Chapter 9
RUE
“You took forever today,” Mom’s voice echoes from the living room, where miraculously she had moved in the time that I was gone to town. It’s like she’s not totally inept or something.
Shocking.
“Why are you not listening to me?” she continues with a heavy sigh thicker than the tension in the house.
“I’m listening,” I say back to her. “I was trying to put the stew together.” Which is mostly the truth, but also, I’ve been staring into the crockpot way more than anything else.
My stomach knots up, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I want to go back to LA—to the place I can exist in nothingness. No one knows who I am there, and I’m pretty sure they don’t care to know, either.
I like that.
“Did you see anyone you know?” Mom just won’t give it up, and the way she’s having to shout is grating on my nerves.
I dump the rest of the contents into the crockpot, and choose the Low Heat setting, which should have it ready by seven. That’s good enough. I push my hair out of my face, and then place the glass lid on the ceramic pot with a thunk.
Bullet barks in response, jarring me.
Which has totally become a norm now.
“You should be out hunting rabbits or something.” I purse my lips, shaking my head at him as I wipe my hands on a towel. I toss it back down to the old Formica counters, and slip into the living room, where my mother sits on the couch, a perpetual look of disgust etched into her features.
“Did you hear me?” She looks up from the book on her lap.
“Yeah, sorry.” I go for the front door, opening it for Bullet to slip out, and then turn back to her. “I didn’t see anyone I know.”
“Where’d you go?”
“I got a coffee and went to the Grab n’ Go.”
Her brows skyrocket. “And you didn’t see someone you know?”
“Nope.” I shrug, though it’s followed by a shiver as a pair of ghost eyes flash in my mind. “I guess I got lucky.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and then nods toward the hallway. “I need to take a shower or something.”
My heart instantly sinks. “I have no idea how we’re supposed to do that.” I nod to the cast on her arm and boot. “Why not just a sponge bath? It’s not like you can do anything to get you sweaty.”
“That’s disgusting, Ruth.” The use of my full first name has me wincing. “This boot comes off. That’s enough for me to sit in the bathtub. You’re here to help me, remember?”
“Yes ma’am,” I say the words softly, rubbing my hands over my biceps. “I’m just not sure I’m strong enough…”
She seems to glare at me. “With all that meat on your bones, you should be fine. I mean, trust me, I would’ve much rather your sister have come, but she was busy—and you’re the one who’s the most available.”
I grit my teeth. “Right.”
“Uh huh, and I’d just really hate for—”
“Let’s go,” I cut her off, my stomach nauseous enough already. I adjust the wheelchair, and quickly help her into it. I grip the handles of the chair, right as my phone starts buzzing obnoxiously in my pocket.
Ugh.
“You should check that.”
I jerk the wheelchair to a stop and clench my jaw as I fish my phone from my front pocket. I frown as I see my cousin’s name lighting up the screen.
Ugh. Why is she calling me? I almost ignore it, but…
Anything to delay the bath.
“Hey Macey.” I force my voice to sound way brighter than I actually feel in the moment. “What’s up?”
“I heard from Lindsey you were back in town.”
Who the hell is Lindsey?
I cringe but play it cool. “Yeah, I am. I’m helping out with Mom,” I say, stepping back from the wheelchair.
My eyes flick to the window, where I see Bullet streak across the yard, bounding up and out of the overgrown grass.
He lets out a loud, choppy bark, and I watch him run, missing half of whatever my cousin says.
“So you want to go?”
“Um, where again?” I shake my head, letting out a sigh as I turn back from the window.
“It’s the Groundhog Festival. They have it around the lake.
There’s a parade and a cool maze through the woods,” she probably repeats, laughing.
“I figure you’d want to get out of the house some, and I know Mara would love to see you.
She always asks me about her fancy cousin living out in California. ”
I let out a dry laugh. “I’d hardly call myself fancy. I can barely afford to eat.”
“You know, you can work from wherever with your marketing job, so you could always move back here,” Macey starts, but then quickly stops herself, already knowing the answer.
“Anyway, we’re going tomorrow evening—if you want to go.
I think it’d be nice to see you again. It’s just been so long, you know? ”
“Yeah,” I agree, thankful she’s ignoring the elephant in the room. No one mentions it when they reach out to me. They all know why I split. Eliza, too.
We don’t want to be here.
And honestly, I don’t think anyone—other than my mother—really cares about us ever coming back.
I open my mouth to politely decline, when my mom cuts me off, her voice laced with irritation.
“I’m ready for my bath, Rue.”
I swallow the frustration. “Actually, yeah. I’ll go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Perfect!” I don’t miss the surprise in Macey’s voice. “We’ll meet at five.”
“Sounds good.” I say, and then hang up before anything else can be said. I shove the phone back in my pocket, and return to my mom, grabbing the handles and pushing her forward.
“Who was that?” Mom shoots off before we ever make it to the bathroom door. “You sounded irritated.”
I hesitate, considering a lie, but there’s no point. “Macey. She said Lindsey saw me today—whoever that is.”
She scoffs. “You don’t remember Lindsey?”
I scoot the chair into the bathroom. “I don’t remember anyone really.”
“She was your best friend in second grade.”
No, Noah was my best friend.
“She used to come over sometimes,” Mom continues. “Blonde-headed little thing with the pigtails.” She reaches down, using her good hand to unstrap her boot. “I don’t know how you don’t remember her. The two of you used to giggle for hours in your room.”
I blink a few times, trying—and failing—to bring up any such memory. I can’t remember any blonde girl, much less anyone that I used to giggle with in my bedroom.
Maybe she’s confusing me with Eliza.
It wouldn’t be the first time. Eliza was only two years younger than me, and a lot of our friends overlapped. Totally plausible.
Or I’m going crazy.
I frown, and then slip past my mother, reaching out and starting the bath.
“Make sure it’s warm,” she says from behind me, as the boot thumps to the floor.
“Got it,” I say, holding my fingers under the water. I adjust it until it’s the hottest I can handle, then turn back to my mother, who mirrors the misery I feel right now. “Should I get something for the cast? Or do you think you can keep it dry?” I gesture to the wrist.
“Well, I don’t want to burden you with it…” Mom frowns, her eyes dropping to the white cast. “I think I can just keep it dry. I’m not a kid.”
“Okay,” I give her a nod, and then dry my hands on the towel hanging on the rack. The bathroom has a musty smell to it, and I can’t remember if that was there when I lived here or not…
Probably not.
My mother starts to undress herself, pulling at her sweatpants and muttering things under her breath. “This is impossible.”
“No, it’s not. I mean, you got yourself dressed this morning?” I sound like a jerk, I know. But also… she did.
She looks up at me, giving me a dirty look as I give her a hand in lifting her body up off the chair. I help her scoot so she can remove the clothing. I slide everything off on the bottom half, wincing as she wails as I try to thread it off her ankle.
“Can you not be so rough!”
“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling a pang of remorse as I finally drop the clothes to the floor. “I’m trying not to.” I stare at the ankle, which is only slightly bruised now. “When did you say this happened?”
“A week ago,” she mutters, tossing her shirt down to the floor. “Help me into the bath please.”
I don’t say anything more about it and stand to my feet, reaching out and helping my mom limp and groan her way to the bathtub. I help her sit on the edge of the tub, and then swing her legs into the water.
“Dear God, Rue!” Her tone is shrill. “This is so hot!”
My shoulders fall as a sigh escapes my lips. “You said to make it warm…”
“Warm not scalding,” she snaps, reaching over with her good hand to twist the handle all the way to cold.
“Sorry,” I mutter under my breath. There’s a moment of childlike defeat that settles in my chest, but I distract myself by grabbing the towel from the rack. “Do you want me to warm this up in the dryer for you?”
She makes a face at me. “That’s a waste of electricity.”
“Right.” I drop the lid of the toilet down and drop the towel down on top of it. I almost apologize again but stop myself.
“I need my body wash,” Mom huffs, leaning back. “And to be left alone to soak.”
I give her a nod, sighing as I exit the bathroom and head back down the hall.
And that’s when I feel it. A draft.
What the hell? I scan the house, trying to place the origin of it. The front door is shut, and so I head into the kitchen, grabbing the lavender soap out of the paper bag. As I raise it up, I shiver.
Where is that coming from? My brow furrows as I slip through the room, making my way to the utility room. I peer into the mudroom, and frown.
The door is wide open. I stare into the mangled backyard, squinting.
And then someone sneezes behind me.
A yelp escapes from my throat as I spin around, stumbling backward and nailing my shoulder into the doorframe as I’m met with bright little dog eyes. “What the hell! Bullet, you have to stop—”
My voice dies in my throat as I register the thing attached to his collar.
I lean down and pluck the rabbit’s foot, still caked in blood, attached with paracord to his collar. As I roll the foot over in my hands, my eyes catch the dark writing scrawled across it.
M U R D E R E R