The wrapping paper perfectly outlined the knife that lay inside of it.

Avery and I each held the same gift.

We both slowly unwrapped it, my aunt and uncle watching. They were more like my mom and dad. They had taken me in without hesitation when I no longer had a family.

And Avery had become my sister.

We unwrapped our knives slowly and carefully. I held it up to see its silver edge glimmering in the light.

I gripped the handle. It felt familiar. Safe.

Exciting.

Then I stared down at the white cake in front of me.

Avery had the same one in front of her.

A choice.

Avery took her knife, and with great precision, made a _clean_ cut into the cake.

I took a breath.

I had a choice to make.

But, truthfully?

I had always known what I would do.

My knuckles turned white from gripping the knife so hard.

And then I stabbed the cake as hard as I could, black liquid leaking out to cover the top.

I smiled.

My uncle laughed.

He had treated me as his own daughter when his sister had died.

He had been training me for twenty years.

We had been waiting a long time for this day.

It might have been unorthodox, but I had been gifted my first knife when I was ten.

Just what I had asked for.

First, I was taught how to hold it, then how to aim with it.

The knife was taken away when I was eleven, because, next, I had to learn how to fight without it.

At twelve, I learned how to fight with it. It was a tool, not a crutch.

At thirteen, I learned how to clean up a mess.

Fourteen was all about learning how to make a clean escape.

Fifteen was learning how to take a punch. Sixteen was torture.

With seventeen, came guns. Just in case.

But I always knew I would prefer a knife.

It’s more personal.

For my mother. For my brother.

I stared at the knife.

_For my father. _

It had been twenty years since that night. And yet, it still haunted me closely. Because sometimes, twenty years isn’t long enough.

Avery hugged me. We had done most of our training together until Avery became more interested in other things. Like hacking cameras and outlining possible scenarios. No detail escaped her.

I pulled away to look her in the eyes.

“I’ll see you soon.”

My uncle led me out to the car, and I proceeded to get into the passenger seat.

When he shut the door, we started to drive off in silence.

I looked in the rear view mirror to see a familiar van. My aunt and Avery were behind us.

The drive was long. It was a drive I hadn’t done since I was five, twenty years ago.

Silent tears had dripped down my face the whole drive then, but I didn’t cry this time.

The drive was five days long.

The thing about hell is that you don’t want to live too close to it.

My aunt had picked the hotels. Nice ones.

Avery had picked out different restaurants to try at each place.

My uncle had done most of the packing.

Though we sat in silence the first day, my uncle and I ran through plans the rest.

Honestly, there wasn’t much to go over. I knew what to do like the back of my hand. Mostly, we talked about a bunch of “what ifs.”

The last day we parked in front of an old looking house. The plants were overgrown.

_I can’t believe they let him keep the house._

When I stepped outside of the car, the smell of the air hit me. Wrapped around my throat like vines.

And I heard a voice.

__

_“Isabel, I think we need to leave.”_

_I turned to see my brother. _

_He was three years older than me and always stood so much taller. But in that moment, he looked terrified. And small. _

_Because a man was yelling. _

_My father had always been quiet. _

_Lately, he hadn’t been spending much time at home. Any time really. _

_But that night, doors had slammed, things had been thrown, and he was screaming at my mom in another room. _

_Something about her trapping him. About her ruining his life. _

_Ironic. _

_When I heard my mom scream, it was different. _

_It rang through my ears. _

_I stood petrified. Paralyzed. _

_But my brother gripped my arm and pulled me out the front door. _

_The air was bitter cold and burned my lungs, but I had to keep running. _

_I had to keep out of reach of the footsteps that ran behind me. _

_My brother took a right turn quickly, pulling me down another street. Abruptly, he pushed me into a thick bush as we took the corner. _

_He kept running. _

_When my father turned the corner, I was out of sight. _

_But my brother was not. _

_Eyes trained on him, my father ran right past me without knowing._

And now I stood in the very house I had ran out of.

The door hadn’t even been locked.

My uncle remained in the doorway.

My aunt and Avery remained in their car.

My father stumbled into the living room.

“Who are you?”

I tilted my head, taking in what had become of the pathetic man.

Sunken eyes. Baggy clothes.

He eyed the knife in my hand.

“Get out of my house,” he slurred.

Then he saw my uncle.

His voice rose.

“Get out of my house! I payed for what I did!”

“Did you?” I asked.

His eyes fell back on me and his voice became low.

_“The one that got away.”_

I’ll spare you most of the details. It’s a gift to myself, really. A gift to my family.

An old story about a family vacation we once took.

The gory details cleaned up like they never really happened.

A ghost story.

But I still think about how my father looked up at me that day as he said, _“Look who grew up to be just like me.”_

I laughed.

His last line of defense, I guess.

“No,” I said sternly.

“We live in hell. And you chose to kill some of the few angels that lived here.”

I smiled and swore I could feel two ghosts standing beside me.

“I choose to kill one of its many monsters.”

_Happy release day, father._