The Author (Chapter 1)

Emmett gazed at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see his entire face. Emmett was exceptionally short, even for his age, and the bathroom mirror was much too high for someone of his stature. Gazing at his reflection, he gingerly ran his fingers along the bruise around his eye. The flesh was beginning to swell, the skin taking on a bluish hue. He didn't wince as he felt along the damage. He had gotten used to having black eyes and bruised ribs.

Staring at his reflection, Emmett let his grief flow through him. In all of his twelve years of life, he had never been so miserable. He had never felt as hopeless and downhearted as he did right now.

But things hadn't always been this way, he reminded himself. He hadn't always gone to bed at night wishing that he would wake up somewhere else, anywhere else. He hadn't always looked at the next day of his life as something he would rather do without. No. At one point in his life he had been happy.

And happiness had been with the Mckinzies.

The Mckinzies were the first family that had ever fostered him. They'd adopted Emmett before he was old enough to remember, so to him they had been just like natural parents. They'd treated him as if he were their actual blood, loving him as they would have one of their own. And Emmett had loved them in return.

Philip Mckinzie, his foster father, had been a history professor at the local university in Atlanta. Mr. Mckinzie had always been one for the books, a firm believer that a strong education was the foundation to a healthy person. So he began teaching Emmett at a very young age, filling his head with as much information a boy his age could handle. As a result-and it must be said that Emmett certainly had a bit of natural ability-Emmett developed into a very intelligent young man. His father often said that Emmett was smarter than many of his college students who wasted all of their time on girls and parties. Emmett hadn't exactly understood what he'd been talking about at the time, but he'd always taken it as a compliment nonetheless.

Patricia Mckinzie, his foster mother, had been a simple housewife, but an extraordinarily kind woman with a huge heart. She'd always managed to make time for Emmett, and Emmett had grown very close to her. She'd unceasingly made sure that Emmett was abundantly fed and well groomed, and even though he hadn't appreciated it at the time, it was actually nice to have someone nag you about such things. It was a reminder that someone cared about your well-being. It was a reminder that you hadn't been forgotten.

It was with the Mckinzies that Emmett had felt truly happy. And while living with them in their humble home on East Point Drive, everything had been perfect.

Right up until his ninth birthday.

His parents had decided to take him out to a nice restaurant in honor of him turning the big nine. They went to a place called the Corral, a real fancy spot that was in the downtown district. The food had been wonderful and they'd all had a great time. Or so they thought . . .

As they were driving home from the restaurant that night, his parent's began to feel a bit queasy, saying that their stomachs were bothering them something fierce. By the time they'd arrived at the house, Phillip and Patricia decided to call it an early night, stating that they were feeling dreadfully tired all of the sudden. They each kissed him on the forehead, wished him a happy birthday and went off to bed.

That was the last time that Emmett ever saw Patricia and Phillip Mckinzie alive.

Apparently, while dining at the restaurant, his parents had been poisoned. The poison had been some sort of chemical that wasn't detectable by taste, but if ingested, was fatal unless treated immediately. His parents died in their sleep.

Emmett found them the next morning, lifeless, lying completely still, Patricia's head resting tranquilly on Phillip's shoulder. It wasn't until he tried to stir them that he realized they would never wake again. He'd never, in all his life, cried as hard as he did that day. He had never imagined that something could hurt so much. And even now, three years later, he still cried from time to time in their memory.

The strange thing was, and something that still bothered Emmett to this day, was that Emmett had eaten at the same restaurant, but nothing had happened to him, or any of the other customers for that matter. The police thought the poisoning to be intentional, that the Mckinzies had been murdered, but Emmett couldn't imagine them having any enemies. They were the nicest people in the world.

The case had never been solved.