Holloway, Ayana started. I know, baby, but hate just makes more hate. We have to be better. Amara watched rain streak down the windows, wanting to believe that lawyers and prayers could fix this. The house felt smaller somehow, like the walls were pressing in.
Outside, car headlights swept past regularly, people driving by slowly, staring at their house. Maybe we should. Amara's words cut off at a sharp crack from the front porch. The window exploded in orange light. Flames roared up the front wall.
Smoke already pouring through the broken glass. The acrid smell of gasoline filled the air. Out now. Amara grabbed Mrs. Holloway's arm while Ayana ran for the back door.
The older woman stumbled, coughing as smoke filled the living room. They half carried Mrs. Holloway through the kitchen as neighbors began shouting outside. Someone was calling 911. The twins got their foster mother to the backyard, then ran for garden hoses, but the flames were already climbing toward the roof.
Fire trucks arrived within minutes, sirens wailing through the rain. Firefighters deployed hoses, working quickly to contain the blaze before it could spread inside. The twins held Mrs. Holloway as she shook, watching water and foam soak their home. Police cars arrived next, their lights painting the wet street in alternating red and blue.
Two officers walked the perimeter with flashlights, paying special attention to the burning porch. Looks like faulty wiring," one said, barely glancing at the obvious splash pattern of accelerant. "Could be," his partner agreed, ignoring the broken glass from the Molotov cocktail scattered across the yard. Amara's fists clenched as she watched them write in their notebooks, already deciding what this was and wasn't. Mrs.
Holloway's hand touched her shoulder gently. "The Lord sees," she whispered. even if they won't. Neighbors clustered under umbrellas, some offering sympathy, others staying conspicuously silent. The firefighters began packing up their gear. The damage was mostly contained to the porch and front wall, but the message was clear.
Lawyers couldn't stop this kind of hate. One officer approached them, his notepad already closing. Probably just old wiring. These houses, you know how they are. insurance should cover it. Amara stared at him, at his practiced indifference, at the way he avoided their eyes.
Silence hung between them like smoke, thick with unspoken accusations, and denied justice. The officer shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "Will uh file a report?" He retreated to his car where his partner was already starting the engine. Standing in the rain, watching police lights fade into the distance.
Amara felt the weight of their silence. It wasn't just the officers. It was the teachers who looked away. The principal who chose not to see, the neighbors who decided not to speak up. Their silence was a weapon aimed straight at the twins hearts.
Meant to tell them, "You don't matter. Your safety doesn't matter. Your truth doesn't matter." Street lights gleamed off the wet pavement, casting strange shadows across the burned porch. Amara's hands tightened into fists as she watched the last police car turned the corner, leaving them alone with the smell of smoke and the sound of falling rain.
The red and blue lights faded, leaving only the dim glow of street lamps and the steady hiss of rain. Yellow police tape fluttered around their porch, marking off the scorched wood and broken glass like some kind of sick artwork. Smoke still curled from the blackened boards, carrying the sharp scent of gasoline that the officers had chosen to ignore. Through the drizzle, Amara could hear the two policemen talking by their cruiser, their voices carrying across the wet lawn. Can you believe that fight video?
Those girls are something else. Yeah, well, when people act like animals, laughter followed, quick and ugly. They didn't bother lowering their voices, confident in their immunity. One officer took a few half-hearted photos with his phone, while the other scribbled notes that would probably disappear by morning. A black SUV pulled up, its headlights cutting through the rain.
Chief Harold Mercer stepped out, his uniform crisp despite the weather. He walked straight to his officers without sparing a glance at the burned porch or the family standing in their own yard. Everything under control here. His voice was low, but carried clearly in the quiet street. Yes, sir.
Electrical fire. Looks like nothing suspicious. Mercer nodded satisfied. Good. Write it up clean, boys.
No need to complicate things. He spoke quietly with them for a few more minutes, gesturing at their notepads. Then he returned to his SUV and drove away, never once looking at the twins or Mrs. Holloway. The message was clear.
They were beneath his notice, their safety irrelevant to his version of justice. Inside the house, Mrs. Holloway's hands shook as she made tea, but her voice stayed steady. We'll clean up tomorrow. The Lord will provide.
Amara watched her foster mother carefully measure tea leaves, clinging to routine like a lifeline. The kitchen clock ticked past midnight. Then one, then two. None of them could sleep. The smell of smoke had seeped into everything.
Dawn crept in slowly, painting the kitchen in pale grays. Mrs. Holloway dozed in her chair while the twins sat alert, watching the street through the windows. Cars drove by periodically. Some slowing, others speeding up, all of them looking.
At school, the halls felt colder. Students whispered and pointed at their backs, but something had shifted. The fear had hardened into something darker. When Amara opened her locker, a note fluttered out. "Watch your back.
We know where you sleep." Another one appeared in Ayana's textbook. Animals belong in cages. The threats were specific, detailed. Someone had been watching their house, noting their schedules, planning.
The cowards wouldn't sign their names, but their intentions were clear. Between classes, Coach Sell's voice carried deliberately down the hallway as he talked to other teachers. Those girls are dangerous, unstable. Just a matter of time before someone really gets hurt. He caught Amara's eye and smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing.