Grey Blood - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The sun had barely risen when Angelina woke up to the sound of her aunt coughing violently in the other room. It wasn't unusual—Martha and Ray had been getting worse lately. The stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and something else—something sour and rotting—had filled the house more than ever before.
Angelina sat up, rubbing her tired eyes. The mattress beneath her was thin, doing little to keep the cold from seeping into her bones. Her body ached from sleeping in the same curled-up position every night, but she had long since stopped complaining. No one listened. No one cared.
Pushing herself up, she walked toward the kitchen, intending to clean up the mess from last night before they could yell at her for it. But as soon as she stepped into the hallway, she felt it.
The air was still. Too still.
Something was wrong.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she moved toward the living room, where her aunt and uncle had passed out the night before. The first thing she saw was the tipped-over whiskey bottle on the floor, its contents long dried into the carpet. The second thing was the unmoving figures of her aunt and uncle, slumped in their chairs.
Her heart pounded. "Ma'am Martha?" Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
No response.
She took a hesitant step closer. "Sir Ray?"
Nothing.
A heavy silence filled the room, pressing against her chest like a weight. She didn't want to get closer. She didn't want to see. But she had to.
With shaky hands, she reached out and touched her aunt's arm. Cold. Ice cold.
Angelina stumbled back, her breath quickening. Her uncle's mouth was slightly open, his head tilted at an unnatural angle. His chest wasn't rising. He wasn't breathing. Neither of them were.
They were dead.
A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she backed away, her mind spinning. Panic gripped her chest, her hands shaking violently. She had seen them sick, weak, but this—this was different. They weren't going to wake up this time.
She didn't know how long she stood there, frozen, unable to move. Her body trembled, her heart hammering so loudly she could barely think.
What was she supposed to do?
Call for help? Who would she even call?
No one. There was no one.
For sixteen years, she had lived in this house, trapped in a cycle of fear, pain, and loneliness. Now, for the first time, the people who had kept her chained were gone.
She was free.
But what did freedom even mean?
Her gaze flickered around the house, taking in the stained walls, the broken furniture, the suffocating space that had been her prison. She should have felt relief. She should have felt something other than fear.
But she didn't.
All she felt was emptiness.
Angelina stood frozen, her breath uneven as she stared at the lifeless bodies of her aunt and uncle. Her fingers trembled at her sides, her chest tightening as the silence pressed in around her.
Her hands clenched into fists as she swallowed hard, her throat dry. She had to do something. Call someone.
But who?
Her gaze flickered to the small, outdated telephone sitting on the counter. She had never used it before—not unless it was to call the grocery store when her aunt ordered her to.
Would the police even believe her?
Taking a shaky breath, she forced her legs to move, her steps unsteady as she walked toward the phone. Her fingers hovered over the buttons before she finally dialed.
The ringing seemed to stretch forever before a woman's voice came through.
"911, what's your emergency?"
Angelina opened her mouth, but no words came out at first. She felt like she was suffocating, her chest tightening painfully.
"Hello?" the operator prompted.
Finally, she forced herself to speak. "I... I think my si— uncle and aunt are dead." Her voice was barely above a whisper, shaky and uncertain.
There was a pause before the woman responded, her voice now gentle. "Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?"
Angelina hesitated before answering. "Angelina Waters."
"Okay, Angelina. Are you alone in the house?"
She swallowed, glancing back at the unmoving figures. "Yes."
"Alright, sweetheart, I need you to stay where you are. Officers are on their way to you right now, okay?"
Angelina nodded before realizing the operator couldn't see her. "O-Okay."
Her hands felt numb as she placed the phone down. Her body felt disconnected from her mind as she slowly backed away, retreating into the corner of the kitchen.
She didn't know how much time passed before the sound of sirens cut through the silence.
Then came the knocking.
Loud. Firm.
"Police! Open up!"
Angelina forced herself to move, her legs feeling like lead as she approached the door. With trembling fingers, she unlocked it and pulled it open.
A tall officer with short dark hair and sharp brown eyes stood at the entrance, his gaze scanning her pale face before softening. Behind him, another officer—a woman with a kind expression—stood slightly behind, glancing into the house.
"Angelina Waters?" the man asked.
She nodded weakly.
"My name is Officer Reynolds. We received your call. Can we come inside?"
Angelina stepped aside, hugging herself as they entered. The moment their eyes landed on the bodies, she saw their expressions change—professional but alert.
The female officer, whose name tag read M. Carter, stepped toward her carefully. "Angelina, can you tell us what happened?"
"I—I don't know." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I woke up, and they weren't moving. They were drinking last night. A lot. But they never woke up..."
Officer Reynolds exchanged a look with his partner before nodding. "Alright, we're going to take a look, okay?"
Angelina just nodded, stepping further away.
As the officers moved through the house, checking the bodies and the surrounding area, she felt like she was floating—like this wasn't real.
Then, she heard Officer Reynolds mutter something into his radio.
"Two deceased. Likely overdose."
Overdose.
They had always been reckless, always drowning themselves in alcohol and drugs, but she never thought...
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She should have felt relief. They could never hurt her again.
But all she felt was numb.
The female officer returned to her, her expression gentle. "Angelina, do you have any other family we can call? Anyone who can come pick you up?"
Angelina opened her mouth—then closed it.
She didn't.
There was no one.
For sixteen years, she had been trapped in this house. No friends. No family. Just them.
Her silence must have given the officer her answer because her expression softened even more. "Alright, sweetheart. We'll figure something out. For now, we're going to take you somewhere safe, okay?"
Angelina only nodded, her hands tightening around the sleeves of her sweater.
She didn't know what would happen next.
She didn't know that her past—the one she never even knew she had—was about to catch up to her.