Page 2

“Who are you?” He steps out of his bedroom, his attention going in the direction of where my mommy and the man went.

“Cinna—mon,” I say around a yawn, offering him a hand.

“Cinnamon? That’s your name?” He seems to take in my appearance. My age. “How old are you?”

“Seven.” I hold up two hands to show him that. Another yawn takes hold, and my eyes droop. “I’m tired,” I explain simply.

“You can sleep in my bed, I’ll take guard outside,” he promises.

I have just met him. Don’t even know his name. But he’s nice.

And I trust him.

He offers me his hand, and I take it, allowing him to show me into his room. It’s similar to mine. A single mattress on the ground, a tattered blanket that I know from experience will be scratchy.

“What’s your name?”

“Orzo. Get some sleep Cinnamon, I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.” He walks to the bed, pulling back the blankets and grabbing a small, stuffed, purple-striped frog from the center. “Here. It was given to me to keep me safe and it will do the same for you.” He pushes it into my hands. “You’re safe.” He doesn’t wait for a response, walking out of his room and shutting the door between us, sealing me inside.

And I believe him, crawling into the bed and snuggling under the blanket, I clutch the frog tightly to my chest.

It will keep me safe.

It’s way past my bedtime, and it doesn’t take long until I am fast asleep.

I don’t know how long I sleep, but loud shouts stir me awake.

“Blood is leaking out their fucking eyes! It’s green!”

“All three are dead!”

“Jesus, what is going on?”

A door whips open, and I expect to see the same boy as before.

Except it isn’t Orzo who is in the room with me.

It’s a policewoman.

“There’s a child in here!” She gathers me up in my arms. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Mommy?” I ask. “Orzo?”

The policewoman has kind eyes, but they turn glassy at my questions.

“Everything is okay. I’ve got you,” she says.

1

Not All Pastas Boil the Same

Romaine Aldente

Fifteen Years and Six Months Later

Standing from my chair, I glare down at the four men before me. They sit around a large circular oak table with high-backed chairs.

My eyes flash to the empty one.