Three days.
Three whole days Mia lay curled beside her mother's corpse.
Her eyes never closed. Not for sleep. Not for a single blink longer than necessary.
The smell was unbearable. It was heavy, rotten and suffocating—
but Mia didn't smell it.
She didn't feel anything.
She couldn't think past the numb buzzing in her skull.
She just lay there, clinging to her mother's cold arm, her own eyes blank and empty.
She knew she should call for help.
Knew she should move.
But her mind refused to accept any part of this reality.
If she didn't move, maybe it wasn't real.
But on the evening of the third day, the entire house lit up with flashing red and blue lights.
Police had surrounded the property.
Three officers rushed down the hallway and into her parents' bedroom. The moment they stepped inside, all three froze.
"Jesus Christ…" one whispered, recoiling before regaining composure.
Then they saw her—
a pale, dehydrated fourteen-year-old girl clinging to a decomposing body.
"Ma'am, we've got a live one," another officer said into his radio, voice tight. "Possible shock. We need EMS in here now."
One of them, Officer Greene, approached slowly, hands raised, crouching to her level.
"Hey… sweetheart," he said gently, voice soft like he was approaching something fragile. "My name's Officer Greene. I'm here to help you, okay?"
He touched her arm lightly.
Mia screamed.
Her own voice startled her, it was the first sound she'd made in three days.
"It's okay, it's okay," the officer soothed, though she kept trying to fight him. "You're safe now. I know you're scared. I know. But I need you to come with me, alright?"
She was too weak to resist.
Too dehydrated.
Too empty.
Officer Greene lifted her into his arms. He didn't flinch at the smell. He didn't hesitate.
As they passed the living room, Mia saw her father's body.
Or what remained of it.
His skull caved in.
His face unrecognizable.
His body in advanced decomposition.
She made a sound—something between a gasp and a whimper.
"Don't look," Officer Greene murmured, gently turning her head into his shoulder. "It'll only hurt more."
He carried her outside and set her carefully on the porch steps as paramedics rushed toward them.
"She's dehydrated, shock, prolonged exposure, unknown if she's injured," Officer Greene reported. "Found lying beside her mother."
The paramedics moved quickly.
A female medic knelt in front of Mia, speaking softly.
"Hi, sweetheart. I'm Nora. Can you hear me?"
No response.
"Okay. She's nonverbal, likely shock. Let's get her on the stretcher."
They transferred her to the gurney with practiced care.
"BP is low. Pulse weak. Start an IV. She needs fluids, warm blankets, and transport now."
An IV needle slid into Mia's arm.
A warm blanket wrapped around her trembling shoulders.
Someone clipped a pulse oximeter to her finger.
Hands worked around her, efficient and gentle.
"She's severely dehydrated. No visible external trauma," another medic said. "Let's move."
They loaded her into the ambulance.
Routine questions were asked gently and spaced apart to avoid overwhelming her.
"Sweetheart, do you know your name?"
Silence.
"Do you know what happened?"
Still nothing.
"Are you hurting anywhere?"
Blank stare.
Her mind had shut down to survive.
Hours later, Mia opened her eyes in a hospital bed. Her throat was dry, her body heavy, her mind foggy.
Two people sat across from her, waiting quietly.
A woman with kind eyes and a notebook.
A man with a calm, steady expression.
They both straightened when she woke.
"Hello, Mia," the woman said softly. "I'm Detective Emily, and this is my partner Detective Jack."
They didn't crowd her.
They didn't rush.
"We know you've been through hell," Detective Emily continued. "But if you can… please tell us anything you remember. It will help us understand what happened to your parents."
The room fell silent.
And Mia realized—for the first time—
she was truly, completely alone.
Her lips didn't move. She didn't make a sound.
But tears filled her eyes until they spilled over.
Detective Emily noticed immediately. She stood, walked to the bedside, and crouched down so she was level with Mia. Carefully, she took Mia's cold hands into hers.
"Mia," she said softly, "I'm so sorry. No one your age should ever go through something like this. But whatever you remember, even the smallest detail, can help us figure out who did this. We want to get justice for your mum and dad."
Mia didn't answer. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her breathing shallow and shaky.
Minutes passed.
Long, heavy minutes.
Jack and Emily exchanged a glance, torn between giving her space and needing answers. As they finally stood to leave, thinking she wasn't ready, a small voice cracked the silence.
"We were supposed to go to the museum that day."
Both detectives froze and slowly sat again.
Mia's tears flowed faster, but her voice stayed oddly flat, calm in a way that didn't match the horror she'd lived through.
"I was so excited," she whispered. "I kept talking about it all morning."
Emily nodded softly. "The museum. Right… what happened after that?"
"I went to school." Mia swallowed hard. "And when I… when I got home… they were already gone."
Emily leaned in. "Mia, do you remember what time you got home that day?"
"I don't know… maybe past four."
"Is that your usual time?" Jack asked gently, flipping open his notebook but keeping his tone soft.
"No. On Wednesdays I have a music rehearsal after school. An extra hour."
Jack's eyes lifted to meet Emily's, something about that mattered.
Emily continued carefully, "Did your mum or dad argue with anyone recently? Any neighbors? Friends? Anyone who might've been upset with them?"
"No." Mia shook her head, voice trembling. "Mum and Dad hated violence. They didn't even like watching action movies." Her face crumpled. "And yet someone… someone still did that to them."
This time her voice didn't stay steady.
It cracked, and then completely broke.
Tears poured down her face in uncontrollable waves.
Emily moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. "Mia… I promise you this. We will find out who did this to your family. And they will face the consequences. You'll get justice."
Jack added quietly, "We're going to do everything we can to make sure of that."
Mia slowly turned her head and looked right at them.
Her eyes were dead and cold and completely empty.
"I don't care about justice," she whispered. "I'm going to kill the person who murdered my parents. I don't need you or anyone. I need revenge. And I'm going to get it myself."
Her words hung heavy in the air.
Emily and Jack exchanged a concerned look.
Outside the room, Jack exhaled sharply. "The poor kid's in shock."
"Yeah," Emily said quietly. "Definitely. But… I don't know."
Jack frowned. "What?"
Emily glanced back at the room. "She kind of scares me."
Jack blinked. "Scares you? Emily, she's fourteen. She's traumatized. She's saying whatever her brain is feeding her right now."
Emily didn't answer immediately.
Then, softly: "Sure. Maybe. But her eyes…"
Jack frowned. "What about them?"
"I've seen eyes like that before," she murmured.
"Eyes like what?" Jack pressed.
Emily hesitated before finally saying it.
"Psychopaths, Jack. Or at least people who developed traits like that after trauma. That blankness in her eyes? I've only seen it in victims who never fully came back."
Jack stared at her. "So now you're saying the little girl is a psychopath?"
Emily looked through the glass at Mia's blank stare.
"I hope not," she whispered.