William

Open spaces made him nervous.

No matter how often he peered over his shoulders, no matter how many extra

officers were provided for their safety, William MacLeod never truly felt at ease. Paranoia gnawed at his bones and made his skin tingle.

In hindsight, it wasn't even that. Paranoia is often caused by mental disorders or drug use; the monsters lurking in the shadow a figment of one's imagination.

Not for William MacLeod. The eyes following every single one of his steps were real.

Monsters came with his line of work. He expected his enemies, anticipated their moves, ready to pounce at any given moment. Lately, as the streets of Chicago were painted in blood, he had found it difficult to discover the monsters hiding in plain sight. The war had been raging on for years, leaving death and destruction in its wake.

A chilly wind blew autumn leaves over the street as he stepped onto his front porch, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulder. His wife, Simone, followed him closely, whistling when she pulled her camel beanie over her ears.

"This is a bad idea," he mumbled, rubbing his palms together in an attempt to stay warm.

A couple steps ahead were two men in uniform scoping out the neighbourhood, hands on their holster.

The man in charge of his protection was standing at the curb of the street, talking to a plain clothes officer sitting behind the wheel of a green Sedan. Detective Graham had come highly recommended and while the man wanted to be anywhere but here, he took his job seriously. When Graham had first briefed him on the procedures put in place for this evening, he had assured him that he had never lost a principal and wouldn't start with him now.

The street was a picture perfect representation of suburbia- large brick houses with spacious gardens, old oak trees, white picket fences and black SUVs in the driveway. They had moved onto Browning Street a few years back when Simone was pregnant with Sophia. Simone, who had come from a broken home, ached for a brick painted display of normalcy for their first child and William, who had loved his wife more than he hated the suburbs, had agreed.

Browning Street was bustling with trick or treaters knocking on each door; front porches were decked out with jack-o-lanterns, bats decorating the cladding of many houses and scarecrows swaying slightly in the breeze.

The child in question, now five, pushed her way past his legs, a mixture of wild curls and long limbs. Dressed up as a porcupine, she sent Detective Graham a wide grin, proudly presenting her first lost tooth.

"Sophia," Simone called her daughter behind him and slung her arm through his. His heart sped up as he smiled down at his wife, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. If he hadn't loved her infinitely already, then he might love her a bit more every day.

"Come on!" Sophia yelled impatiently and stomped her little feet, shooting daggers at her parents. Not listening to her mom's warning, she stormed into the street, swinging her pumpkin bucket, thus setting all the men around her in motion.

Detective Graham waved at the driver of the Vauxhall and hastily followed the child. Sophia beelined across their neighbor's front garden and came to an abrupt stop in front of the red wooden door decorated with a festive wreath. Her hands formed into little fists and she enthusiastically started pounding against the wood.

"Dorothy!" She yelled for her neighbour. "Mr Dorothy!"

He cast a nervous look over his shoulder, counting the officers with their back to his, observing the bustle of the street. Simone's hand shot down, calmly pressing her palm against his bicep, reassuring him that everything was going to be alright.

A cautious smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he followed his daughter up the driveway.

"Daddy!", the little girl said, after knocking enthusiastically for a minute, and turned around. "Are Mr and Mrs Dorothy home?"

The lights were shining through the shutters and a row of candles flickered in the twilight.

Flanked by two officers, he stepped up to his daughter, grinning down at her frustrated face.

"I believe so, busy bee," he said.

"Then why are they not opening up?" Again, she stomped her little feet. Squinting up, she eyed the doorbell and stood up on her tiptoes, stretching, trying to push the little button.

"Daddy," she said again, this time under strain. "I can't reach it!"

Doing his daughter a favour, he reached out and pressed the doorbell for her, which she commented with a loud "Hey" in protest. "I wanted to do that."

He scrunched down at his little porcupine.

"Push the doorbell?"

"Duh," she replied. "I'm the one trick or treating. You're not even dressed up!"

Not a moment later, the red door opened up and George Holborn, a respected federal judge, appeared in the doorway.

"What are you supposed to be?" He asked, taking in the sight of the little girl in front of him. Sophia twirled, her arms outstretched, her brown hair flying around her head.

"I'm a porcupine!" She explained.

Coming to a sudden stop, she momentarily lost her balance and reeled back, losing grip of her pumpkin bucket. With a screech, she fell sideways, her arms flaring as she tried to regain her balance. The bucket flew past the surprised judge, skidding into his entryway.

Simone's hands flew out, grabbing her daughter's shoulders before the little girl fell on her face.

„What in the name of Christ is happening here?" Came a voice from inside. The door opened a bit wider and Dorothy Holborn appeared, holding Sophia's pumpkin bucket. Grinning at the little girl, the older woman kneeled down in front of her.

"Is that my favourite porcupine?"

Sophia, suddenly shy, pressed against his legs. The cardboard spines bent against them and he took a step back before the costume lost its shape.

"Do you know any other porcupines?" Simone grinned at her neighbour.

The grey haired woman nodded enthusiastically and reached out to brush Sophia's curls out of her forehead.

"Loads," she replied. "And that's why you're my favourite porcupine." Sophia wore a wary expression, torn between amazement and disbelief that the lady next door knew real porcupines.

Footsteps sounded on the tiles behind his neighbors and not a moment later, their loyal golden retriever, dressed up as a ghost in a bed sheet, trotted past his owner, wagging his tail at Sophia.

Simone nudged Sophia's shoulder. "What did we come here to say, nugget?"

The momentary bout of shyness disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Trick or treat!" Sophia yelled, clapping her hands enthusiastically. Walter barked in response, sniffing through the bed sheet as Judge Holborn filled Sophia's basket with a handful of candy.

"Thank you!" Sophia screeched, reaching for her bucket. Her eyes gleamed as she took in the packets of Twizzlers, Skittles and Marshmallows.

The men exchanged a few pleasantries, knowing that they had to keep their conversation to a minimum. George Holborn was the judge presiding in a trial that was set to start next week, with William as the lead prosecutor. After saying their goodbyes, the red door closed behind them. Walter wagged his tail and made himself comfortable on the poor, laying down and resting his head on his paws. Sophia waved goodbye and turned back to the street, excitedly swinging her basket.

"Mommy, can I have some?" She asked, reaching for a pack of Skittles.

A radio sounded in the distance, the voice crackling and distorted by static. "Movement on the South End of the Street."

Graham appeared at his side, grabbing Sophia by the collar as she wanted to jump down the steps. Addressing his principal, the tall, dark-skinned man said, "Sir, you have to come with me! "

His heart started pounding in his chest, as he watched Graham reach down for Sophia, hoisting her up on his hips.

"Now!" He barked. "Get back inside!"

The detective started pounding against Holborn's door. Tires screeched on the asphalt as a car sped around the corner, parents and children screaming in protest as they jumped out of the car's way.

It happened quickly.

William watched the black SUV race through the street, the tires squealing as the car slowed down as it came up to his house. The window opened and a gloved hand appeared, holding a Glock.

"Get down!" Graham bellowed, reaching for William's sleeve and yanking him down.

The gun shot was deafening.

His legs collapsed under him and he followed Sophia and Graham as they pressed flat against the wooden floor of the front porch. His eyes rose up and he saw his wife frozen in shock, her eyes zeroed in on the SUV.

Her name died on his lips the moment she did, the bullet hitting her square in between her eyes. She didn't make a sound as her legs buckled in, her gaze empty as she fell. Her blood painted his world red. A choked noise left his throat, his chest suddenly tight and heavy. He needed to breathe.

"DOWN!" Graham yelled again, covering Sophia's small frame with his body, shielding her from the sight of her mother.

In his peripheral view, he saw the SUV speed up again, disappearing quickly into dark. The world became quiet around him as he scrambled to his knees, reaching for Simone.

"Oh god," he heard himself say, his own voice sounding far and foreign. "Honey. Honey."

She was laying face first in a pool of her own blood as she reached out, touching her shoulder, shaking her body softly.

"Simone, please." He begged. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, attempting to pull him away from his wife but he couldn't...he could not leave her. "William", he heard a voice through the fog of his own emotions.

Tears blurred his view as he rolled her on her back, her dead eyes staring back at him. He had expected death to take his time, to make his victim suffer, but her face would forever be frozen in a shocked expression.

One moment Simone MacLeod was there and then she was simply gone.