Too Late For Regret: The Lethal Orphan

Amara smoothed the skirt of the blue cotton dress as she walked out of the attic and down the long second-floor hallway. She reached the top of the grand staircase. A sharp, chemical odor hit the back of her throat. It was the distinct smell of industrial glue mixed with cheap acrylic paint. Amara stopped walking. Her eyes scanned the massive crystal chandelier hanging directly above the staircase. A red plastic bucket was wedged dangerously close to the chandelier's load-bearing chain. Her gaze traced downward. A nearly invisible, transparent fishing line ran from the lip of the bucket all the way down to the seventh step of the stairs, disappearing under the edge of the expensive Persian runner. Amara shifted her eyes to the shadows of the staircase landing. She saw the toe of a designer sneaker and a sliver of blonde hair. Brandie and her younger brother, Preston, were hiding there. A cold smirk touched Amara's lips. She lifted her foot and stepped onto the first stair. She made her footsteps deliberately heavy. One. Two. Three. She planted her foot squarely on the sixth step. Down on the landing, Preston leaned half his body out of the shadows, his eyes wide with anticipation. Amara shifted her weight. Instead of stepping on the seventh stair, she slid the toe of her sneaker under the edge of the Persian runner and kicked upward. The taut fishing line snapped. The sound was a sharp ping in the quiet foyer. The red bucket tipped over. A thick waterfall of red paint and industrial glue plummeted from the ceiling. Amara threw her upper body backward at an impossible angle. Her left hand clamped onto the mahogany handrail to anchor herself. The red liquid missed her face by less than an inch. The paint did not hit the stairs. The momentum of Amara pulling the rug sent the heavy liquid flying forward in a wide arc. It splashed directly onto Preston and Brandie. Preston took a face full of red glue. He screamed, his hands flying to his eyes. His sneakers slipped on the wet marble. He tumbled backward down the remaining stairs. Brandie reached out to grab his shirt. Her hands stuck to the glue on his collar. His weight pulled her forward, and she went down with him. They rolled down the wooden steps like a tangled ball of limbs, hitting the bottom floor with a heavy, sickening thud. Amara stood perfectly still on the sixth step. She looked down at the mess. Not a single drop of paint had touched her blue dress. The heavy double doors of the main sitting room flew open. Sterling and Deidra Valentine rushed out. Deidra saw her two children writhing on the floor, covered in thick red liquid. She let out a shrieking wail that echoed off the high ceilings. Sterling's face turned a deep, mottled purple. He snapped his head up and glared at Amara standing calmly on the stairs. Brandie lifted her head from her mother's lap. She pointed a sticky, red finger up at the stairs. "She pushed us! Amara pushed us down the stairs!" Preston clutched his twisted ankle and wailed louder. "She's a psycho! She tried to kill us!" Deidra jumped up and ran to the bottom of the stairs. She pointed her finger right at Amara's face. "You ungrateful piece of trash! We took you out of the gutter and this is how you repay us!" Amara did not open her mouth. She looked at the two adults. The last microscopic trace of hope she had for this family evaporated from her chest. Sterling stomped up the stairs. He raised his large hand, aiming a backhand strike right at Amara's jaw. Amara tilted her head two inches to the left. Sterling's hand missed her face and slammed hard into the solid mahogany handrail. He grunted, his face contorting in pain. "There is a security camera right above the front door," Amara said. Her voice was ice. Sterling froze. He looked over his shoulder at the small black dome mounted on the wall. The color drained from his face as his brain calculated the scandal of a police investigation. He lowered his throbbing hand. "Get to my study," he barked. "Wait there until I decide what to do with you."