âI thought Winter was coming to get meâŚâ Specks of confusion weaved into his voice. He couldnât remember the last time his Mama had been the one to pick him up or if she had ever done it. For as long as he could remember, it had always been Pilar âexcept the few days after the election and before Winter came to work with them. Those days, Mom had picked him up because their housekeeper stopped coming. No call, no notes⌠she was just gone. He missed her and the warm welcoming cinnamon smell he had come to associate with her. His new nanny didnât smell like that.
     The boy shuffled towards his mama, hand reached up seeking hers, some kind of comfort. Today had been rough. Images from the night before kept flashing in his mind âblood sputtering from Mr. Changâs neck, the greasy truck, the three-faced clown with the big scary smile⌠He had almost wanted to stay home that day, but had instead desperately asked to go to school; he didnât want to be near the neighborâs house, in case the clowns came back. They were coming for him and his moms, werenât they? School was safe. There were big heavy doors, alarms, and security guards. How safe was their home?