Dead Silence by Derting Kimberly

animals Violet used to carry home when she was little had made her mom squeamish. “What did she say?”
    There was a long silence, and then her mom said, “That they were slaughtered.”
    Violet thought about that, the description. She imagined the scene she’d walked into, even as she tried to purge it from her mind. Slaughtered was a pretty accurate word. “Yeah, it was that bad. They were in their own home, Mom. Even the little boy . . .” She nodded, her focus distant. “It was really, really bad,” she repeated in a whisper.
    “Sara Priest was there?” her mother asked, her words experimental now, as she tested the waters of their truce. “And Rafe?”
    “I called him.” There was no point dancing around the truth.
    “And were they able to help?” her mom continued to probe, as she tried to be casual about it. She rubbed at some charcoal residue on her fingers—a sure sign she’d been sketching that day. “Could they tell anything . . . about the family?”
    Violet was cautious now. She had to be vague, even with her parents, about what the other team members could do. Discretion was the first rule of being part of the team. She shook her head. “Not yet. But I think there was an older daughter who wasn’t there . . . when they were killed.” Violet turned to face her mother. “And she and Grady Spencer know each other. Maybe even dated . . .”
    Her mom stopped scraping at the black stains beneath the edges of her fingernails. “Grady Spencer?” she breathed, meeting Violet’s gaze now.
    Violet nodded. “The one and only.”
    “But you didn’t recognize her? She doesn’t go to your school?”
    “I only saw a picture of her, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before. Uncle Stephen’s looking for Grady now. Maybe Grady knows where the girl is. Or maybe he can tell them something about her.” Behind her eyes, a throbbing pain pounded in time with her heart. “Do you mind if I lay down for a little bit?” She closed the journal and set it on her nightstand. “I’d kinda like to be alone for a while.”
    This time Violet didn’t try to ignore the anxiety she saw in her mother’s expression. She could no more ask her mom to stop caring than she could will away the imprint that clung to her. “Go ahead.” The strained smile was back, but her kiss was gentle and spoke volumes about how hard she tried. “I’ll tell you if Uncle Stephen calls, ’kay?”

THE TIES THAT BIND
    HE THREW HIS FOOT DOWN ON THE BACK OF HIS skateboard, forcing its nose up to his hand. Lifting it, he tucked it beneath his arm just before he ducked, slipping inside the opening of the wide-mouthed sewer drain. Even if it had been tall enough to stand in, the corrugated sheet metal beneath his feet would have made it impossible to ride his board through the tube. It didn’t matter though; he preferred to sneak inside noiselessly. It was better for all of them if no one heard him coming.
    He emerged from the other end to face the grungiest apartment building in the entire city. There were only six units in the building, but he doubted there was water or power running to any of them. Most of the windows had been broken out at some point, only to be repaired by cardboard and duct tape, if they were repaired at all. What made matters worse was that there were actual tenants living in some of those units, people who handed over their welfare and disability checks to some slumlord who could give a rat’s ass about their living conditions.
    He wasn’t one of those suckers, of course. None of his people were. They were squatters, crashing in one of the vacant apartments for as long as they could go undetected.
    Slowly, he approached the main floor slider—the one that didn’t lock, but still closed at least—and he pressed his ear against it, listening. Inside, he could hear the low hum of Boxer’s voice followed just a moment later by the sound of Kisha . . . not quite a giggle, but an attempt to