“Stop screaming, Alyssa,” Ford pleaded.
But I couldn't.
I watched as DeLuca continued to bash my father's skull in with that crowbar, deforming his once handsome face.
I watched as my father's body went limp, his blood pooling around the pavement.
I watched as DeLuca smirked and relished every second of killing the man I loved most in the world.
Until his eyes connected with mine.
I screamed even louder...and his smirk grew wider.
Finally, I heard the faint sound of sirens in the distance.
DeLuca took one final look at me before he and his men disappeared into their cars and took off quick as lightning.
I was still screaming when Ford pulled me out of the car and I clung to him for dear life, refusing to be anywhere else.
I was still screaming when Ford barked orders to cover my father's body because my eyes couldn't look away.
I was still screaming when the ambulance pulled up and took out three body bags, instead of stretchers.
I was still screaming when Ford pulled up to headquarters and took me inside an interrogation room.
Whenever I close my eyes...I'm still screaming.
“It wasn't those boys, Ford. It was DeLuca. I know it was.”
I'd spent almost 48 hours in the same interrogation room at that point. I fell asleep in Ford's arms for a few short hours, only to wake up screaming.
They tried bringing in a child psychiatrist. They tried feeding me.
They tried doing everything they could to get me to believe something that I refused to.
I knew the truth. I saw it with my very own eyes.
I just didn't understand why they wanted me to believe otherwise.
Ford dragged a hand through his dark hair. His 5 o'clock shadow looked even more scruffy than usual, not that it dulled his movie star good looks.
Like my father, he was young. Both he and my father were the youngest members of the FBI, still in their late 20's.
I sat up in my seat, my legs swinging because they didn't quite reach the floor yet. “Where's my mom? Why isn't she here with me? Especially when I'm being interrogated. Where's my lawyer?”
Ford threw up his hands in frustration. “I'm not interrogating you, Alyssa. I just need you to understand certain things. And you don't need a lawyer because you're not in any kind of trouble.”
“Then why am I still stuck here? Where's my mother!” I screamed.
Fords expression changed from one of frustration to sheer sadness.
He reached for my hand. “She's in the hospital,” he said softly.
“Why?”
He rubbed his eyes. “She's not in good shape right now, kiddo. And the doctor's need to look after her for another day or so. She knows you're here, safe with me.”
“What happened to her? Give it to me straight, Ford. I'm a big girl now. I'm officially 10 years old today.”
A look of pity flashed across his face. “After she found out what happened, she collapsed.” He paused, appearing to choose his next words carefully, but I cut right to the chase.
“What happened to the baby?”
“She lost the baby,” he whispered.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and began rocking myself. “It's my fault. I didn't want a little sister and now she's dead. Just like it's all my fault that my Daddy died.”
Ford immediately stood up, walked over to me and sat me on his lap. “No, sweetheart. None of this is your fault.”
I sunk against him and put my arms around his neck. “You're only saying that because I'm a kid.”
“Have I ever treated you like a kid, Alyssa?”
I thought about his question for a moment before I answered, “No.”
He was right. He never treated me like I was a child. He always talked to me like I was his equal. So much so, that he and my mother got into it a few times. Especially after he let it slip that Santa and the Easter Bunny weren't real, back when I was 8 years old.
I liked that about Ford, though. In a world full of adults trying mold me into what they wanted me to be, he let me decide things for myself. He let me draw my own conclusions after giving me the cold-hard facts.
He never told me I shouldn't do something, or told me I was wrong for feeling a certain way...until now.
“And you trust me, right?” he asked.
“You're the only one I have left now. Of course, I trust you.”
He turned us in the seat and hoisted me up on the table. “Then I need you to repeat after me- I saw those two boys kill my father after he broke up a fight brewing between them and a few others.”
“But I didn't, Ford. I know exactly who killed my father. I'll never forget his face. I see it every time I close my eyes. It was him. That DeLuca, man. I don't know why you don't believe me. Ask Hannah, she'll tell you.”
“Goddammit,” he barked. “Listen to me, Alyssa. DeLuca didn't kill your dad. It was two members of rival gangs. He tried to break it up and he got caught in the crossfire. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
I shook my head adamantly. “No, it wasn't. Ask Hannah! Why won't you believe me?”
He stood up and kicked a chair across the room.
I began trembling. “Ask Hannah,” I repeated.
He ran back over to me and grabbed my face between his large hands. “I can't ask Hannah.”
I was even more confused by his statement. “Why?”
“Because Hannah's dead. She was found by her car after leaving the station with two bullets in her head.”
“W-what?”
His grip tightened around my cheeks. “You heard me. They got to her. I don't know how, but they traced everything. There must have been a mole working for us. A few of them.”
He sighed. “And now DeLuca's got all of New York eating out of his pocket. He controls the politician's, the news. Hell, he's about to have my department eating out of the palm of his hand soon. Your dad and I were trying to prevent it. We went undercover, without the FBI's knowledge, on our own. Hannah was in on it with us. We were trying to snag him on something and put him away before he became too powerful...but we failed.”
His face fell. “We fucked up big time and your father paid the ultimate price for it.”
“But he's a bad guy. How is that possible?”
Ford looked at me hard. “Because sometimes in life, sweetheart. The bad guys win.”
His grip eased up and I rubbed my cheek. “So put him away for killing my father.”
Ford groaned and took a step back. “In order to do that, we need to have something called motive. Not to mention all the evidence points to those two gang members being responsible.”
“What's motive?”
“A logical reason behind doing something. Usually in regards to committing a crime.”
“So tell them that you and my dad were trying to catch him doing something bad and he got angry.”
“I can't do that,” he mumbled.
“Why not?”
He leaned his forehead against mine and put my hands on his cheeks. My breathing became uneven and I didn't know why.
Actually, I did.
It was because I always thought Ford was the most handsome man I'd ever seen. Every time my mom would read me a fairytale, I would picture myself as the princess and Ford as my prince.