Page 1 of Death is My BFF
PROLOGUE
Ten Years Ago . . . Pleasant Valley, New York
“I want to go home, Mommy.”
Faith’s mother, Lisa Williams, held the steering wheel precariously with one hand as she struggled to close the crammed glove compartment. One final slam shut the sucker for good, and she blew a strand of blond hair away from her face. “Why, baby? What’s wrong?”
“My tummy hurts. Daddy made me toast, and it tasted like dirt.”
“Not again,” Lisa said. “Your father, the next Iron Chef. Mommy has a very long day at work tomorrow, so we have to go food shopping now. In and out, I promise. How about we get your favorite waffle mix? Do you want chocolate chip waffles for dinner?”
“Daddy said I’m not allowed to have sugar for dinner, or else all my teeth will fall out, like an old geezer’s.”
Her mother sighed. “Daddy also made you dirt toast for breakfast, so what does he know?”
Faith giggled. “Can we get bacon? Not the gross veggie bacon Aunt Sarah eats, please. It makes everyone fart.”
“Normal bacon it is, princess.” Lisa laughed. “Feeling a little better now?”
“Mm-hmm.” Faith hugged Mr. Wiggles to her chest, extracting the comfort she needed from his soft body. Food shopping was her favorite activity to do with her mother and her stomachache was ruining it.
As they drove down a pothole-riddled road, Faith looked out the car window. Her little eight-year-old heart fluttered at the ghoulish clouds edging closer on the horizon. She unzipped her backpack, sliding out a folded picture of Mr. Wiggles. Turning the thick parchment paper over revealed another drawing she’d created, one she’d strangely forgotten. The picture was of a storm with an ominous black sky. At the center of the drawing stood a cloaked man with a tall, curved weapon. Shadows spread from his monstrous frame, like vicious snakes prepared to strike. There was a building behind him, a store of some sort, colored aggressively in red.
Glancing out the window again, Faith pressed the paper to the cold glass, lining up the sky of her drawing to the identical menacing clouds currently blanketing the horizon. With wide eyes, she stuffed the horrific sketch into her rainbow backpack and turned to tell her mother of her many drawings of the cloaked man. Instead, her attention switched to another wave of pain that shot through her stomach. She sat back and squeezed Mr. Wiggles to her tummy.
And once more, the illustration became a faded memory.
In the parking lot of the store, an eerie feeling came over Faith.
She looked up at the sky, but her mother tugged her to the shopping cart and asked her to grip the metal cage on the sides as they walked.
Hugging Mr. Wiggles under her arm, the pain in Faith’s stomach mysteriously subsided.
The cart rolled forward. Faith and her mother approached the luminous store, unaware of the cloaked figure perched atop the building, watching them.
Lisa and Faith weaved in and out of the aisles and piled the cart high with waffle mix and other necessary sustenance for the week.
At the register, Faith felt sick again and thought she might throw up.
The automatic doors of the market slid open, and three men charged into the building wearing ski masks and holding guns. Their voices thundered out commands as the leader of the pack stumbled out in front of the rest and loaded his shotgun in a clumsy manner.
“Everybody get down and shut the fuck up!”
The men spread out across the store, grabbing items, breaking into cash registers.
Panicked, Lisa ripped Faith from the cart and dropped to the floor behind a cashier station. Faith whined against her mother’s palm covering her mouth.
“I said, open the damn register!”
“Don’t touch me!” a woman shouted. “Let me go!”
“Ow—fu—you bitch!”
Faith trembled as the woman darted into her line of sight, sprinting away from one of the armed men. A piercing shot went off, followed by a sickening crack. A heavy object smacked against the floor, followed by a moan. Another shot fired through the air. Faith’s ears rang.
“Stay quiet,” her mother whispered as she pulled Faith closer and struggled with her phone. Faith held Mr. Wiggles tight and whimpered.
As a thin stream of blood oozed down their checkout aisle and crept toward Faith, she began to scream. Her mother tried to suppress the cry with her hand again, but she was too late. A pair of boots lumbered closer, belonging to a man with a ski mask and twitching hands.