3

                                    

                                          
Lance made Red fly slower than usual, having him take minutes to get to his home in Veradera instead of seconds. Dark rain clouds soon came into view and covered the beach. His home was right on the beach front and his heart soared in excitement at the view of it despite the gathering clouds. He urged Red to dive faster and landed with a full fell swoop. 
                          
He noticed the three old style cars in the driveway, the fourth, his older sister's, probably in the garage. He got up from the chair and raced down to the mouth of Red where he had opened it for Lance to exit. Lance ran across the sandy surface, would have stopping any other day to enjoy the usually irritating substance, but kept going since he knew his family was home- the lights were on in the house. It started to drizzle and he thought he might cry at the feel of the rain on his skin again. He was home and his heart soared. He could finally speak Spanish again, be immersed in his culture again after being starved of it on the castle. He could salsa again, play his guitar and sing in Spanish, cook ropa vieja, chorizo, paella, and all his favourite foods, hug his abuela, see all of his brothers and sisters, tell them of his adventures, swim in the ocean, surf, tell them that he was home. He wished his feet could carry him faster to his childhood home and now he was actually crying, his heart soaring with joy, a huge grin on his face. 
                          
He was home.
                          
He was home.
                          
He was finally home.
                          
Where he felt safe.
                          
Where he felt confident.
                          
Where he felt himself. 
                          
He reached the front door and presumed the door was locked, so he knocked. He was breathing heavily and when no footsteps came rushing he knocked again. He listened. It was odly quiet. Not lively chatter. No blaring music. No yelling across the house. Yet the lights were on and the cars were in the garage...
                          
Something was off and Lance's blood ran cold. His mom surely didn't move away, they'd had that house for generations. 
                          
Lance held his breath, and reached for the doorknob subconsciously. When he couldn't find it, he looked down. The door knob was broken and the door was wedged shut with scratches across the once beautiful wooden door. Lance held his breath and his heart was caught in his throat, threatening to choke him. He pushed on the door and when it didn't open, he shoved it open. 
                          
The scene before him was too shocking to comprehend. 
                          
Lance shuffled in. He saw bodies, but it couldn't be the bodies of his family, could it? He saw blood droplets and puddles around the bodies but that wasn't the blood from his family, was it? 
                          
His ears rang with white noise, his tears running dry. He stopped after walking five feet in, the living room to the left filled with his family members he finally realised, their faces all too familiar.
                          
He rushed over to his mom, kneeling down next to her. She was facing him, her arm displayed in front of her with her head laying across from it. Her aged face was grey and pale, the stressful look Lance had always recalled from her was now contorted into a eerily relaxed look. He checked for a pulse, and when he didn't find one, he went hysterical. 
                          
"No, no, no, no, no, no. Mamá, Mamá, Mamá contéstame! Mamá háblame, por favor!" He shrieked. (Mama, answer me! Mama talk to me, please!) 
                          
He wrapped his arms around her limp body, cradling her and pulling her closer. Still, no response. She was still warm though, which meant her murder was recent. He felt something warm against his left hand and he pulled back, placing her back on the floor. 
                          
Blood and flesh covered his hand and jacket sleeve. He almost threw up at the sight of it. He reeled back and weakly crawled over to his brother Marco, the next closest body. He checked for a pulse and again, he found nothing. Marco's body was still warm. Lance refused to believe he was dead. He slapped Marco's face and yelled at him.