Chapter Four
CJ shoved the gearshift into park, turned off the ignition, and stared at the two-story house she’d called home for most of her life.
The entire structure leaned to one side as if it were weary of standing this last hundred or so years.
What little cheap green paint that remained on the century-old wood siding was faded and peeling.
The numerous patch jobs on the once white roof were so old they had blended into a dirty variation of grays and blacks.
Gutters sagged, their downspouts dented and dangling precariously.
The grass stood high enough that passersby likely thought the place was deserted.
And it was . . . now.
Her sister was dead.
Emotion abruptly resurrected and churned deep inside CJ. She lifted her chin in defiance and, just as suddenly, it settled back into that numbness that had consumed her since receiving Detective Kevin Braddock’s call.
In half an hour she would identify the body.
The body.
Not just a body . . . her sister. The only family CJ had left.
The connecting flight from Atlanta had arrived in Huntsville a few minutes early, giving her time to come by the house as if doing so would change the outcome of what surely was a bad dream. She’d get out of her rented car, go inside, and discover the call had been a terrible mistake.
Shelley couldn’t be dead.
Climbing out of the rental, CJ remembered to grab her purse and lock the doors. In this neighborhood she’d be lucky if the hubcaps were still on the wheels ten minutes from now.
Oppressive humidity immediately closed in around her.
Home sweet home.
What had once been a white picket fence surrounded the overgrown yard.
The rickety, lopsided gate creaked when she opened it.
She’d meant to do something about that the last time she was here.
But she hadn’t stayed long enough to tackle anything on the ever growing “big sister” list she mentally maintained.
Just go away, CJ! I don’t need you interfering in my life!
You never change, Shelley. It’s the same stupid mistakes every time I come back here. You’re hopeless.
CJ closed her eyes and banished the voices.
She took a deep breath and forced back the tears.
Blinked and focused on the house that had never felt like home.
That hadn’t once provided the safe haven most people associated with their childhoods.
Other voices, from that dysfunctional time in her life, attempted to strong-arm their way into her head, but she exiled those as well.
A dog barked somewhere down the block. Otherwise the mill village was uncharacteristically quiet for a Sunday afternoon.
Too hot to get out and move around, forget about working up the energy to make noise.
But that would change come dark. All sorts of activities would go on then . . . few pleasant and even fewer legal.
Basically nothing had changed.
It never did. Not around here.
At the door CJ reached for the knob, her hand shook.
No more rushing to Huntsville to get her sister out of one jam or another.
No more sending money.
No more screaming at each other.
No more tearful hugs and promises to do better.
Shelley was dead.
Deep breath. Get it over with. CJ twisted the knob. The door opened. God, why didn’t that girl ever lock the door? Anyone could just walk in.
The too-familiar smells tugged at her senses as she stepped inside. Stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. Her sister’s signature scent.
Memories whispered, tugged at her emotions.
Her father coming home drunk and slamming the door, then kicking anything that got in his way.
Her mother passed out on the kitchen floor, while the dinner she’d started burned on the stove.
And Shelley hiding behind the door of their room upstairs, playing with her favorite doll.
Come play with me, CJ. Mommy’s sick again.
CJ pushed aside the memories and reached for the switch next to the door.
The single working bulb in the overhead fixture made a pathetic attempt at chasing away the darkness.
The windows were covered with shades that had once been white, but years of nicotine-infused air had stained them an ugly shade of yellow.
Stunning, uncharacteristic silence echoed the emptiness.
It felt weird being in this house without the television blaring. Her whole life that had been the one constant. Some insignificant channel advertising products they couldn’t afford to buy or broadcasting a life they would never live. An open portal to the fantasy that would never be.
CJ pushed a couple of empty beer cans aside and sat down on the battered coffee table.
She stared at the tired sofa with its faded flowers and broken-down frame.
The cushion where Shelley always curled up had a permanent indentation that marked her spot.
CJ reached out, smoothed her hand over the tattered upholstery.
How had she let this happen?
She should have answered her sister’s call night before last. Two a.m. the call had come. CJ had just gotten to sleep after a twelve-hour shift. Absolute mental and physical exhaustion had rendered the decision easy to make.
She’d known how it would go if she had answered.
Shelley would be drunk or high. She’d cry about her wretched life with its endless cycle of failed attempts at change.
Then she would beg CJ to help her, big sis would send money, and all would be right in Shelley’s world once more. At least for a little while.
But CJ hadn’t reacted the way she usually did this time.
She pulled out her cell phone and played the voicemail she hadn’t bothered to listen to until after Braddock’s call.
“CJ! Oh, God, you’re not going to believe this!
Okay, wait . . . don’t worry! It’s not like you think.
I know it’s two in the morning, but I’m clean.
Six weeks and counting. No drugs. No bullshit.
” She squealed! “You need to call me. I have something really, really important to tell you.” She sighed, the sound steeped in happiness.
“I know I’ve never been good at anything.
I’ve been nothing but trouble. But I promise it’s gonna be different now.
You’ll see. Call me! Hey . . .” There was an extended pause, then, “I don’t say it enough, but . . . I love you.”
CJ had made a terrible, terrible mistake. Her eyes closed to contain the brimming emotion. She’d thought standing firm was the right thing to do. For years her one trusted confidante had been telling CJ that she had to stop enabling her sister’s destructive behavior.
Now her sister was dead. Murdered.
CJ greatly appreciated the overwhelming numbness that allowed only intermittent bouts of the emotional storm she knew was coming.
It wouldn’t last. Reality would sink in and she would have to deal with the ramifications of her decision not to answer that call.
She recognized the aura of denial. She’d seen it on hundreds of faces in the ER.
But maybe the numbness would get her through the next couple of hours.
Right now, she pushed to her feet. She had to identify her sister’s body. And face the fact that she’d failed the one person who’d counted on her to always be there. CJ walked out the door, closed and locked it behind her.
She stalled on the porch, surveyed the run-down neighborhood. Her whole life she couldn’t wait to get away from this dead-end place. She had dreamed of escaping to something better . . . to something that mattered. Now there was no reason for her to ever come back.
Funny. While dreaming of and planning that grand escape, she’d never once considered the price.
Now she knew.