Michael Buckley - Once upon a crime

"That's crazy talk," the little girl whispered.

"I don't even want to be a fairy-tale detective. Neither did Dad, and when he had his opportunity to walk away, he took it. He did it because he thought this life was too dangerous and he was right. I don't want my sister to get killed or fall under some twisted nutcase's magical spell. I want us to get out now while we still can. If Mom had done the same thing, who knows how our lives would be."

"Our mother was trying to help people," Daphne said. "So she failed. I'd rather try and fail than stand by and watch people suffer. We're Grimms. That's what we really do. Help people."

"Daphne, I-"

"I'm getting out of here with or without you, Sabrina," Daphne said. She turned her back on her sister and grew very still. Sabrina knew her well enough to know that talking was over for the night. She only wished that her sister could see her point of view. She had been a "jerkazoid" in the past, but this time she was truly thinking of someone other than herself. With her free hand, she reached for her coat at the end of her bed, searched its pockets, and found her mom's wallet. She opened it up and found the picture she had grown to adore. She stared into her mother's face, unsure of whom Veronica Grimm really was. How could she be so close to her and not know anything about her? Why did Veronica choose this life? Why wouldn't anyone, given the choice, just walk away?

Smirt woke them early and seemed to enjoy the fact that the girls were exhausted. She unlocked their handcuffs and dragged them out of bed and into the orphanage's kitchen, where they were put to work on the morning breakfast, a disturbing combination of powdered eggs and milk that had a questionable expiration date. A hulking man, who had hairnets on both his head and beard, instructed them to add whatever he handed them out of the fridge to the mix. Several catfish went into the pot-heads, bones, eyes, and all. Next, a bottle of barbecue sauce, a greasy package of bologna, and some mushrooms that might have been picked out of the orphanage's basement.

When all the ingredients were added, the girls were given a huge wooden spoon, nearly as big as an oar, and told to stir the concoction until it boiled. Every couple of seconds a bubble would appear on the surface of the mix and pop, shooting out a hot spray of steam that scalded their hands. It was hard on Sabrina, but not nearly as hard as Daphne's silence. She tried to talk to her sister several times and the girl just turned away. Deep down she wished for a "snot" or "jerkazoid," but the little girl refused to even insult her.

When "breakfast" was ready, the girls were required to serve it to all the dirty, half-asleep children who staggered through the meal line. There were many faces Sabrina recognized, kids who would probably be in the orphanage until they were old enough to get jobs. None of them seemed to care that the Grimm sisters had returned except for Harold Dink. Harold was a freckle-faced kid with a skin condition that resembled the mange; many patches of his bright red hair were missing. When he got to the counter he sneered, pointed, and laughed. "Hey, everybody! Look! The Sisters Ugly are right back where they started."

"You know, Harold, you should really be nice to the people who are serving you breakfast. You never know what might accidentally fall into your eggs," Daphne said.

"You don't have the guts, geek."

Even though Daphne wasn't speaking to her, Sabrina instinctively came to her defense. "Hey Harold! Why don't you go steal some more money out of Smirt's office and then pretend you found it for her? How did that turn out the last time? Didn't she send you to live in a petting zoo?"

The kids in line roared with laughter. Harold slammed down his tray and stomped away.

Sabrina and Daphne were the last ones allowed to eat, though neither had much of an appetite for what was left at the bottom of the pot. Instead, they grabbed a couple slices of stale bread and found a table in the back of the cafeteria. Sabrina took a bite of her bread and cringed. It was as tough as cardboard.

"I suppose we're going to meet Greeley today," she said. But despite their united assault on Harold, Daphne didn't respond. Defeated, Sabrina went back to her bread and munched as quietly as she could.

David Greeley was a skinny guy with stringy muscles and thin chicken legs. His face could have used a shave two weeks earlier, and he had a crooked smile to match his crooked teeth. His forearms were covered in tattoos, many of which looked as if they had been done while riding a horse.

"Yo!" he said when he met them on the front steps of the orphanage.

"Say hello to your new daddy," Ms. Smirt said as she reached down and gave the girls one of her trademark pinches on the shoulder.

Sabrina nodded at their new foster father, but Daphne said nothing.

"Good, they're quiet. Nothing worse than a couple of yapping kids," the man said. "I had a neighbor who had a dog that made a lot of noise. He ain't got no dog no more if you know what I mean." Greeley made a gesture as if he were cocking a shotgun.

Daphne crinkled up her nose and looked as if she was preparing to kick the man in the shins. Sabrina stopped her with a warning hand on the shoulder.

Greeley bent over and rubbed the girls' heads as if they were beagles. "Let's get some things straight, girls. I'm in charge. I don't take no guff and I don't give no guff."

"What does guff mean?" Daphne asked.

Sabrina shrugged.

"It means lip, sass, back talk," Greeley answered. "I'm your father now and as your father I deserve a little respect. You do what I say without question and things will go smooth. You don't do what I say then we're going to have problems. There's only one way to do things-my way or the highway."

"So, just to be clear, you want us to do what you tell us to do,"

Sabrina said, though she knew the sarcasm was lost on Greeley. He nodded and smiled. Smirt, on the other hand, gave her another painful pinch.

"It's important to be firm," Ms. Smirt said. "Tough love might just be what these girls need."

"Yeah, so, you said I was going to get some cash for this," Greeley said.

"Yes, your assistance check will come in the mail in seven to ten days," Smirt replied.

Greeley frowned and spit something brown onto the ground. "Well, there goes Atlantic City, doesn't it? Come on, kids. I just got out of the joint and haven't seen my old lady in years. If she plays her cards right she might be your new mommy."

Sabrina took her sister's hand and allowed Mr. Greeley to lead them to his pickup truck.

"Don't come back, girls," Ms. Smirt said with a wicked smile.

The girls climbed into Greeley 's truck and he gunned the engine, then whipped it into fourth gear and let the wheels spin until they burned tracks on the ground. He chuckled to himself as if proud of this display, then shifted back into first gear.

"All right, let's get into some trouble," he said.

He drove through the city with reckless abandon. He made turns that were far too dangerous for the amount of snow on the ground and cut people off with glee. He ran several red lights and swore at everyone he saw. He turned one corner and hit a patch of slushy snow, showering water and filth on an old man with a cane. Then he blasted his horn and laughed.

"That was mean!" Daphne shouted.

"That's why it was funny," Greeley said.

"You should go back and see if he's OK."

"Yeah right, kid. I'm not going back to check on that old fool. You don't go back to help someone if you meant to hurt them. He'd beat me to death with his walking stick. Don't you know nothing?"

"What did you just say?" Sabrina asked. "About not going back."

"I said you never go back. What would I say? I'm not sorry? You only go back if you want to help."