Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
That Night
I pulled up the long driveway to my house and I turned off my car. It had been a long but fun day. I needed to thank my mom for the pep talk that had encouraged me to go hang out at Liz’s house after school today. And also for the second pep talk, which she’d given me when Liz had suggested we go see a movie after we ate dinner with her parents.
“This will be one of the last times you might see her,” my mom had told me. “Don’t think about him. He will be a bad memory soon.”
We were moving. Not that I knew when. We hadn’t packed a single thing. I did have a small hunch my parents were waiting until school to break for the summer in a few days, and like they had done with our trip to Texas to see Logan, they were going to wake us up in the dead of night and tell us it was time to go. I didn’t have much to go on, just that yesterday I’d seen my dad bring down all our suitcases from the attic. Then I’d overheard him on a work call this morning before school. He’d mentioned his last day at the firm would be my and Shayla’s last day of school. My mom had already sold her restaurant in record time to an old friend from culinary school.
I’d made it a point to not tell any of this to Shayla. She wasn’t happy about leaving, and if she knew we weren’t bringing much with us when we left, she’d throw a hissy fit. Shayla was very materialistic. I, on the other hand, could leave it all behind. I craved to be anonymous in a faraway place. I didn’t want to cause heads to turn every time I entered a classroom. I didn’t want to be referred to as the McConnell twin who’d almost been raped by one of the old English teachers. I wanted a fresh start—a do-over at life.
I locked up my car and headed for the front door.
“I’m home,” I said as I walked in. I wasn’t surprised I didn’t get a response back. Our house was very large, and voices got muffled. What I did find surprising after I shut the door behind me was that all the lights were off and it was quiet. Too quiet.
“Mom! Dad!” I yelled into the dark house. There wasn’t an answer and the hair on the back of my neck rose.
For a moment, I questioned whether or not anyone was home, but then I saw light flicker in the living room to the left of the foyer. The TV was on, but muted. As I stepped into the sunken living room, the wood floor creaked under my foot and a coppery smell filled my nose. With the little light from the TV, I spotted my dad lying on the couch. I opened my mouth to call out to him again when I saw the shadow on his chest. Not a shadow, but a stain on his white shirt.
I moved toward the lamp next to one of the couches. The toe of my shoe caught on the large area rug as I did. I flicked it on, and a scream ripped its way up my throat. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from letting it out. Unable to blink, unable to look away, tears filled my eyes as I took in the blood. So much blood.
His arm was hanging off the side of the couch and his eyes were open. They were staring vacantly at the TV. My entire body shook violently as my gaze traveled lower. His abdomen was ripped open, and his insides were pulled out.
I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing.
It’s not real. I backed away with that thought. With each step, I worked harder to convince myself that what I was seeing wasn’t true, until someone grabbed my shoulder.
The scream I had been holding in escaped, piercing through the silent house.
Another hand slammed down on my mouth. “It’s me,” a voice similar to mine said.
Shayla.
I whirled around to face her. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. There was so much fear in her eyes. “We need to leave,” she whispered. “He’s in the house.”
He.
She didn’t need to tell me who he was.
So many questions filled my head.
Why?
How?
Where was Mom?
Was she dead?
I didn’t ask them. The fear and firmness in Shayla’s voice kept me from asking. I nodded frantically and Shayla grabbed my hand.
As we took a step to leave, a crash came from the other side of the house, followed by our mother’s scream. It sent a trembling wave of terror through every bone in my body. Shayla’s grip on my hand tightened as we listened to the sound of running on the hardwood floor echo through the house. The running got closer and closer.
Shayla pushed me back, further into the living room, past our dad’s body. Then she pulled me down to the floor behind the couch he lay dead on. Not even a second later, the wood floor creaked underfoot and panting breaths filled the room.
The floor creaked again.
Shayla and I both flinched as our mom let out a pain-filled yell, followed by the sound of wrestling.
The lamp I’d turned on was knocked over, but didn’t break. Our mom cried out before a thud vibrated through the floor.
I knew I was putting Shayla and myself at risk, but I had to look. I peeked around the side of the couch. My mom was on the ground, crying as she stared up at Mr. X, who was straddling her. He had her pinned with a large, bloody knife at her throat.
A gasp escaped me.
My mom’s eyes locked with mine. It was for only a moment before she forced herself to look back at Mr. X. In that brief moment we’d stared at each other, so much had been conveyed. Her surprise. Her worry. Her fear.
“Where is she?” he growled above her.
The terror that overwhelmed her gave way to what looked like determination. Her expression hardened as she stared up at Mr. X.
He noticed the change in her, too, and roared in her face, “Where is she?!”
“Go to hell!” she wailed as she thrashed at him.
Mr. X lifted the knife from her neck and raised it high above his head.
No! No! No! I screamed in my head, sitting there frozen and helpless as he brought down his knife.
My mom’s breath hitched, her eyes wide as the blade plunged into her chest.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to roar. But my fear squeezed my throat, blocking any sound from getting out.
When Mr. X withdrew his knife and brought it down again and again, stabbing her over and over, I went to crawl out from behind the couch. I wanted to stop him. I wanted to save her.
I barely made it an inch when Shayla grabbed me with more strength than she should have had and yanked me back behind the couch. Startled, I let out a tiny, strangled noise to keep myself from screaming. She quickly covered my mouth and bound her other arm around me so tight, I knew she was afraid of what I might do.
She held me like that as we listened to Mr. X grunting each time he stabbed our mom. Shayla’s tears dripped on my shoulder. It was then that I noticed I could feel her whole body shaking and hear her heart pounding in her chest.
I put my arm over the one she had around me and squeezed her wrist. It was the only way I could hug her and offer her comfort.
Mr. X let out a roar that made us both jump. We both held our breath, waiting, listening. His feet shuffled on the floor as he moved around the room.
“Shiloh!” he yelled.
Shayla’s fingers dug into my ribs as she crushed me against her.
“Come out! Come out, wherever you are!”
The need to breathe began to burn in my chest as I strained to listen, to pick up any hint that would tell me where he was in the room.
The floor creaked and I knew.
“Shiii…loooh.” His voice sounded distant and not in the living room.
Shayla’s hold on me relaxed and we both took in air as quietly as we could.
A scraping noise traveled in from the foyer. It sounded like he was dragging the tip of his knife along the wall as he got further and further away.
I climbed out from behind the couch and started for my mom. Shayla grabbed at my hand, but I yanked it away from her.
“Shi,” I barely heard Shayla whisper.
I knew there was nothing we could do, but I still needed to…I didn’t know. Touch her? I had to feel that she was gone, because if she wasn’t, I didn’t think I could leave her.
Her head was tilted to the side, eyes unblinking. Blood was spreading around her on the floor. I knelt where the blood had yet to reach and hovered shaky hands over her, not knowing where I could touch without causing her more pain. “Mom,” I breathed as tears poured from my eyes and dripped off my chin.
How could I fix this?
What was I supposed to do?
I grabbed her hand that was resting on the floor in her blood and there was nothing, not a flicker in her eyes to indicate that she felt me.
I brought the back of her hand up to my cheek. It was cold. “Mommy?” I whispered as more tears clouded my vision.
Shayla fisted the back of my shirt. “Please, Shi,” I barely heard her beg. “She’s dead. We have to go.”
I didn’t want to let go. If I let go, I had to accept that she was gone. I wasn’t ready.
Shayla yanked me to my feet by my shirt and dragged me back through the living room, past our dad’s body and toward his office.
Once inside, she shut the door as quietly as she could. The room became pitch black, but she found me. She put her hands on my shoulders. “I need you to listen to me,” she whispered.
A silent sob rocked through me, and she put her hands on my cheeks. Her grip was firm. “I need you to pull yourself together. If you don’t, you will get us killed.”
“How?” was all I could get out. How was she not falling apart right now?
“You have to bury it. Everything that you are feeling—what just happened. You have to bury it deep so we can survive. And after we get through this, when it’s safe, you can let yourself feel it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I sniffled. “Bury it to survive.”
“Yes.” Her whole body shook, and I knew she was nodding. “So take a deep breath and bury it all.”
I inhaled deeply. Burying didn’t work for me, but pushing did. I pushed the agony I felt at losing our parents, the images of Mr. X stabbing our mom and the fear in her eyes. I pushed them back until it became easier to focus. The thought of needing to get out of here and get help took their place in the forefront of my mind.
“Okay,” I whispered. “What do we do?”