The rest of the week flew by. They didn’t finish their celebration on the first day so they continued it later in the second day. Throughout the week, they travelled all around Washington allowing Arin to experience many new things like going to the movies and to the beach with a family.

Today was Saturday.

What would they do today?

“So, Arin. We want to talk,” Mrs. Lightfoot began when Arin entered the kitchen. “Don’t worry you aren’t in any trouble.” It sounded like she was.

“We just want you to know that we can’t make every week as great as this one,” Mr. Lightfoot added.

Of course, she commented to herself. She tried to appear timid.

“Don’t worry, we will love you just as much. But there will be many ups and downs from here on out. No matter what, you are a Lightfoot. You will always be loved by each of us,” he continued, Arin nodded.

“But let’s make today just as fun by going to the local park, it should be so much fun with all of the fresh snowfall,” Susan exclaimed entering the room.

“It snowed?” Arin asked tilting her head.

“It did! Isn’t it such a wonderful treat?” Mr. Lightfoot stood up cheerfully. He sure acted immature about such a common event. For a short moment Arin thought she was in trouble . . . again. “It rarely snows here!”

“Sorry, I—I didn’t know.” Arin glanced outside, confirming Mr. Lightfoot's statement. It appeared warm and fluffy. Why did it have to be cold?

“It’s quite all right!” Mr. Lightfoot spread his arms out, open for a hug. Arin embraced his embraced his gesture of kindness, wrapping her arms around his back. She smiled, cheering inside at her emotional victory.

“I’ll cook some breakfast—”

“Uh, no,” Maddox interrupted Susan, “last time I ate something you made, I nearly died.”

“Not my fault,” Susan snarled, glaring at her older brother. “Maybe you all have no taste for good cuisine!”

“Stop, stop,” Mr. Lightfoot ordered as the rest of the family entered the kitchen. Marco rubbed his head against Arin’s leg affectionately. Arin scratched his head while the siblings bickered.

“How about I cook?” Mrs. Lightfoot volunteered.

“Can I help? Not to boast but I am a pretty good cook!” Ms. Holt brushed her short black hair over her ear slightly embarrassed.

“Of course! A whole feast for the family!”

***

A few hours later the eight wrapped themselves in warm clothing. Most of the snow was pushed aside, but ice remained, threatening drivers. Maddox claimed that he was going to practice hockey at the local park if the pond froze over.

“The park is close. I’ve been there before,” Arin whispered to herself.

“Actually, the park is about twenty minutes away. So, we’re driving, not walking,” Maddox pulled a wooly hat over her ears. After a moment, she turned her attention to her older brother. He smiled bending over and picking up a sports bag and hockey stick. It was worn, it couldn’t take many more blows.

“Are you ready?” Mrs. Lightfoot asked. Ms. Holt grunted a ‘yes’, adjusting her grip on a large box in her hands.

“Not really,” Ms. Holt grunted clearly struggling. Mr. Lightfoot took the box from her hands and she sighed relieved. “Thanks.”

Mrs. Lightfoot opened the door, allowing everyone to pile out into the garage. Victor and Maddox raced to a minivan, fighting over who gets to drive. Maddox finally won and eagerly took the wheel. Susan and Arin sat in the back as the brothers bickered about who the better driver was. The adults were in a more compact vehicle, Mr. Lightfoot and the adults left first, with Maddox following.

As Maddox drove through the Christmas-colored streets Arin pressed her forehead against the foggy window fascinated, unconsciously playing with her hair. Several stores lining the streets were having their annual “sale for the procrastinators.” They stopped at a light, a group of identically-dressed businessmen walked in front of them. One glanced at them, waving, then continued on.

Once green they continued, Ms. Holt's humming stuck in her head. She continued to gaze out of the window, mind wandering in fantasies.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Susan asked. Arin jumped facing her new sister. A small headache bloomed. She focused back outside, trying to push it away.

“It is . . .” The pain increased. She placed a hand onto her forehead trying to fight back.

“Help us! Please!” the vibrant light called in Arin’s mind. A voice shrieked within her mind. This was no ordinary voice, it was the one who called out to her just a few days ago! Why must it keep bothering her? She screamed as pain erupted, ears ringing.

“W—what?” her sister quaked, Maddox turned back terrified.

“Focus on the road!” Victor barked and Maddox slammed his foot on the brakes.

Luckily the car stopped at a red light, thankfully not slipping on the ice. The car behind them skidded to a halt as well.

“What just happened?” Victor glowered at Arin. “You could’ve killed us!”

“He—he won't stop talking to me. I'm going insane!” Arin sobbed shaking her head vehemently. Her hands covered her ears, tears slowly rolling down her tight cheeks. Slowly the pain faded.

“Call an ambulance. Do something!” Maddox panicked as Arin whimpered.

“We tell Dad as soon as we get to the park. I don’t know if this is normal but that scared me!” Susan explained and Maddox began to drive again.

“Is that normal? For orphans to scream like that?” Victor asked now calm.

“This has been happening for the last four years. It just came randomly. It started on a Tuesday at the end of the month, I’ve been hearing a voice on one Tuesday of each month. Today isn’t Tuesday though, so what’s going on?” Arin questioned wiping her tears away. I’m normal . . . please don’t hate me . . .

“You tell me—hey there’s Dad!” Maddox sighed relieved, parking next to the three adults.

“Dad!” Victor shouted rolling down the window. “Arin nearly killed us!”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Lightfoot hastened his pace to the car, peering inside flabbergasted.

“If you went through sudden, extreme pain then you would act the same!” Susan snapped, defensively hugging Arin.

“Yeah well we have other issues! The Plaque was glowing like mad!” Ms. Holt added gesturing to the box in her arms concerned.

Plaque? Since when did she know about a special Plaque? Arin wondered.

“Okay, everyone calm down. Get out of the car so we can talk this over sensibly,” Mr. Lightfoot instructed and the four neatly exited the car. Arin tried to sneak to the playground but was pulled back. “Not so fast, we need to talk.”

They entered the nearly empty park; only birds lingered, pecking at the grass. Arin was seated at a picnic table, surrounded by family. She kept her head low avoiding all contact, trying not to shake with fear.

“I—I’m sorry, I try to control it but I can't! I'm normal, I swear,” Arin whispered biting her lip to hold her tears back. Susan moved next to the quaking child, wrapping a comforting arm around her.

“Look, Arin. I don’t know if this was linked or not but the Plaque began to glow on our way here. It may be linked, but I don’t know. We need you to tell us everything, okay?” Mr. Lightfoot adjured, she nodded, fumbling with her jacket edge.

She explained her situation, how a voice has been speaking to her every Tuesday once a month for the past four years. When Arin finished her explanation, she turned away ashamed. She was a freak and they knew it. "It always pleaded for help, repeating his words over and over again.”

“They’re related . . .” Maddox whispered astounded after a minute of silence.

“Victor, take the box back to the car.” Victor carried out his father’s command. “Arin, are you telling us the truth?”

W—wait, does he not believe me? He must hate me because I’m causing trouble. Arin nodded. “I would never lie to you, sir.”

“So you are receiving telepathic messages from someone?” Ms. Holt raised her eyebrows surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought that would be bad . . . and never thought of it as anything other than a dream.”

“Arin, repetitive dreams aren’t common. You should have told me. I could have helped.”

“I thought you would make sure I would never be adopted . . .”

“Enough. We need to go, we’re in some serious troub—” Mr. Lightfoot cut himself off.

At the park’s cheerful gate was the swarm of businessmen. They were dressed like secret agents from movies now that Arin thought about it. The way they were surveying the area, they had to have been looking for something. One by one their focus rested on them.

No, not us, Arin realized, but the Plaque thing, I think. They are the bad guys.

“Take the kids home, this is going to get dangerous fast.” He placed his coat on the plastic table revealing a taser and gun on his belt. The group slowed their pace to the family.

“Be careful,” Ms. Holt cautioned. Mr. Lightfoot nodded scrutinizing the men at the gates.

“Get to the car, we will finish this at the house,” he added, approaching the group warily.

“Go get ‘em, Dad,” Maddox whispered. He couldn’t hide his fear.

Arin tried to ask questions, but everyone ignored her. Ms. Holt seized Arin's wrist, dragging her to the playground for cover. Susan was the most terrified of them. Mrs. Lightfoot was hugging her biological children tightly. Arin was too petrified to join the huddle.

“Shouldn’t we call for backup? Maybe more police forces?” asked Arin.

“The police are useless in this fight.” Maddox stood, “Dad, please! Don’t fight them!” Maddox yelled as Mr. Lightfoot dodged a punch to the face.

“What do you mean—”

“Maddox, stay down!” Mrs. Lightfoot ordered, she glared at Arin. It was a this-is-your-fault look. Arin shied away from her mother. Maddox stepped forward but Ms. Holt pulled him back.

“They’re probably armed. Running into this would be suicide,” she reasoned and Maddox rubbed some of his tears away. “Assuming that it’s who I think it is. I’m certain that I’m right though.”

The group fled in one direction. Mr. Lightfoot pulled out his pistol aiming it at the small cluster of trees.

They waited for something to happen.

Any sign that they would attack.

The birds fled.

A variety of canines sprang out from the shadows, kicking up dirt with every bound. Each one was some unnatural color and had bizarre markings crossing their body.

What the heck?!

“Looks like I was right,” Ms. Holt mumbled to herself. “This is a disaster.”

Ms. Holt, what are you talking about?

Gunshots exploded in the air. Ms. Holt shoved everyone behind a small plastic wall. They huddled close together. Arin pressed her shoulder against Ms. Holt’s. knees shaking.

All my fault. I put us in danger with my stupid visions. Why, why, why? What have I done? Whoever is responsible for this needs to leave me alone! Arin grabbed Maddox’s worn hockey stick, crawling away from the others. Ms. Holt demanded for Arin to return to safety. She ignored her social worker. Arin ran next to a slide.

A wolf had bitten Mr. Lightfoot leaving a large wound on his arm. He was using his free hand to shoot the remaining mongrels. His aim was off; small pelts of dirt flew upwards as he shot the ground.

Stop it now! Stop attacking! The wolves stopped their snarling and turned to Arin. So they read her thoughts? Her plan was to use the element of surprise but now they were focused on her. The demons growled and poised themselves to strike. The field separating the two sides was empty, she had nothing to hide behind if she did this.

“NO! Run away! Arin!” Mr. Lightfoot shouted as she sprinted from her hiding spot. Surprise paralyzed everyone.

The wolves bounded forward faster than anything she had ever seen. Lifting the stick high, Arin hoped she would save Mr. Lightfoot. Second by second, they came closer. Mr. Lightfoot refused to attack, worried he would hit his daughter.

Arin brought her arm back, readying herself. The first dog stopped in front of snarling. She hacked the large dog on the head. It backed away whimpering and shaking its furry body.

She swung again without form, just hoping it would land on its target. The hockey stick whipped the dog on the top of its head as well. Blood stained her brother’s toy.

A third growled behind her. She turned around, her body almost frozen from the brisk wind. As the wolf pounced she knocked the beast over with a blow across the jaw. The stick creaked, splintering a little. It stumbled and she began to pummel it to the ground. Whimpering, it fled.

The fourth ran around her in a circle. Screaming, Arin began to flail her weapon at the air. Hopefully Arin appeared frightening. As she flailed, the mongrel bit the stick, twisting its head wildly, pulling Arin to the ground. It stood above the ground, baring its fangs. Claws dug into the slush as it tried to rip the hockey stick away. Arin twisted and tugged, trying to escape. The two locked eyes. For a second, she felt a connection to the attacker.

Hate.

Fear.

Misery.

She could see it in the beast. Did she feel those things as well?

Crunch.

The dog bit through the hockey stick, spitting out splinters. Arin seized its neck, trying to push it away. It hardly pushed back, snapping its jaws at her. Saliva dripped onto her face. Three gunshots split the air. The dog collapsed on top of her. Arin screamed squirming under the canine’s weight.

The remaining one growled before fleeing, black fur melting into the shadows of the trees.

“Arin!” Mr. Lightfoot called, sliding forward and pulling her into a very tight hug. Mrs. Lightfoot, Susan, Maddox, and Ms. Holt were gone.

“Did they escape?” asked Arin and Mr. Lightfoot nodded, was he crying?

“Yeah. When you joined the fray they ran. They—they took one of the cars back I’m assuming,” Mr. Lightfoot explained sniffling. “The way you fought . . . It was stupid but incredible. How did you do it?”

“I don’t know. I just opened my eyes and ran forward. I—I had to protect you, all of you. I’m sorry,” she shakily explained. He wiped his daughter’s tears away, “this was my fault, I had to fix this. I was the one who had the visions—and—and—”

“No . . . this is mine. When we get home, I’ll clean you up, let you rest, then we talk. I think it’s time we told you who we really are.” He picked up Arin, carrying her to the car.