Brennan Killing

May I please be critiqued on this work in progress piece? I'm no professional or author, but I have a school contest.

Alan opens the door to his home. Before him lie his parents swimming in a pool of blood�"their hands clasped together by a rigid nylon rope, barely touching each other's fingertips as if intertwining for the last time. Alan, unable to fathom the scene before him, can only imagine the desperation Nancy and Graham Brennan had undergone. The way they'd plead the killer not to pull the trigger. He reaches for his cellphone in his back pocket and tremblingly dials 911, and the uniformed vehicles arrive within minutes. A team of officers disposes of the bodies as Alan watches from afar. He's sat on the couch�"no tears or indications of a previous outburst. One of the men approaches him�"Harrison printed on his tag�"as he firmly pats his back. "You know, I was about your age too," officer Harrison spoke in sotto voce, "my parents moved to a rural neighborhood in Wisconsin. I went home one day, and there I saw our house, my mom and dad, burning. I was the only Black kid in the neighborhood. My school bully was so outraged with me that he killed my family." Harrison paused, affliction in his eyes. The juvenile vaguely nodded. "You're safe with us, kid. We're going to help you."

"It's the freak," Leo Sullivan trampled over Alan's bag, spitting on the young man as a trio of boys followed. "He's the one that tortured his own parents. Don't come close, or he'll do you too." The crowd cursed him as they vanished into a hallway. Alan had heard it all since the three months of Nancy and Graham's murder. Disreputable remarks labeled him for his scarring loss, and sociopath and sicko Brennan were already his aliases prior, though he carried on without reaction. The police, too, premised the claims as correct, wholly after perceiving his lack of grief towards the case. Only Harrison abided by Alan and did all in his might to attain justice.

Alan saw Cassie extending her hand to him through his overgrown hair. "It's always them. Don't listen to what they say," she said, tugging him up to his feet. She briefly flashed a grin before they left the building. "I'm awfully sorry about what happened. You know, I'm always here for you, Alan. I get that you're shy, but I wish you'd open up to me more." She batted her pale blue eyes and kissed his cheek, and walked away. Cassie Houghton, a childhood friend of Alan, was blonde and considerably attractive. Other boys loathed him for his effortless win. She wanted to change him, though all her persistent attempts stood futile.

He got home to Uncle Thom's and collapsed on the bed briefly after going to his acquired bedroom. "You alright, son?" The walls muffled Thom's thick Lancashire accent. He had migrated to Chicago with his brother, Graham, a couple of decades ago to escape Blackpool's poverty. Thom's quintessential behavior never subsided; his day-to-day routine consisted of binge-drinking and smoking joints.