Courtney
It’s Nolan. My big brother, Nolan. He’s dead. His limp body lies at the top of the stairs, hard to see at first from the angle
and because it’s darker at the top of the stairs, blanketed in shadows, the scant sunlight not reaching there. He lies on
his side, his eyes vacant and opaque, staring lifelessly through the wooden balusters and toward the first floor. Blood seeps
from the corner of his mouth, draining down the side of his face, drying. Redness blooms from his temple.
I stumble backward, tasting vomit in my mouth. Behind me, Cass still screams, but Mae is much quieter, something more like
the whimper of a trapped animal being stalked by a predator.
I tear my eyes away from Nolan, looking back to see that Mae’s legs are shaking and she’s wet herself. She wears fuzzy gray
pajama pants with clouds on them that do nothing to hide the pee, which spreads, broadening and turning the gray shades darker.
“Close your eyes. Don’t look at that, Mae.
Don’t look at him,” I snap as I go to her, pressing a hand down over Mae’s eyes and forcing her through the open door backward, shoving Cass, who stands behind her, out at the same time.
Cass stumbles, tripping over the wooden threshold, managing to catch herself before she falls, sputtering, “What . . . what was that? What was he doing? What’s wrong with him?
” her voice elevating in pitch until it’s screechy and thin.
Outside, I release Mae’s eyes. I grab both girls by the hands, telling them to hurry, though they’re paralyzed at first, fixed
in place on the deck, their eyes stuck on Nolan’s body through the open door. I practically drag them down the steps, tugging
them by the hands, saying, “He’s hurt, Cass. We have to get help,” as I try to keep my wits about me, though Nolan’s and Emily’s
empty, lifeless eyes are there every time I blink. “We need to call for help. Hurry. Come on.”
We run down the hill for our cottage, slipping on pine cones and nuts, me clinging tightly to both girls’ clammy hands, pulling
on them because their stride is narrower than mine, their pace slower. I throw a glance back over my shoulder, my eyes skimming
the windows on the cottage, which are nearly impossible to see through because of the way the sunlight hits them. I imagine
someone behind one, watching us go. I let my thoughts drift to Reese and Wyatt, Mae’s older sister and brother, racked with
guilt. I think of the sound I heard standing in the foyer, like a mattress yielding to a person’s weight. What if they were
up there? What if someone, whoever did this to Emily and Nolan, was up there too? I should have checked on them to see if
they were safe, to see if there was something I could do to help.
But instead I run, pulling on the girls, saying, “Almost there. Keep running,” with a wildness to my voice from exertion and fear, assuaging my guilt at leaving by telling myself I have to save Cass and Mae.
I can’t save all the kids at once. If I’d have gone to check on Reese and Wyatt, Cass and Mae would have been in danger.
Someone might have hurt them, or worse. I pull so hard that Mae falls forward, landing on her hands and knees with a grunt.
The slope of the hill is steep and her legs can’t keep up with the momentum.
I release Cass’s hand, telling her to go on without us, to get inside.
Our cottage sits at the base of the hill.
It’s surrounded by a half dozen other cottages that sit close to one another, separated by trees that provide some privacy but not enough that we can’t smell each other’s food or listen in on each other’s conversations.
“Come on, Mae,” I say, going back for her, helping her to her feet.
It’s as Mae and I run after Cass, our little cottage a safe haven in the distance if only we can get there in time, that I
glance back through the trees once more, letting my eyes run from the open front door to the upstairs windows, and this time,
I imagine a pale, out-of-focus face looking out through a crack in the curtains on the other side.