Page 7 of Overkill

“Get your things,” I said in a rush, waving for Miriam and Marcus to pick up their backpacks by the door and leave.

Was today the day? I’d been waiting. Hoping I’d last until both—or at least one—were eighteen.

I was ready to lose everything. Everything but them. Everything but Marcus and Miriam, even if I hated them half the time, because I had signed up to be a sister, not a mother.

But here we were.

Because of my choices. Because of what I had done.

When the kids didn’t move fast enough, I narrowly stopped myself from slamming a fist into the counter.

“Get your things!” I shouted.

“Okay,” Miriam said, getting up with her bowl and spoon, ready to wash them in the sink.

Another knock on the door.

“Just leave it. I’ll clean it!” I was too fast and too loud, making Miriam wince. Gentler, I said, “I don’t want you to be late for school.”

Nervous, frantic energy pushed through me; what I didn’t want was them being here if—when—the sirens went off.

Miriam, in her crop top and low-rise jeans, grabbed her backpack and rain jacket. Were low-rise jeans back in fashion? And crop tops? No one had sent her home with one of those lost-and-found T-shirts that were too big, and I’d never gotten a call from school about them, either. So I guess it was okay to wear that to school now?

“Come on, come on!” I said, rushing them out.

Every knock on the door, every passing police car, every news article about a crime in Mourningkill—they all sent shivers down my spine and fear coursing up my throat. I was stressed and unable to eat. Until I could eat, then I ate everything until I puked.

You’d think I had an eating disorder, but what I really had was the sky-high anxiety of the murderer from The Tell-Tale Heart. And reminders of my crime were everywhere.

In the photos on the wall I couldn’t pull down because it’d be suspicious and upset my younger siblings.

It was in the vegetable garden he’d built for my mother when she decided fresh food was best for her growing children.

In the siding Luke was supposed to fix, but didn’t because…because of the accident.

It was in everything.

It was a noose around my neck.

The door knock came again with a “Hello?”

I almost whimpered. Sheriff Whitlaw. I knew her voice. Everyone knew her voice. It was a small town.

When I opened the door to push the kids out, she was there, her face serious. Not a social call.

I could already feel the handcuffs on my wrists. I swallowed.

“Have a good day at school!” I said to the retreating figures of my brother and sister as they walked up the road to meet the bus. I mentally said goodbye, hoping I’d done enough.

I hadn’t.

They’d be devastated.

“How can I help you, Sheriff?” I barely squeaked out.

I killed him. It was me. Please don’t let Miriam and Marcus go to the Grays. Please don’t put them with their uncles. Especially not Miriam. You of all people know what they’re like…

I said none of that, though. I gave her my best grimace of a polite smile and stepped out of her way in a quiet invitation.