CONNOR
17 Years Old
“It’s only a few days,” I say, brushing my sister’s hair away from her face as I shoot a hateful glare in the direction of the man standing in front of me, next to a small maroon sedan. “It’ll be like having a sleepover. Just a few days, and then I’m gonna come get you.”
“I don’t wanna go with him,” she cries.
Throwing herself at me, Irina buries her face into my chest as her arms wrap around my body, and I hold her as tightly as I possibly can. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, I rock her side to side, and for a second, I toy with the idea of picking her up and seeing how fast and how far my legs can take the two of us.
“It’s time to go,” the piece of crap standing in front of us tells her. “I’m sorry.”
With another kiss to her cheek, I sandwich her small face in my hands and force her to hold my gaze.
“I’m coming to get you,” I promise her.
I don’t stand until she’s climbed into the back seat of the car and gotten her seat belt buckled. Only then, do I close the door and stand tall in front of the caseworker standing before me. I don’t like him. I don’t like his face or his crappy suit or thefact that he’s taking Irina away from the only home she’s ever known.
“You would think when a kid’s parents die, it would be a priority not to traumatize her more,” I bite. “You guys really screwed that one up, didn’t you?”
“Mr. Schepp, I understand that—”
“You don’t understand anything,” I bite at him. “I’ll be eighteen in three days. I’m her next of kin, and I’m bringing her home, where she belongs.”
With a pat to the roof of the car, I press two fingers to my lips, then to the window as I offer my sister a smile and a confident nod.
She’s already afraid; it won’t help if I show her that I am, too.
I watch as the caseworker climbs into his seat and kicks on the ignition, taking Irina with him no more than thirty seconds later and disappearing down the street that leads away from our house.
Stepping maybe too carefully back into the house, I move through the building to push open every window. A ripped piece of yellow tape is still stuck to the frame of my parents’ bedroom door, and I tear it off, tossing it onto the floor next to me before I step into the room.
It feels colder in here than in the rest of the house.
The bed in front of me is too pristine; like someone fixed it up after they carted our parents away. They never kept it this nice unless we were having company.
Maybe someone thought it would be a kind gesture; make it look like nothing ever happened here so the kids won’t have to look at it, but the neatness of the space screams at me thateverythinghappened here.
Working quickly, I ball the duvet and the fitted and bottom sheets together around their pillows and head toward thewindow. It takes some effort, but I use the wadded-up fabric to push out the screen and throw the whole mess of it into the side yard.
A startled bird call comes from the tree a couple of yards from the window, followed by an incredibly empty silence.
My heart races.
My stomach churns.
And I drop onto the mattress, bracing my forearms against my knees.
If my dad would have just changed the batteries…
If I’d been home to wake them up…
I’ll dig through their closets and find them some clothes. I’ll find the cash to have them cremated. I’ll do my best until I get my sister back.
Present Day
“Mister?”
My eyes snap to the young woman standing behind the counter as I tap the cheap pack of cigarettes in my hand against the counter. She’s too young to be working here by herself; she can’t be any older than Irina was when she moved out of the house, and she was too young, too.
