Page 38 of Grace

I wiped my wet face with the checked shirt, then my gaze drifted to the wall, the center of which held a mirror.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew others were standing behind it, listening to us. I must have been a sensation—a girl kidnapped five years ago, now appearing out of thin air.

Knowing the whole station would know what had happened to me felt awful, but I got a grip on my emotions and shared every sick detail with them.

The man sighed and leaned back in his chair. The woman’s eyes glinted with pity. Once I learned that, after my statement, an arrest warrant had been issued for Chase Baker, a huge weight fell off my chest.

“I want to go home. Where are my parents? Haven’t they been notified?” I asked the police officer who had led me into the room. The other officers in civilian clothes had already left.

“I’m sorry, Miss McCarty. My condolences.”

“What? What do you mean?” I shook my head in denial as hot tears streaked down my face.

He set the folder down in front of me on the stainless steel table. The small room seemed to contract, and the air thickened, suffocating me. My heart was pounding, my eyes burning. I opened the folder with shaking fingers. Among the press statements and other documents, a headline caught my eye.

Married couple searching for their daughter killed in head-on crash

Then the next one.

15-year-old Grace McCarty still missing

It was strange to see my five-years-younger self in the newspaper. I had been so childish, so innocent—and now an orphan. Still, my own tragedy felt like nothing compared to my parents’ deaths. They died. Because of me.

I shuddered.

My parents had died. And they were the reason I had held on, not killed myself—the reason I survived.

I broke into sobs and buried my face in my palms. Mom and Dad.

I had a mild anxiety attack. I did not want to accept the fact that I would never see my parents again. Every breath I took made my heart twist.

“No. No!” I protested, shaking my head wildly, sobbing, hiccupping, kicking the metal table. I have no clue how much time I spent like this.

The next thing I remember was sitting in the corner, my arms wrapped around my knees, rocking softly. It was something I’d started doing over the past few years. Whenever Chase hurt me, this was what I did afterward. Sitting in the corner, rocking like a lunatic, shutting out the world. In those moments, I didn’t see or hear anything—I was only existing, a body without a soul, trapped in the cruel prison of life.

“Where are my siblings?”

“The house you used to live in was sold that same summer.”

“What does this mean? That I don’t have a home anymore?”

My heart beat faster, and I was out of breath.

Where are Nikky and Jamie?

“Your siblings bought an old farmhouse at an auction. That’s all they could afford after paying off the mortgage on your parents’ house,” the policeman said.

I fell apart.

Again.

I stayed in the corner with my head resting on my knees, crying. I was tired. And an orphan. My parents were dead. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Mom and Dad were not… Pain tore me to pieces.

“Grace.” A deep voice rumbled through the room. I looked up and saw the cop built like a pro wrestler crouched in front of me. We looked at each other for a long time.

“My parents are dead,” I muttered. It was all I was able to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said with empathy.