In half an hour she would identify the body.
The body.
Not just a body ... her sister. The only family CJ had left.
The connecting flight from Atlanta had arrived in Huntsville a few minutes early, giving her time to come by the house as if doingso would change the outcome of what surely was a bad dream. She’d get out of her rented car, go inside, and discover the call had been a terrible mistake.
Shelley couldn’t be dead.
Climbing out of the rental, CJ remembered to grab her purse and lock the doors. In this neighborhood she’d be lucky if the hubcaps were still on the wheels ten minutes from now.
Oppressive humidity immediately closed in around her.
Home sweet home.
What had once been a white picket fence surrounded the overgrown yard. The rickety, lopsided gate creaked when she opened it. She’d meant to do something about that the last time she was here. But she hadn’t stayed long enough to tackle anything on the ever growing “big sister” list she mentally maintained.
Just go away, CJ! I don’t need you interfering in my life!
You never change, Shelley. It’s the same stupid mistakes every time I come back here. You’re hopeless.
CJ closed her eyes and banished the voices. She took a deep breath and forced back the tears. Blinked and focused on the house that had never felt like home. That hadn’t once provided the safe haven most people associated with their childhoods. Other voices, from that dysfunctional time in her life, attempted to strong-arm their way into her head, but she exiled those as well.
A dog barked somewhere down the block. Otherwise the mill village was uncharacteristically quiet for a Sunday afternoon. Too hot to get out and move around, forget about working up the energy to make noise. But that would change come dark. All sorts of activities would go on then ... few pleasant and even fewer legal.
Basically nothing had changed.
It never did. Not around here.
At the door CJ reached for the knob, her hand shook.
No more rushing to Huntsville to get her sister out of one jam or another.
No more sending money.
No more screaming at each other.
No more tearful hugs and promises to do better.
Shelley was dead.
Deep breath.Get it over with. CJ twisted the knob. The door opened. God, why didn’t that girl ever lock the door? Anyone could just walk in.
The too-familiar smells tugged at her senses as she stepped inside. Stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. Her sister’s signature scent.
Memories whispered, tugged at her emotions. Her father coming home drunk and slamming the door, then kicking anything that got in his way. Her mother passed out on the kitchen floor, while the dinner she’d started burned on the stove. And Shelley hiding behind the door of their room upstairs, playing with her favorite doll.
Come play with me, CJ. Mommy’s sick again.
CJ pushed aside the memories and reached for the switch next to the door. The single working bulb in the overhead fixture made a pathetic attempt at chasing away the darkness. The windows were covered with shades that had once been white, but years of nicotine-infused air had stained them an ugly shade of yellow.
Stunning, uncharacteristic silence echoed the emptiness.
It felt weird being in this house without the television blaring. Her whole life that had been the one constant. Some insignificant channel advertising products they couldn’t afford to buy or broadcasting a life they would never live. An open portal to the fantasy that would never be.
CJ pushed a couple of empty beer cans aside and sat down on the battered coffee table. She stared at the tired sofa with its faded flowers and broken-down frame. The cushion where Shelley always curled up had a permanent indentation that marked her spot. CJ reached out, smoothed her hand over the tattered upholstery.
How had she let this happen?
