He honestly had no idea what the police were thinking. From what he understood, the detectives seemed to think that his father had killed his mother and brother, before killing himself. Which made no sense to him. The police had also told him that his father had been shot from further away, so how were they expecting that he could have killed himself.

Everyone on Briar Road knew exactly what was going on, that they had a serial killer in their midst, and someone was specifically targeting them. Yet the police were convinced that his father had been behind the killings.

Xavier had no idea if that was true or not, but he knew for a fact that the deaths were not over yet. He was starting to get a little more than slightly paranoid about his safety, and the safety of his daughter. He couldn't stand it if his little moon was hurt by the sociopath who was killing everyone on the street.

He hid a small sigh, knowing that it was useless to ask questions. Everyone publicly agreed with the police, blaming his father for the deaths. But that didn't answer the question that he knew everyone else was thinking. Why would his father kill those people? What was in it for him? Vier knew that his father wouldn't waste time with things like this, unless he felt as if he had no choice, or, perhaps, he got something out of it.

That still did not explain who had killed his father in the first place. It was extremely frustrating that he was unable to leave his daughter alone in her room. Nothing could hurt her if he was there, or he hoped. It hurt his heart to think that his little one might be safer with someone else, but there was no one else that would watch her.

He had begged Eliza's parents to take primary custody of Lunette for the next year, just long enough for him to be able to leave this place. They had just laughed at him, and denied the little girl. Eliza's parents blamed both him and Luna for her death. As for Cyrus, his son who hadn't gotten a chance to take his first breath, he kept quiet about the boy. The only people who knew about the little boy was himself, the police, and the ME who had taken Eliza in the first place.

His own family was dead, and while he and Eliza had friends, none of them had bothered staying in touch after she had died. It was partly his fault, as he had practically dropped everything to try and take care of his daughter. He hadn't even thought of having friends or gaining new ones after Eliza died. The only people he bothered interacting with were his clients, most of which he never even met.

That left him with two choice, neither of which was good. He could give up Lunette for adoption, and hope that she was left with a family who would treasure her. Or, he could keep her by his side, hoping beyond belief that she wouldn't be further traumatized by this street. He knew that he would never be able to do the first, as he knew just how dangerous it could be for children. No one wanted damaged children, and no one would want to put in the work to try and heal his little moon.

Not that he thought she was damaged, she was just special, and hurt. He hoped by the time she was a little bit older that she would forget those horrifying hours she spent alone. He couldn't bear to think of her being hurt forever. No, he wouldn't allow it, even if he had to put her in therapy. He wasn't sure how effective it would be when she was so small, but if it helped, then that was what he would do.

Once again, she had tired herself out, and was sleeping on his lap as he worked on his laptop, going through another job, one that was being difficult. He usually knew what program to use for every customer, but this person, Aaron Michaels, was being a pain in the ass. He had been trying to set up the man's website for just over a week now. Everything had to be perfect, and he had to send updates every single day on what he did, what he was planning on doing, and what he had decided against doing.

He knew just as well as anyone else that Mr. Michaels understood probably none of the emails, yet the man insisted on them. It was driving him insane, being questioned every step of the way. He wasn't a new web designer. He had already worked on over a hundred of them in the last year, and yes, he did not have a degree in it, but he was still damn good at what he did.

Vier knew better than most just how powerful having a good website was, and easily linked each website he had created to his main page. Every single one of his customers, potential or not, had the ability to view his work before they hired him. He made a good bit of money by doing this, and had no plan on stopping anytime soon. It didn't matter who he was online, all that mattered was what he could do.

Unlike several people he knew, he very carefully made sure to document every dollar he made, nothing was done off of the books. Uncle Sam had complete and full access to everything he made, and he happily paid his taxes. Even if he very rarely interacted with the people who paid him, and even if he wasn't sure if they marked on their books that he was employed by them, he made sure that he always had some kind of documentation always proving his money to be legal.

A knock on the door yanked him out of his mind, and he glanced at the clock on the upper right hand of his screen. It was almost two in the morning. He had been working almost all night, again. He would be so happy to finally be done with this project. It was harder than he liked to admit to pull himself from the chair, while not waking Luna. He very carefully moved her to the couch, laying down his little moon carefully.

She whimpered, and he ran a hand through her hair, hoping to keep her asleep while he was gone. Normally, he wouldn't have even thought about answering the door. It was almost two am, yet he had a feeling in his gut that he needed to get the door.

It took a bit of navigating around the boxes to get to the door. He couldn't hear his wind chime, telling him that the wind must have been still that night. It wasn't a good sign, of course not, but he was curious. Not many people knew that he wasn't exactly an easy target, and if the person outside his home thought that he would be taken down, they were underestimating him. Or, technically, just how protective he was over his daughter. For her, he wouldn't allow anyone or anything to take him down.

She needed him, so he would be there. To Veir, it was that simple.

He opened the door, expecting it to be a prank. Sure enough, no one was on his doorstep, but there was something on his porch. He looked around in confusion. Who ever had left it had done so without leaving a sign of themselves anywhere nearby. He considered calling the police, but until he knew what was in the bag, it was a bit stupid.

Still, he wasn't about to be taken advantage of, or killed while examining the bag. The question became whether or not he should bother taking the bag inside. On it, there was a simple, crisp note with a single word written in spiny letters.

Guilt.

Just who was guilty of what? He hesitated, but opened the bag, hiding a gasp behind his hand. Someone had left money, wads of hundred dollar bills in a bag on his porch. What the hell had he gotten himself into?