1. Chapter One
THE GUN IS ALWAYS GOING OFF IN MY HEAD, LIKE MY PARENTS ARE SHOT EVERY TIME I CLOSE MY EYES. It sure feels like it, with the memory of the pain in my tiny infant heart at the realization my dear mother wasn't holding me anymore, my dear brother was taking me out and cradling me to sleep, because me crying made him cry even more. He was about twelve. I wasn't even a year old. Now I am nineteen. It is hard, living in a world of crime. Where my brother, who is twenty nine now, is off to some foreign country. The death of our parents hurt him much more than me, which is a lot. He could actually process thought, and loved our parents. I envy him for getting twelve more years than I did with our late beloved parents. He is coming back today, says my butler slash caretaker slash parental figure for 19 years of loneliness, Alfred. The hearing against Joe Chill, my parents' murderer. I want him dead. Dead. Not in jail. Dead. My brother seems to think the same. He comes to the Manor, (did I mention my parents were filthy stinking rich?) I see him for the first time in years. He has certainly grown to be a handsome man. He hugs me when he sees me.
"I've missed you, Marilyn," he says. No wonder.
"You wouldn't have missed me if you didn't lock yourself up in some random place just to punch the pee out of criminals, Bruce," I say.
"Let's just go to that hearing." Bruce shakes off my comment, which is true. His thirst for justice is odd.