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I look up now into the eyes of a police officer.“That’s me.”
“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you. The house is under your name.”
“I never got a phone call,” I mutter. My eyes closed. That's because I left my phone when Harper and I ran. I missed the call, but then again, if I didn’t run, I’d be in Texas getting that call. I’d have to suffer the flight back home. This was faster; I was here already.
I turn and look out the window; it’s a cloudless day, perfect and sunny like the day of Peter’s funeral.
Maybe all these stupid and silly decisions have led me right where I needed to be, back in my hometown at the scene of the crime.
Fate is a sick bitch.
“When we couldn’t get a hold of you, we reached out to your brother, Henry. We didn’t know if you were inside when it happened.”
There’s a twisted thought. Did Andrew know Harper and I left Texas and returned home? Did he think/hope I was inside?
“Pull up ahead,” he waves Julian and me through.
“Oh god, Julian,” I whisper.
“I’m here, Pumpkin. You can stay in the car if you need to and take it as slowly as you need. Just tell me what to do.”
“I don’t know,” I declare, feeling like I’m gonna be sick.
Julian nods.“I’ll lead then,” he offers.“I’ll be your crutch; you just hold on, and even when you think you can’t know, I’m here holding you up. I love you.”
I love you, too.I want to say it, but as the car gets closer to my childhood home, words can no longer form on my tongue.
As promised, he parks and gives me a moment. I see a few police cars and a fire marshal SUV along the road. Julian gets out, rounds the car, and opens the door for me. The first thing I notice is the smell. It’s like a bonfire, thick and crisp in the afternoon air.
It’s wrong.
Our house used to emit good smells. Smells of home-cooked dinners when my parents were alive and freshly cooked breakfast when Peter took over. Now it’s just smoky.
I place one shaking foot out of the car and stand. How can someone so shocked and broken stand?
Julian takes my hand, grasping it tightly; his other hand slides around my lower back.
That’s how you stand, with a hero guiding you.
The thing we often forget is that heroes have flaws, too. Yeah, Julian lied; it’s a flaw he’s got to work on. He’s still my hero.
I don’t know if my lungs will fully inhale again, not after what I see in front of me. I had hoped some of the house was still standing, a frame, some furniture. Something.
“There’s nothing left.” My whisper feels like a flag of surrender that was fiercely waved in the middle of battle, but instead of accepting, the other side just blasted bullets right through it.
It’s just a pile of smoking soot.“Where’s the furniture?” I blindly stumble forward.
“Miss! You can’t go there. It’s not safe,” someone shouts.
Julian’s hand tugs me gently back, but he allows me to take a few more hesitant steps. The ground feels warm and sticky under the soles of my shoes.
I grasp my throat.“Where is everything?”
I looked to where the kitchen was.“There should be pots there,” I point.“Pots don’t burn; they withstand an oven. Where are they, Julian?”
Where the fuck is everything!
Is it under the ashes, buried safe?
