Chapter 9
Two cars were already parked in the driveway when we arrived. A police cruiser and a black van. The neighborhood was quiet, the kind of suburb where nothing ever seemed out of place. The house was a detached three-bedroom, the kind my sister had always dreamed of. She and David had bought it just last year. I had to admit, she had good taste. The lawn was freshly cut, and flowers lined the walkway, giving the house an almost ethereal charm. The front door was slightly ajar, and faint chatter drifted from the living room. With a knot of worry tightening in my chest, I stepped inside, only to be met with a sight that, honestly, I shouldn't have been surprised to see.
My sister was dressed in all black. And not just any black, she was wearing a full-on black gown, a veil, and black gloves. I blinked, momentarily stunned, before averting my eyes, embarrassed by the questioning stares of the officers in the room. I hurried over to her, pulling her aside.
"Can you be less dramatic? Your husband just died this morning," I whispered, my voice low but sharp.
"I know," she said loudly, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "And I loved David." She turned dramatically toward Russell, her hand outstretched as if expecting him to comfort her. I rolled my eyes and left her to her theatrics, heading over to the officers who had broken the news.
They had done their job, delivering the grim details with the kind of professionalism I admired. The last time my sister had heard from David was yesterday when he left early to open the bar. He had a new recruit starting, and he wanted to make sure everything was ready. As we talked, Jamie walked in. She looked like her usual self, quiet, withdrawn, avoiding eye contact. I excused myself and followed her into the kitchen.
I leaned against the doorway, watching her as she sipped her juice. "She wanted to wear that dress to her ex's wedding last week, but she got sick," Jamie said, nodding toward her mom, who was still holding court in the living room.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, my voice gentle.
She shrugged, her eyes fixed on the glass in her hands. "Fine."
"How's therapy going?" I pressed, trying to keep my tone light. Jamie was sensitive about the subject, and I didn't want to push too hard.
"It's good. She's cool. I'm fine," she said curtly, setting her glass down. "I have to go." And with that, she left, ending the conversation before it had even begun.
"Teenagers," I muttered under my breath, sighing as I returned to the living room.
My sister was sitting on the couch now, lost in thought. I squeezed her shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. She removed her glasses, revealing red, puffy eyes. She had been crying, and I knew she had truly loved David. He had been patient with her, caring, and had tolerated her eccentricities in a way no one else ever had. I stayed with her for a while, then saw the officers and Russel off before returning to the house.
In the kitchen, I poured two glasses of juice and handed one to my sister. She looked vulnerable, her oval face swollen from crying, her deep brown eyes glistening with tears. She had been through so much heartbreak in her life, but she had never given up on love. I admired that about her. Me? I hadn't been so lucky. My love life had been a string of disappointments, and I had long since given up on finding "the one."
"What am I going to do now, Stacy?" she asked, her voice trembling. "David was my light. He was the one who kept me grounded. What am I supposed to do without him?"
I pulled her into a hug, letting her cry into my shoulder. Over her shoulder, I caught sight of the photos on the wall, David and my sister, smiling and happy. One portrait in particular caught my eye. David was beaming, his cheeks rosy, his eyes crinkled with laughter. My sister pulled away, following my gaze.
"He hated that picture," she said, a small smile breaking through her tears.
"He said it made him look like a chubby child. He wanted to take it down, but I threatened not to talk to him if he did. Every time he saw it, he'd frown."
I chuckled, pulling her back into a hug. "You'll be fine. You've been through worse. You've got me, and you've got Jamie. You'll get through this."
She nodded, sniffling, and I could see a flicker of determination in her eyes. There was something different about her this time. I had a feeling she wouldn't turn to alcohol to cope, not like she had in the past.
"What's for lunch? I'm staying over," I said, trying to lighten the mood. I headed to my room to change, then returned to find my sister already in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients.
I smiled, walking over to give her a back hug. We stood like that for a few minutes, until Jamie walked in, rolled her eyes, and muttered something under her breath before walking away. Her reaction didn't faze us. We stayed in our little bubble until we were ready to let go.
We made alfredo pasta with tomato sauce and bread, setting the table before Jamie joined us.
"Thanks for helping," I said sarcastically, earning an eye roll from her. We ate in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. My sister picked at her food, so I nudged her gently, encouraging her to eat. She gave me a small smile and took a bite.
"How's Jamie's therapy going?" I asked, hoping to distract her.
"It's been good," she said, glancing at Jamie, who was pretending not to listen. "She talks more now. I overheard her on the phone with her therapist the other day. She was laughing, cracking jokes. It's a big improvement."
"Have you met her therapist yet?" I asked.
"No, but I've seen her on TV. She's a chic lady. I don't need to meet her since you've already vetted her. I trust you," she said, smiling.
I turned to Jamie. "How long has it been since you started seeing her?"
"Two weeks," Jamie replied. "My evaluation is next week. They said they'd call you."
"I haven't heard from them yet, but I'm looking forward to it," I said.
We finished lunch and started cleaning up. Jamie was organizing the dishes, a task she had improved at significantly since the last time she'd attempted it and ended up shattering half the plates.
"How's school?" I asked her.
"I didn't go today," she said.
"I know, but how has it been? No one's been giving you trouble, right?"
"It's been good. I've made new friends. Ever since you put that idiot in cuffs, he's stayed far away from me. School's been great," she said, her tone annoyingly chirpy.
I rolled my eyes. "Dave's dead. Are you okay?" I asked cautiously.
She paused, her back still turned to me. I couldn't see her face, but I could hear her take a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice breaking. "I didn't like him, but I didn't want him to die. I'm sorry." She burst into tears, and I immediately went to her, pulling her into a hug.
"Hey, it's okay. You didn't kill him. He was just unlucky," I said, but she kept crying. Her mom came over and took her to her room, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
I understood how Jamie felt. When I was in junior high, I hated my teacher. I wished she would die every time she scolded me. Then one day, she didn't show up for class. I found out later that she had died of a stroke. The guilt had eaten at me for weeks. People you hate have a way of making you feel like the bad guy, even when you're not.
I finished cleaning the kitchen and joined my sister on the couch. She was flipping through channels, finally landing on a show about serial killers. I took the remote and changed it. "Enough about dead people for today," I said, pulling her into my arms. She drifted off to sleep, and I stayed with her, hoping she'd find some peace.
A ping from my phone woke me up. It was a text from Russel: "Results are in. See you at 9 a.m." I checked the time, 5 a.m. I got up quietly, changed into my workout clothes, and went out for a run.
About a mile in, my legs were burning, but I pushed through. Suddenly, I felt like I was being followed. I slowed my pace, trying to catch whoever it was. Up ahead, there was a bush, so I sped up and ducked behind it, waiting. Moments later, the old man from the police station appeared, looking around frantically.
"Old man! What are you doing here? You almost gave me a heart attack," I said, stepping out from behind the bush.
He was trembling, his eyes darting around. "You have to catch him! He's going to kill everyone! He killed that man at the bar, and he'll kill again! He said he would!" The man was hysterical, his voice rising with each word.
"He's going to kill me! He's coming! There he is!" He pointed to a figure in a black hoodie walking toward us. The man pulled a knife from his pocket, the blade glinting with fresh blood.
"Stacy!" My sister's voice jolted me awake. I was on the couch, drenched in sweat, my heart racing. "You were screaming. Are you okay? It was just a nightmare," she said, her face filled with concern.
I sat up, trying to catch my breath. The clock on the wall read 8:30 a.m. My phone buzzed. A text from Russell: "I'm outside."