BERKLEY

Sometimes I think they know. A stranger passes by with a lingering stare. Someone turns to the person next to them and whispers furtively in their ear. An eyebrow hooks in suspicion. I can almost hear their thoughts, their murmurs of disgust.

They must know.

But nothing can link me to him. To that family.

Nothing but blood.

Water splashes up my legs as I cross the street, dousing me in droplets of mud. The city is depressing. Everything is gray. The ...