As if I weigh no more than a feather, he picks me up by my arms and sets me aside. My mouth opens to protest, but it’s too late. The key is out, in the lock, and the door creaks open, revealing nothing but yawning blackness beyond.
Carrson steps in without a backward glance.
I hurry after him.
The stench hits me first, rotten food and vomit.
I panic. For one fractured heartbeat, I’m convinced all my fears have come true.
Dad, my only living relative, is dead.
I’m an orphan, left alone in Carrson’s clutches.
No one will ever save me.
“Dad! Dad!” This time I’m the one shoving Carrson aside as I rush into the room. I fumble along the wall until I feel the light switch. I flick it, but nothing happens. Dad probably forgot to pay the electricity bill again.
“Where are you?” I call out, my voice breaking. Fear rises, tightening every muscle as I brace for the worst.
There’s a click from behind followed by a flare of light. I turn to see Carrson with a lighter in his hand. The flame flickers like a snake’s tongue, casting shadows across his face. It makes him look like a jack-o’-lantern, hollow and glowing from within.
“Here,” he says, extending it. “Take this.”
Our fingers brush as he passes it to me. His skin is warm. Mine is ice.
Once I have the lighter, I hold it out in front of me, letting the glow lead the way as I move farther into the one-bedroom apartment I share with my father.
When we first moved in, Dad insisted I take the bedroom and he would have the couch. No amount of arguing would make him change his mind.
“It’s my fault we’re in this mess,” he’d said, nervously wringing his hands, but I knew he was lying, protecting my feelings.
It’s all my fault.
Every bad thing that’s happened to us traces right back to me.
“I’ll sleep on the couch. You take the bed,” I told him. Begged him, but night after night, he beat me to the couch. Not that it was hard, he barely left that thing. It became his kingdom. His grave. It’s where he eats, drinks, sleeps, and drinks some more.
Now, that couch comes into the bobbing circle of my light. It’s empty. Stained sheets lie on it, twisted and tangled, but no dad. I raise the flame, sweeping it toward the kitchen. Dirty dishes heaped in the sink, sour milk congealed on the counter. The trash is a mountain of crumpled beer cans.
Still no dad.
Heart hammering in my throat, vaguely aware that Carrson follows close behind, I approach the bedroom. The door is ajar. With my foot, I nudge it the rest of the way open.
Dad’s there, on his back, so still I’m convinced all over again that he’s dead.
As much as I’m to blame for this predicament, Carrson is too. If he hadn’t kept me away from my father, this never would have happened. In that moment I swear to myself that if my father is dead, then I’ll kill Carrson. I’ll murder the murderer if my father isn’t breathing.
Then Dad snores, one long, rattling breath, and a sob of relief punches out of me. I run into the room and drop to my knees, pressing myself to my father’s broad chest, tears spilling unchecked.
“Dad, are you okay?” I cry, not caring in the least that Carrson has entered the room. I barely notice when he takes the lighter from my trembling fingers and holds it up so I can see my dad with his swollen face, glassy eyes, and the red spider veins that march across his nose and cheeks.
“Laurel? Is that you?” Dad asks, his voice thready and faint.
“I’m here. It’s me.” I press my ear to his chest, just to hear the reassuring drumbeat of his heart.
“Iwas worried.”
“I know. I’m sorry I was gone. I’m back now. I’m here and…” My voice breaks as I take in the ruin that was once my father. The man who used to coach my youth softball team, the man who loved my mother so much that when she died something broke in him. Irrevocably fractured. The man who still tried to limp along in life until I, in one fatal misstep, pushed him over the cliff and into a chasm so deep he can’t climb out of it.
