“Daddy?” Her voice is rough, strained with emotion and vulnerability. “Daddy, stop!” My sister rushes between us, trying to hold our father at bay. It is like he does not see her, but does not intend to hurt her; he merely tries to push through her. He shouts incoherently. “Daddy, it’s Aimee, it’s your daughter, please, stop!” Anna is surprisingly strong, she holds him at bay like a lion tamer. I am frozen in the rafters, my eyes locked on the identically colored ones of my father. His are bloodshot, mad. They scare me more than I could ever have imagined.

Anna screams at me to run; to get away, and I finally come to my senses. Or as much as I can. I pull away from the gaze of my father, just as he breaks through Anna’s arms and lunges again. The knife comes within inches of my right arm, and I shoot away, faster than I’ve ever remembered myself being before. I scuttle through the rafters, shying away from the menacing silver gleams I see to my sides.