Raylan brings the SUV to a stop and gets out. I step out and shut my door, following him. The only sound is the wind whipping the trees around. Raindrops on my skin cause a chill to run up my spine.
“Come on,” he calls out, already climbing the stairs.
I take them two at a time, passing the white columns and entering the house. I stand in the massive foyer looking over the black and white checkered floor and to the staircase to the left. It lacks anything resembling a home. And makes me think more of a museum with priceless artifacts. It smells the same. Like money. Crisp hundred-dollar bills. As if the walls and floors are made of them.
“Austin? Is that you?”
I hear the annoying voice and sigh. My father’s wife, who is young enough to be my older sister, comes running into the foyer. Her bleach blond hair down and straight. Her makeup done as if she just finished getting ready for the day. Dressed in a pair of black slacks and a blouse to match, she looks as if she’s spent her day at an office.
She doesn’t work.
“Oh my gosh, you’ve gotten so big,” she squeals, pulling me in for a hug. The smell of her expensive perfume almost makes me sneeze.
“Hello, Celeste,” I say, giving her a half hug.
She pulls back but holds my arms and smiles. Her brown eyes soft. “Wow, haven’t you grown up?”
“That’s what kids do.”
She smiles at Raylan. “Please put her things in her room.” Then she takes my hand and starts dragging me out of the foyer and down the hall. We take a right into the elaborate kitchen. “Your father left these for you,” she says, patting the kitchen island.
I walk over and pick them up. It’s my school schedule, a set of keys, and a credit card. Along with a note.
I bought you a new car. Don’t wreck it. And here is some money. The limit is thirty thousand.
That is my father. Always buying shit. He paid my mother off. Bought us a big fancy house that she let go to shit. Gave her a fancy car that she sold for more money. He gives her more child support than we could ever need, but she uses it on drugs, alcohol, and her boyfriend. Anything to feed her addiction instead of me.
“He got me a car?” I question.
She claps her hands excitedly. “Want to go see it? It’s in the garage. I helped him pick it out.”
I shake my head, hoping she didn’t have it custom painted bubble-gum pink to match her personality. “It’s late. And I’m tired.”
It didn’t take very long to fly from California to this fucking town on the coast of Oregon, but she doesn’t need to know that. I could use some sleep.
She nods, her smile falling. “Of course. Let me show you to your room,” she says as if I don’t remember where I stayed last time I was here.
I leave everything on the island and follow her up the grand staircase, noticing the lack of pictures on the walls. My room is the first door on the left.
To my surprise, it doesn’t look like a teenager threw up in it. It’s large with a white sleigh bed and matching long dresser. It has big bay windows overlooking the forest in the back, and a TV mounted on the wall. It looks the same as it did when I was seven.
When she looks at me, I arch a brow, causing her to laugh nervously. “I don’t know what the trend is these days. But I figured we could go shopping this week and you can pick out some things for your room.”
“Thanks. Sounds good,” I say, reaching out and picking up a dark gray scarf from the bed.
“I bought you these today,” she says, holding up the other four in various colors. “It’s up into the fifties now, but it can still get cold at night. I wasn’t sure you had any since it stays pretty warm in California.”
“Thank you,” I say, dropping it onto the bed and rocking back on my Chucks. I just want her to leave. One thing about living with my mother was that I was always alone, and I liked it. I’ll take silence over endless chatter any day.
“So I’ll leave you alone to get settled in. I know it’s late.” She comes up to me and pulls me in for another hug. “I’m so glad to have you here, Austin.” Then she pulls away and walks to the door to leave but comes to a stop. “Oh, Austin. Be ready to leave by ten in the morning.”
I frown. “Where are we going?”
She smiles brightly. “Church.” Then she shuts the door.
I fall onto the bed and close my eyes. My mother ships me to my dad’s, and he has his young teeny-bopper wife babysit me. My life can’t get any worse.
I pull my cell out of my back pocket to see if I have any messages. Nope. I have a feeling my friends have already forgotten about me. I didn’t have many to begin with anyway. Digging into my purse, I pull out my journal. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. It was like my therapy back when I needed someone to talk to but no one was there. The older I got, the less I wanted to talk to people. Kids my age don’t want to hear about my problems.
I sit up when I hear engines roaring and loud bass from outside. Making my way over to the window, I look out to see headlights back in the trees. There’s a dirt road that runs parallel to the house. I remember it from last time I stayed here. It used to lead up to the cemetery on top of the hill, a couple of hundred yards away, but now it dead ends down at the bottom of the hill. By the house.
A white SUV of some sort comes to a stop first, and the front two doors open. I can’t make out the people—too far away and too dark out—but they’re tall. The second car to pull up is a little black two door.
I quickly count five bodies and watch as they all make their way around to the back of the trunk. They pop it open, and one guy leans over, reaching down into it. He pulls out a man. He falls to the makeshift gravel road and tries to scurry away.
“What the …?” I trail off as two men grab him, picking him up. One at his feet, the other by his head, and they start to walk away with him.
The one man slams the trunk while another grabs a black duffel bag out of the SUV. And then they start to walk off. I duck to make sure they don’t see me, which is stupid. They don’t know I’m up here, and it’s after midnight.
Do they know my father lives here? Although trees cover most of this side of the house, you can still see it from where they are now. Do they just not care?
Going over to my suitcase, I yank out my black hoodie and slip it on before leaving my room. I quickly make my way down the staircase and to the back foyer.
I crack the back door open just enough to squeeze through, and then I crouch, going over to the far corner of the terrace. I peek over the railing and see the five figures walking. Two still carry the man, two others have flashlights in their hands, lighting their way, and the fifth trails behind them. Hands in his black jeans pockets, head down. None of them seem to be in a hurry.
“I didn’t know …” the man they carry wails while some of the others laugh at him. “Please,” he begs. “She never told me.”
“Lying?” one asks with a snort. “Have some fucking balls to admit it, man.”
“You’re gonna kill me,” he cries.
They don’t respond to that statement.
With leaves and branches crunching under their weight, they walk farther and farther away from the house and up the hill toward the cemetery.