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“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” I tip my head back, staring up at the deep blue sky. “But maybe talking about it in the bright light of day now, will keep the darkness away later.”
She slants a look at me. “Are you a biker or a poet?”
Prickly.She’s so, so prickly when I probe too close to her pain. It’s easy to recognize it because I’m the same fucking way.
I have no business prodding her for answers when I don’t want to share the darkest parts of my own past.
But the terror in her voice last night still follows me today. Maybe talking about it with someone unconnected to her past will help. I doubt she discusses it with Libby. She wouldn’t burden her sister with whatever demons chase her in her dreams.
She swallows hard as if she’s gathering her courage.
Such a brave woman.
“They were killed in a home invasion,” she answers in a voice devoid of emotion. “Two guys broke in. My dad shot one of them.” Her body turns to stone. Her eyes stare straight ahead, focused on a violent past, not the beauty of the valley below.
She takes a deep breath and continues, “I was out with friends. Deep into my ‘party girl’ phase.”
“Where was Libby?”
“Home in bed. Thank God they didn’t find her.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and gasps for air.
“Breathe, Emily.” I hug her to my side. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”Why’d I have to do this to her now? Here of all places.
“I got home and the front door was open.” She pulls away from me, her voice dropping into an emotionless monotone that chills my blood. “My dad was a cop. He never left anything unlocked.”
She clutches her stomach as if the memory brings a wave of physical pain. “I knew something was wrong right away. I walked in and…and…”
Jesus Christ, she found her parents’ bodies? “It’s okay, Emily. You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.”
But it’s as if now that she’s opened this door to her past, she has no choice but to walk through it.
“Libby. Oh my God,” she whispers. “I was terrified they…they…hurt her too. Or took her. I couldn’t find her at first. Everything was so silent. I’d never felt a silence like that before. I searched the house, so afraid I’d run into the killers or find her, her b-body.” She squeezes her eyes shut again and a tear rolls down her cheek.
No matter how much her pain’s tearing me apart, there’s nothing I can do to erase those memories for her. It’s my question that pushed her into this dark place, so it’s my responsibility to help her through the pain.
“She’s safe now, Emily,” I remind her.
She nods but still seems caught up in the memory. “She wasn’t in my parents’ room, or her room. I crawled under her bed, her closet, the tub in the bathroom. No Libby,” she sobs, and I tighten my hold on her.
“It was cold that night. A breeze came from my room. I grabbed a gun from my dad’s closet and crept into my bedroom. The window and screen were wide open. I was so scared she fell out of the window or something. But when I looked outside, I didn’t see anything.”
Libby’s safe at school. But I still find myself holding my breath as Emily weaves her story.
“I kept calling for her and…nothing. No response.” She takes a deep breath. “Finally, I opened my closet. My laundry basket was overflowing. This pile of blankets.” Her brow furrows. “I hadn’t left it like that. I found her hiding under all that stuff. Skinny little arms hugging her knees.”
I let out a long, slow, relieved breath.
“She was…blank,” Emily continues. “Nothing. No expression. Didn’t answer me. Or say a word. I…I…had to make sure she was even breathing and then I…I…”
“Did they hurt her?”
“No. But…” Emily grazes her fingertips over her cheeks. “She had blood splattered on her face, in her hair, on her nightgown.”
“How’d that happen?”
“She couldn’t tell me. Not that night. But later. Later,” she repeats softly. “She told me. She heard a noise and snuck downstairs.”
