Page 39 of Grace

“What time is it?” I asked, sniffing.

“It’s almost dawn.”

“Have you caught him?”

“Not yet.”

His answer landed like a slap to my face.

“But we will. I promise you. You should go home. You went through a lot, and you’re exhausted.”

“I don’t have a home,” I whispered.

“But you have siblings. And they have a house. I’ll take you to them.”

“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly. If I could have, I would have stayed at the police station.

We left the “Welcome to Willow Creek” sign behind and drove a few miles before turning onto a dusty dirt road. There were no buildings around, only empty, barren land. The wooden poles carrying the power lines were rotten—some of them looked close to falling over. It was a miracle they even had electricity out here.

The car struggled with the deep, dangerous ruts left by agricultural machinery in the dirt road. Cyrus swore loudly when a sharp stone hit the chassis. By the time we reached a smoother road, he was already sweaty.

When I looked at Cyrus—his eyes huge, snorting like an angry bull, wiping pea-sized drops of sweat from his brow, glinting in the dawn light—a smile spread across my face. I was surprised by my own reaction.

“This car is my everything,” he explained.

I nodded and tore my gaze away from him.

Dawn was breaking.

The sun had just appeared on the horizon. My sensitive eyes were burning, my stomach was empty, and my soul was wandering somewhere far away.

The death of my parents struck me again, and I was angry with myself for having smiled just moments before. The intense pain in my heart and the icy knot in my stomach did not subside when I saw the wooden house. What I saw did not warm me up—instead, it spread even more sadness through my cells.

We parked in front of the farmhouse, which looked as if no one lived there. I started toward the building without thinking, but when I stepped onto the stairs, I had to grab the railing because the old boards sunk under my weight. The windows were small and dirty. Time—and bugs—had eaten part of the wood away. I looked at Cyrus, grabbed the door handle, and pressed it down.

The smell in the house made me raise my arm in front of my face—the place smelled as if there had been a rotting dead body inside.

My gaze swept around the inside of the house. The “living room” had a worn couch—its fabric was torn, and metal springs jutted out of it. The kitchen was full of unwashed dishes, the food inside them was overrun with hairy mold, and disgusting, fat black flies buzzed around them. There were heaps of disposable food containers. The trash can overflowed, spilling its contents onto the brown linoleum floor. The door of a kitchen cabinet was partially off its hinges.

I saw nothing familiar from our old home.

I pressed my nausea down and stepped inside, Cyrus following me. When Jamie appeared in one of the doorways, we both stopped. He looked awful. He’d never been muscular, but I had never seen him as thin and as pale as in that moment. His face was gaunt, and his hair hung down to his flat chest.

For a second, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief, then ran to me. Cyrus stepped to me protectively, but Jamie didn’t want to hurt me. He embraced me, crying, pressing his face into my shoulder. I was crying, too, as he had never hugged me before.

“Nikky!” he shouted, his voice breaking.

Another door opened, and I saw my sister over my brother’s shoulder. Her face was nothing like the girl I had been carrying in my memories. She looked… older—the misfortunes of the past couple of years and the death of our parents had left their mark. She was thin and wore clothes that did not leave much to the imagination: a glittering blue mini skirt and a black crop top that only covered her most important body parts. There were piercings in her belly button and her nose, and she was wearing heavy, smoky makeup around her eyes.

Jamie stepped out of the way. I opened my arms. My sister started walking toward me with tears in her eyes and slapped me so hard that my head spun and my nose started bleeding. I was shocked by her reaction, and so were the others. The air was heavy with tension.

Cyrus’s jaw tensed, his stern eyes following Nikky’s lithe steps to the kitchen. She grabbed a pack of Marlboro Reds and an ashtray from the windowsill, then lit a cigarette. She poured coffee into a dirty mug, and her lips twisted into a scornful smile. She exhaled smoke through her nose.

“Welcome home, Grace!” she spit the words in a venomous voice.

I shuddered.

Cyrus was standing next to me, his eyes full of disapproval at Nikky’s behavior.