Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kira
“I’m fine,” I say as I toss the last of the eggs into the trash bag Nix is holding open.
And I am. I feel much better—despite the fact that we now have zero food and no funds to replace it.
“You fell asleep in the refrigerator,” Nix says as she ties the bag. “You were using the bread as a pillow.”
“I was hot.” I shrug, as if it’s no big deal.
“Kira.”
“Nicole.”
I feel bad that she found me like that, I really do, but I woke up, didn’t I? I’m fine. I’m standing. I’m breathing. Honestly, I feel refreshed. I just needed a good night’s sleep. So what if it was in the fridge?
“You need to go to the doctor,” she says.
“For what?” I scoff. “I have my medication.” I motion to my pills on the counter, slightly cringing when I notice they are still scattered, the bottles turned over.
Nix gives me a look like that proves her point.
“Stop.” I snatch the bag from her. “You’re going to be late for school. You know I can’t drive you. I haven’t had the truck looked at.”
“I’m not walking. I have Caleb’s car.”
“What?”
She bites her lip, failing miserably at hiding her grin. “Yeah, it’s parked out front. Caleb’s ditching today, but he didn’t want me to walk, so he dropped it off for me.”
“He left you his car?” My mouth hangs open.
There’s no way. She said his dad just got him that car. He left her a brand-new car to drive? I drop the trash bag and stomp down the hallway to look out the front window.
And yep, at the edge of our weed-infested yard, there’s an ostentatious red car parked at the crumbling curb.
It gleams, practically begging to be boosted in this neighborhood.
I gape at it as I hear the front door, and seconds later, Nix saunters into view outside, book bag slung over her shoulder.
Dipping down by the tire, she comes back up and dangles a shiny key fob for me to see, smirking shamelessly before sticking out her tongue.
I give her the finger.
She laughs, head falling back like a beautiful villain, and climbs into the driver’s side. I look away before worry can grip me. She hasn’t even driven more than a few hours since getting her driver’s license. There hasn’t really been much opportunity—seeing as the truck barely runs.
I’m happy for her.
I’m worried.
Fuck.
Where is the line between being a parent and being a sister? Part of me wants to tell her she shouldn’t be driving someone else’s expensive car, and the other part wants to be excited with her.
But I suppose it’s always been this way.
We could never indulge together because one of us always had to be grown-up.
When she would beg me for the cheap makeup at the grocery store, I would have to tell her no, even though I wanted it just as badly.
Or when a late-night marathon came on, I was the one who made us turn off the TV. Someone had to be the adult.
For once, I would just like to have some fun with my sister.
Shaking my head, I snatch up the trash bag and take it out.
I force myself not to look at Nosy Nellie’s. I’m fully aware that my episode last night is probably from stress and that I need to get a grip. Who cares if I watched my neighbor get shot? So what if I’m going to be arrested for murder? And big deal if I fucked the guy who burns bodies for a living.
It’s all fine. And I’m fine. Like I said, I feel better.
Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I focus on the front door and the sound my teeth make as they grind together.
Once inside, I take a deep breath and start putting my pills back in their bottles.
I’ll have to put a reminder on my phone so I don’t forget to take them again.
And I’ll call Rach from Bell’s to see if she wants to give me any of her shifts so I can replace the groceries I spoiled.
And I should probably see if anyone at Pete’s Garage is willing to tow the truck in for free.
There’s this one older guy who’s pretty friendly, and he’s done it—
…Officer Marshal Wayne…
The bottle in my hands falls to my feet, pills scattering as I jerk my head up to the TV.
A picture of Marshal is on the screen, and my breath catches. He looks so alive. Clean-shaven and straight-backed in his uniform—his badge and nameplate polished.
…reported missing by his fellow officers when he failed to appear for his shift on Friday. He was last seen Thursday evening at the intersection of Grendel and Marquist Street. Cloverwick PD is asking for anyone with information to please call the station. That number is…
My ears buzz as the news anchor continues. Grendel and Marquist? That’s… that’s right down the street. The CCTV has him that close? The corners of my vision pulse with booming black, a sheen of sweat dampens my neck.
No.
I force a breath in and pull my vision from the TV.
It’s fine.
I look down at the fallen pills and bend to pick them up. The police already knew he was missing. Of course, it would end up on the news. What else did I expect? I clutch at the bottle as my hands fumble to pick up the tiny ovals. I mean… how is this worse than a detective coming to the door?
It’s not.
“Set a reminder. Get extra shifts. Call Pete’s,” I say to myself. “That’s all you can do. Set a reminder. Get extra shifts. Call Pete’s.” I repeat it like a mantra as I pick up the pills. “Set a reminder. Get extra shifts. Call Pete’s….” my voice cracks. “And then go to jail.”
A single tear escapes my eye before a hot rage floods me. I can’t go to jail. I fucking can’t. I throw the bottle and sweaty pills back onto the floor. This is bullshit. I’m literally talking to myself.
I stand abruptly and crush the tablets under my feet. I pace back a few steps, breath coming hard, chest tight. I press my fists against my temples, squeezing my eyes shut.
Think. Just think, Kira.
Caleb said no body, no problem. And they don’t have a body.
If they did, that would have been a different kind of broadcast. There would have been a mugshot of me flashing on the screen right next to Marshal’s.
That detective would have arrested me. They don’t know what happened.
Not really. Because they don’t have a body.
And they never will.
I try to conjure an image of Marshal reduced to ash, my stomach rolling with the intention of trying to remember that night.
But I come up blank.
Everything is a blur—smoke and dirt and the sound of Jax’s voice telling me not to look. I remember that. And I remember the smell—the heat. I remember the way the flames danced in his eyes. I remember being tired, my body sagging, but…
Fuck.
I can’t remember.
I can’t fucking remember.
What if he wasn’t completely burned? What if there’s still something out there—something big enough to test, to match? What if we missed something? A tooth? Do teeth burn? Jax said something about bones, but what about the teeth?
I have to get them. I have to do something. I have to. I can’t go to jail.