Frankie
“What’s wrong, dear?” Aunt Laura asks and puts her arm around my shoulders.
I resist tensing up. After what I have learned from Roscoe, it’s hard to look at these people the same. But I have to maintain my composure. I sniffle. “I have to get home,” I mumble.
“What happened? It sounded serious,” Uncle Sam interjects. “Are you sure you don’t want me to ask Ronnie to send you warriors?”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
“Then what happened?” Uncle Sam looks down at me. He is an imposing man even at his age. I remember thinking of him as a Herculean-type figure, and now he is the monster from my nightmares.
“Another body,” I respond reluctantly. I sit next to Clayton, who is still out cold. I stroke his arm and look at his sleeping face.
“Who?” Uncle Sam presses. “It sounds like it was some
