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The power of youth is on my mind.
Sunsets, small town, I'm out of time.
–LANA DEL REY–
One week prior
They say your body can pick up on bad vibrations. If your gut tells you something isn’t right about a person or situation, trust it.
The chills travelling down my spine in spite of the sweltering humidity were the first indication that something was amiss.
As I hurried towards the bungalow with shabby shingles and warped wooden stairs my apprehension heightened.
At ten past four in the morning, no one should have been up, yet every light in the house appeared to be on. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as the feeling of being watched swept over me.
I stopped just a few feet away from my destination and slowly glanced around.
I relaxed slightly when I saw the street was empty save for the stray alley cats taking refuge in the boarded up mini-mart on the corner. A small laugh burst from my mouth. I knew walking home would make me paranoid––this neighborhood always did. But my car had a flat tire and I didn’t have a spare so walking was my only option.
Pushing through the rusted gate, I continued up the pathway, trying to spot anything else out of the ordinary.
Sliding my key into the singular lock on the front door, I found it wasn’t locked at all, but there was something wedged in place that prevented me from opening it.
After knocking twice and not getting a response, I decided to try the back door that led into the kitchen.
It was wide open.
Gooseflesh traveled up my arms and dread bloomed in my stomach. I swallowed the lump in my throat, taking in the splintered wood on the doorframe. There wasn’t any sound coming from inside.
It was quiet; much too quiet, considering.
I cautiously approached, digging my cell-phone from my shoulder bag. I knew without a doubt that something was wrong but I also knew better than to call the police.
It had been drilled into me from a very young age: never involve local law enforcement if things were to go bad.
I paused just inside the kitchen doorway and took in the disrepair. The fridge was pulled out from its nook, its contents strewn across the floor, joined by most of the dishes in pieces, leaving the cabinets barren.
It took me less than two minutes to walk through the entire house and make it down the hall to my aunt’s bedroom. All the furniture in the living room had been flipped over.
Couch cushions were gutted savagely, and the television screen was smashed in. The frame of the sofa was the culprit for blocking my entry into the house.
Dank water from the broken fish tank soaked the Berber carpet and permeated the air. The tiny goldfish lay lifeless, their underbellies turning milk white. My aunt’s bedroom door was partially open and I didn’t hesitate shoving it the rest of the way in, preparing myself for the worst.
The room smelled strongly of sweat, sex, and cigarettes. The blood sprayed across the headboard had my stomach keeling. The bullet holes in the back of her head had my heart capsizing in its cavity. Her frilly slip was in tatters, barely hanging on her body.
Her underwear was down around her ankles and dark bruises marred every inch of her exposed flesh. From where I stood, it looked like the entire left side of her face had been beaten in. I backed up, my spine bouncing off the wall in my haste to get out of the room. I stumbled, swallowing down the acidic bile forcing its way up my throat.
“This can’t be happening.” I choked on a sob and frantically scrolled through my contact list until I found the name of the person I’d fervently prayed I would never have to call.
It was on the second ring that I realized I had no idea where my sister was.
