Witness: A Bad-Boy Romance

My name is Victoria Grace Cooper. I chose it myself. Actually, I chose female first-name number 16, female middle-name number 12, and surname number 8. The names I was allowed to pick from were all approved in advance. They had been carefully selected from the most common names of girls my age and ethnicity to make sure I don’t stand out. Seven days ago I was still Heather Marie Wilson. Daughter of Belinda Marie Wilson and Paul Thomas Wilson, and the older sister of Tammie Jo Wilson. We had a black Scottie dog called Teddy. As I sat staring at the names I had been given to choose from to form my new identity I wondered whether he was allowed to keep his name, or if he is already living in another house, with another family, and a brand new name. I was born in Wilmington, North Carolina, but my family moved to Boston when I was 5 and I have the accent to prove it. My father was a hot-shot lawyer and his firm offered him a huge promotion if he was willing to move. He was a superhero in my eyes. He made sure the bad guys faced justice. A week ago my life changed forever. I went to school as usual and had a perfectly normal day. I had English Literature in the morning. We were studying the Great Gatsby and talked about the importance of what clothing the characters wear. Then I spent lunch studying for a history test with my best friend Marcus. The test was in the afternoon; I’m pretty sure I aced it, but I will never know for sure. I took the bus home, sitting alone, and rereading my notes from English. Tammie always used to ignore me, and she sat at the back with her friends like she did every day. I think one thing I will always regret is that I didn’t ask her to sit with me, but she would just have scoffed and rejected the offer anyway. When we got back, Tammie went straight up to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She was a typical fourteen-year-old; madly in love with a boy who didn’t know her name and constantly discussing the best way to get his attention with her friends. The latest attempt was a nose piercing - that stunt earned her a month of no allowance from mom and dad. She still wasn’t speaking to them. I was never as rebellious as her. I’m the typical nerdy good-girl. I never break the rules, I never go to parties, I have never had a drink of alcohol, and I have never failed a test. I’m in my final year of high school, and in two months I will be 18. But I have never even kissed a boy. When I got back that day my mom was in the middle of baking a cake. She asked me if I wanted to help, but I brushed her off and said I had work to do. Dad was locked in his office, as usual. I could hear him on the phone - it was what we jokingly called his ‘work voice’ and I knew that he would be upset if I interrupted him. I dumped my stuff in my room, then turned on the television to unwind for a bit before starting yet another essay. I can’t even remember what class it was for, but it felt so important that night. When I sat down to write it everything seemed to be against me. The sound of my dad on the phone, the sound of Tammie listening to some stupid pop music to try and cover up her own conversation with her friends, and the noise of my mom cleaning up the kitchen. When Teddy started scratching at my door it was the final straw. It was dark outside already, but I figured that if I took him for a long enough walk things would be quieter by the time I got back. It was a crisp autumn evening and I walked the long way to the park with Teddy. He loved playing in the piles of brightly colored leaves, and I remember that it took me ages to get him to come back to me. I guess I should thank him for that - the fact I was out of the house for so long is what saved my life. When I turned the corner to our street I saw someone leaving our house. I figured it was someone dropping some important documents for the big case my dad was working on. I didn’t try to get a decent look at him, I didn’t know he was the man who had just changed my life forever. As he walked back to the dark blue car parked at the end of our driveway he kept his head down and the collar of his coat pulled up high shielding his face from view. It wasn’t weird - it was cold, after all. A gust of wind picked up a leaf in front of me, and Teddy chased after it as he had done while he was bouncing around the park. He tugged hard on his leash, breaking free of my grip, and I ran to try and catch him as the stranger got into the car and drove away. If he had seen me go into the house he would have followed me. I’m sure of it. The house was a lot quieter when I finally got back inside. The dishwasher was humming in the kitchen, but there was no other noise. I didn’t question it. I’m horrified to admit it now, but I was actually happy about it. I shuffled into the kitchen after Teddy, then froze as I found my mother in a pool of blood on the floor. I called out for my dad as I ran over to try and save her, but she was obviously already dead. I knew immediately that things were about to get worse. The silence I had come home to was suddenly ominous and not welcome. I thundered upstairs and found my father slumped over his desk. Finally, in a state of disbelief, I checked on Tammie. She still had her headphones on - at least she hadn’t heard the man approaching her. It seemed like none of them had any idea there was even someone in the house. Mom had been decorating the cake, dad had been working on his case, and Tammie had been listening to music. Dad had probably boomed at her in his deep Southern voice to ‘turn that blasted music down or you’ll be grounded for another month’ when he finished on the phone. The rest of that night was a blur. I expected to be whisked away to the police station to tell them what I had seen, but that wasn’t what happened. They were talking for hours about what to do with me as they secured the scene and started looking for any evidence. In the end, I wasn’t led out of the house to go somewhere safe for the night. I was carried out the same way they removed the rest of my family from the house; in a body bag. They told me to trust them, and I did. I’m a good girl, remember. I always do what I’m told. They let me out when the doors had closed, and I found myself sat in an ambulance with a kind-looking woman in a suit. “I’m sure you’re confused about this, Heather. We’ve decided that the safest thing is for people to think that whoever did this got you, too. You’re going to stay in a safe-house tonight with a special officer called a Marshall watching you, and we’ll send some more special people to talk to you about what is going to happen first thing tomorrow morning.” I should have been offended by her childish tone, but I could only mutter a stupid response. “But I have a test tomorrow morning, I can’t miss school.” She tilted her head a little, her eyes full of pity, and reached out to rub my arm. I pulled back from her. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but you won’t be going back to that school. It’s far too dangerous. We have decided that it would be best for you to be placed in the Witness Protection program.” The rest of the night was a blur. The Marshall was a kind but powerfully built woman who called me Honey and offered me more cups of chamomile tea than I could drink in a lifetime. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Heather Marie Wilson died that night with the rest of her family. It was in the news the next day. The headlines all spoke of the shocking murder of a top Boston lawyer and his entire family. My gawky face smiled back at me as the news anchor casually spoke about my tragic death. I looked totally different by the end of the first day. My naturally poker-straight honey-blond hair was dyed a deep, rich brown and I was taught to style it into natural-looking waves. My glasses were replaced by contact lenses which both corrected my vision and changed my eyes from stormy gray to hazel. I was given new clothes, far more fashionable than my usual style, and they told me what I should say if I was asked about my upbringing. They gave me that stupid list of names to look through, and I settled on Victoria Grace Cooper. I think I was supposed to find it exciting, or a chance to choose who I was going to become. I didn’t really care what I was called, but I noticed that the names had been chosen to omit anything that could be considered close to my original name or those of my family. In my first-ever act of rebellion, I picked the name based on my family’s birthdays. Victoria - female first-name number 16. (Belinda Marie Wilson, January 16th) Grace - female middle-name number 12. (Tammie Jo Wilson, May 12th) Cooper - surname number 8. (Paul Thomas Wilson, December 8th) My name is Victoria Grace Cooper. I chose it myself.