Book 4: Think of the Children

Faye

Morning comes like sand falling through an hourglass. All night, time moved so slowly. Each second passed in agony as I waited and paced, hoping for any shred of news from Michael. 

I’ve spent the most time in the living room sitting in awkward discomfort between Cole and Emelda, who refuse to even look at each other. 

She almost didn’t let him and Deacon inside, but Deacon told us they’d been sent by Michael, and what Michael’s says, goes. 

I’m getting hungry. My need for blood seems to increase everyday, and right now, I’m craving Michael’s blood more than ever. That only adds to my anxiety over his absence. 

Cole rises from an armchair and walks to the window, pulling back the curtains as hazy, gray morning light bleeds into the house. 

“It’s nearly sunrise,” he says absently, turning to look at Emelda over his shoulder. 

She’s sitting on the floor with her legs crossed as she organizes