“Special Agent Monroe, and this is SA Sully. We want to talk to you about the incident that happened in the early hours of this morning,” the agent called Monroe said.
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure what they wanted to know. I hadn’t seen much.
“Can you confirm your name, date of birth, address, and contact number?” Sully asked.
I gave my details, and Vortex’s hand clenched on mine. “Hey, I didn’t realise you were only half an hour away in Black Hawk.”
“Yes. I’m local.” As I spoke, Monroe sent Vortex a dark stare.
“Do you mind? This is an interview,” he demanded.
“Get off your high horse right now; you didn’t state this was a formal inquiry. You said talk,” Papa interrupted. He was scowling already.
“And you are?” Monroe asked, aiming attitude at Papa.
“USA Colonel Philip Wright. Now, if you want to speak to my daughter, show respect for her and those around her,” Phil snapped.
Sully and Monroe exchanged glances and then nodded.
“Sorry, but we have to discuss what happened, what you remember. I understand this will be upsetting, but we need to hear from you,” Sully said as he grabbed a chair.
“Tash and I were having a late meal. Two in the morning seems stupid, but everything seemed delayed there. You woke up late and stayed up late. That was the lifestyle. Natasha and I were in the seafood restaurant…” my voice faded away as tears welled up.
“Do you need to do this now?” Vortex asked, annoyed.
“Yes, while Amy’s memories are fresh,” Sully replied, sounding apologetic.
I swallowed hard and gripped Vortex’s hand. He squeezed mine back in reply. Eyes fixed on a hole in the opposite wall, I began describing what had happened and what I remembered. The Feds questioned me about things like sound and smell. I answered them as best I could, and two hours later, they said goodbye.
I closed my eyes and leaned back. All I wanted was to go home. When I asked, the Feds stated everyone needed to stay here, so we were all in the same place. Tomorrow, they promised we could leave. That was something, I guess. Home wouldn’t bring Natasha back, but it would let me grieve in private. And I really needed that.
Chapter Five.
Amy
The hospital was letting us leave through a little-used side door. The media gathering outside hadn’t shrunk, and I didn’t wish to end up in the papers. Somehow, they’d discovered that I’d received no injuries, but they didn’t have my name. The newspapers called me the blessed survivor, which I hated. I hadn’t survived a good thing; I’d walked away from a disaster that killed several hundred people. There was no damn miracle involved.
Dad was waiting with me as Papa brought their car around. They were taking me home to theirs for a few days before I returned to my crappy apartment. Although if they got their way, I wouldn’t return to it at all.
Both of them loathed where I lived and had tried to bribe me with better places they’d pay for. But I wanted to stand on my own two feet and, as much as they hated it, they admired me for it too. I wasn’t a spoiled brat, that was certain.
“Come on, munchkin,” Dad said as Papa pulled up. I climbed out of the wheelchair the nurse had insisted I use and walked thefew steps to the car. Quickly, I slid inside before anyone noticed, and as soon as Dad joined me in the back, Papa sped off.
“When we get home, we’ll spoil you,” Dad promised, and I laughed softly.
That meant home-cooked food, lots of binge TV, and log fires with pjs and s’mores. It sounded ideal—and it was. As I grew up, Dad ensured we did that once a month. If Papa were away, then we would FaceTime him. Papa never missed a single Sunday.
Papa was my biological father. I loved them both equally, and while many thought it weird, growing up with two dads was normal. Naturally, I never knew any different. The surrogate who’d carried me wasn’t in my life. As far as she’d been concerned, she was just an incubator. The moment I was born, she had signed away all rights to me. I was grateful because she’d given me my wonderful dads.
Some children were mean, but soon learned that this army brat could and would punch. When either Papa or Dad was dragged up to the school because of my fighting, it often turned into a homophobic thing. The schools backed down, and the other kids received a stern punishment. Word of mouth quickly dealt with any potential bullies.
“What about work? Do we need to call in?” Dad asked, and I squirmed.
“No. They made me redundant. Now I’ve got my qualification in teaching, I was going to start applying for jobs locally,” I replied.
“When did you get laid off?” Papa exclaimed.
“Literally the day we boarded the Titanic of the Skies.”
