Chapter 8
Jillian
––––––––
Jillian walked until her legs shook. She had no idea where she was going. It no longer mattered. The moment her hand hit that invisible wall, every bit of strength left her. It was impossible to hold it together.
She'd lived through the last several weeks concentrating on each minute, continually holding on to the thought that if she could get through the day, maybe she could go home tomorrow.
Now escaping Everstill was lost to her.
The sky darkened above her. The last streaks of sunlight faded behind the trees. Everstill grew quieter with every step she took. The empty streets seemed miles away from the houses that glowed yellow with light coming from the windows. Everyone had gone home.
Her ragged breath was the only noise in the night.
She wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers digging into the fabric of the oversized sweatshirt. Her throat burned. Her chest ached. She tried to swallow it down, tried to keep herself together, but the truth pressed in from all sides.
She was stuck here.
She couldn't leave.
She couldn't go home.
Her despair hit so hard she stumbled. Her knees buckled, and she caught herself on a lamppost, her breath shattering into pieces. She pressed her forehead against the cold metal, her fingers trembling.
She wanted her mom.
The loss came fast, bone-deep and violent.
She hadn't let herself think about never seeing her mom again since Moe dragged her into this nightmare.
But now it tore through her with raw, merciless force.
She missed her mom. Not the woman dementia had taken piece by piece, but the mom she used to have.
The one who laughed too loud. The one who hugged too tight.
The one who made her the sourest lemon cupcakes for her birthday.
She would never see that version of her mom again.
She wouldn't get to sit beside her and ramble on about her day, pretending that her mom understood the conversation.
She wouldn't get to hold her hand and pretend her mom remembered that Jillian was her daughter.
She wouldn't get to say goodbye when the final day came that her mom's suffering ended.
Fuck you, Moe.
Fuck you, early-onset dementia.
Fuck you, world.
A sob ripped out of her, sharp and broken. She pressed her hand over her mouth, but it didn't stop the sound. Her whole body shook with it. Tears blurred her vision, hot and relentless.
"What am I supposed to do?" she whispered into the empty street. "Why is this happening to me? I need help. I need someone. I need—"
Her voice broke. She slid down the lamppost until she sat on the curb, her knees pulled to her chest. She cried until her throat hurt, until her eyes burned, until she couldn't breathe.
When the sobs finally slowed, she wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and forced herself to stand. She had to move. She had to find something that made sense. She walked down the street, peering into windows, searching for signs of life.
But Everstill was a ghost town, as if the people who lived here during the day had all gone away.
The houses glowed behind glass windows like distant stars, but there was no motion inside. The men were gone, tucked away in their homes, leaving the streets empty and echoing.
She walked past the courthouse, the gas station, and the restaurant.
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, her steps slowing. A suffocating hopelessness pressed through her, thick and unrelenting, stealing the air from her lungs. She didn't know how long she wandered. Minutes. Hours. Time didn't feel real here.
Eventually, she stopped in the middle of the street, the silence pressing in on her from all sides.
There was nowhere to go.
Nowhere to escape.
The streets blurred together. Every house looked the same. Every shadow stopped. The air pressed against her skin, heavy and unmoving, like the whole town was watching her unravel.
Her legs trembled beneath her. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, but the tears kept coming, hot and relentless. She tried to swallow the grief, tried to force it down, but it rose up again, sharp and choking.
Oh God, she wanted her mom.
The thought alone buckled her knees. She leaned against the side of an old feed store, the wood siding rough beneath her palms. The windows were boarded up, the sign faded, the building abandoned long before she ever arrived.
A sob tore out of her, raw and painful. She pressed her forehead against the wall, her fingers curling into fists. "I can't do this," she whispered. "I can't—I can't—"
She slid down the wall until she hit the ground, her legs folding beneath her. She hugged her knees to her chest and let the crushing weight pull her down. The pain was so deep and violent, it took everything out of her, leaving her hollow.
She missed her mom. Missed the woman she used to be.
Missed the version of her who remembered her name, who laughed at her jokes, who held her when she cried.
She would never see her again. She wouldn't get to sit beside her and pretend the words meant something.
She wouldn't get to say goodbye when her final days of suffering were over.
Her voice dissolved into another sob. She pressed her hands over her face, her shoulders shaking.
She didn't know how long she cried. Minutes. Hours. Time didn't feel real here. Eventually her body gave out, exhaustion dragging her down. Her head drooped forward, her breathing uneven. Maybe she was dead inside. Maybe that was for the best. At least the pain had eased.
Arms embraced her. Strong. Solid. Confident.
All she wanted to do was fade away.
It took all her strength to crack open her eyelids.
Moe lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing.
Her head fell against his chest, her fingers curling weakly into his shirt.
She didn't have the strength to fight him.
Didn't have the strength to speak. Only the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of him against the cold night air, comforted her.
He carried her down the empty street, his steps slow and deliberate, as if he knew she was barely holding on.
Her tears soaked into his shirt. He held her tighter and carried her all the way to his house. When he reached the porch, he paused, adjusting her weight in his arms. She blinked up at him through blurry eyes. His face was shadowed, unreadable, but his grip stayed firm.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped inside.
Jillian had no hope for tomorrow. She had no idea how she'd survive in Everstill.
Yet she held onto Moe because he was the only thing she had, and he wasn't letting her go.