1.8

 I was doing my homework one night. Nothing out of the ordinary, it's what I did, every night, right after Mommy went to work. I don't know exactly what she does, because every time I ask Daddy he tells me it's none of my beeswax, sister Suzy. But that's beside the point. The fact of the matter is is that this was no regular night. 

And it all started with a loud thud from upstairs.

 Daddy was int the same room with me, and he had heard it too. In fear that someone may be robbing us, we hurried along upstairs.

  Daddy told me not to worry, and that one of my toys must have fallen on the floor or something.

But I really wasn't that dumb. Someone (or someTHING) was up there, and I was going to find out exactly what it was. 

 I told Daddy that the noise had come from this wall, perhaps behind it. Daddy said that is was absurd, which he explained meant unlikely, that anything could be behind that wall. But I was persistent. I knew something was there.

 To calm me down, he investigated the wall, like a secret switch might be there or something, like Shaggy and Scooby find. 

Sure enough, someone was there.

Dead. I didn't know who this man was, but the look of understanding on Daddy's face was undeniable. 

"Noel Symphony Vegas. Listen to me. This man was.... and old friend of Mommy's. I don't think you're very stupid, I believe you know exactly what has occurred here." Daddy paused here to take a deep breath. I knew exactly what had happened, just as he said. Mommy killed this man. "We can under NO  circumstances tell ANYONE about this man. We have to protect Mommy, do you understand?"

I nodded, mostly in fear, I was willing to do anything to put this behind us and for me to forget all about it.

 My heart hurt. And it hurt for three people; Mommy, because she had killed a man, and would probably get into lots of trouble, 'cause that's a bad thing. A very bad thing. Daddy, because he had to live his life knowing that his wife was a blood thirsty murderer. But I hated to think of her that way. She was my Mommy after all, and she really wasn't that cynical... with anyone else. And then this man, for losing his life at such a young age. He couldn't be much further then thirty. 

My poor Mommy.

My poor Daddy.

Poor... poor man. 

 I refused to change the way I looked at my mother. I still loved her throughout every inch of my heart, perhaps even more so after this. I would protect her. I wouldn't let her get into trouble for what she did.

Even though it was a Bad Thing.

A Very Bad Thing.