AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ginger scoffs. “That boy.”
I perk up, sensing incoming gossip.
She delivers. “Jesse Taylor, son of the town doctor, a spoiled misfit with chronic failure-to-launch syndrome. I can’t stand the kid. You heard about that group of teens who tried to break into a jewelry store a few months back? Jesse was the ringleader of the crew. Kid refuses to grow up, enabled by parents who allow him free rein of their fancy, lakefront home and bottomless credit cards.”
“I think I heard about that, the break-in at the jewelry store.”
“I’m sure you did. His parents did nothing and everyone knew about it. His dad, Dr. Harris Taylor, paid off the owners so that they wouldn't press charges. Total enablers, they are. I used to cut his mother’s hair. Janet, her name.”
“Yeah? What’s she like?”
Ginger hesitates. This surprises me.
“Strange. … There is something odd with that family,” she says and I get the vibe she’s holding back.
I don’t press, instead, I zone out as she combs my hair, sending me into a trance-like state.
Forty-five minutes later, I look marginally more like the women on the television. This pleases me. I’ll go all blonde next time, I decide as Ginger packs up her things.
I bid Ginger farewell, watch her sportscar disappear down my driveway, pondering on her comment about the Taylors and their missing son.
There is something odd with that family…
I grab my laptop from the coffee table, sink back onto the couch, and click into the internet browser. In the search box, I type: Jesse Taylor, Vermont.
Multiple news articles pop up, each headlining his sudden disappearance. Each shares the same vague details, except one references the attempted jewelry store heist. After clicking and scrolling for about ten minutes, I find another article. This one buried under several layers of fluff. The article is not about Jesse, but his father, Harris Taylor. It is an interview in the “Get to Know Me” section of the local paper where influential members of Thorncrest society are highlighted for their awesomeness. (Still waiting on that call.)
The back and forth between the journalist and the doctor is painfully boring, until Jesse is brought up. Apparently, at the time of the printing, Jesse had been arrested for fighting. The journalist attempts to fish for details, but Jesse’s father expertly weaves his answer into one that highlights the importance of mental health, instead of discussing his son’s apparent violent tendencies. This was the phrase used by the journalist—violent tendencies.
I pause on the two words, then google the definition.
“A person tending to the use of violence, characterized by an undue use of force, most commonly in a severe, harsh manner.”
Violence. Severe. Harsh.
My mother’s round face smiles back at me from the framed picture on the fireplace mantel. Next to the picture sits a large stone jar that holds her ashes.
I close my eyes, take a deep inhale.
Unfortunately, Marjorie Stone knew the consequences of violent tendencies far too well.
3
Sylvia
Iawake with a start. My eyes snap open. My torso propels forward, popping off the pillow like a Jack-in-the-Box doll. I blink, the wine I’d consumed with Ginger now a ball of haze in my brain. The smell of chemicals in my hair makes my stomach turn.
The room is ice-cold; this is the first thing that registers.
The second thing that registers is: Someone is here.
I look at Shirley, curled in a tiny ball on the armrest, her ears perked as she stares at the front door.
Yes, someone is definitely here.
I look at the clock—2:37 a.m.
A flutter of fear sweeps through my body. Who would be visiting me at 2:30 in the morning? … Or is “visit” even the right word? Is someone about to break into my home?
