldly stares at me as small drops of blood fall from its two pointy fangs. As the woman walks out of the room, the black bat follows her and the door closes.