Page 128 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

The soup was good. For a few minutes everything felt almost normal. Mom smiling tiredly across the table. Harmony sneaking extra bread. The stack of bills by the microwave we all pretended not to see. The deepening lines in Mom’s face we pretended weren’t getting worse.

Then came the knock.

I froze, spoon halfway to my mouth. Nobody ever came out here. Especially not at this hour.

I glanced at Mom. For a split second, something flickered across her face — worry, maybe fear. She smoothed it away the moment she noticed me watching.

"I'll get it," she said lightly, already rising. She gave us a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

I watched her walk to the door, unease twisting low in my stomach. Something felt wrong.

Mom opened it. At first I saw only darkness and the vague shapes of several figures on the porch. Then my eyes adjusted.

Four men stood there. The one in front was broader, his presence somehow filling the doorway. My stomach tightened before my mind caught up. His gaze slid past Mom and locked directly on me.

He held my eyes for a long second. Every instinct in me screamed danger.

Then he looked away, back to Mom, and I remembered how to breathe.

"Thomas?" Mom said. "What brings you here?"

The big man stepped forward. “Came to settle your husband’s account.”

Mom’s shoulders stiffened. She turned to us with a forced smile.

“Girls, go upstairs. I need to speak with these gentlemen.”

I glanced at Harmony. She didn’t argue. She just grabbed my hand and pulled me from the table. Instead of heading upstairs she tugged me into the shadowed alcove at the bottom of the stairs and pressed us both against the wall. Our breathing sounded too loud in the narrow space.

We stayed hidden, listening.

Mom’s voice carried from the living room. “Thomas, what on earth is going on?”

“Your husband took out a loan three years ago,” the man said. “Full amount was due four weeks ago.”

“There was no loan,” Mom snapped. “I would’ve known.”

A low chuckle. “Oh, there was. 50,000 dollars. Your husband signed for it himself.” Papers rustled. “Recognize the signature?”

Silence.

Then Mom’s voice cracked. “We… we don’t have that kind of money. The farm’s barely hanging on. He never told me—”

“With interest and penalties,” Thomas continued, ignoring her, “you’re at 83,000 now. And it keeps climbing every day you waste my time.”

I didn't fully understand it, but I knew it was bad. I squeezed Harmony’s hand until our fingers hurt.

“Thomas, please.” Mom’s voice broke in a way I’d never heard. “I have two girls. We’ve barely been eating some weeks. Can’t we work out a payment plan? Anything. I’m begging you.”

Another laugh, slow and cold. It crawled over my skin.

“We can work something out,” he said, savoring the words. “I’ll give you four more weeks. But you’re going to need to put something down tonight to buy that time.”

My whole body went cold.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” His tone dropped, becoming intimate and ugly. “Those two pretty little things you sent upstairs. The older one especially. Seems a shame to waste something pretty on a dying farm. I’ll take them as collateral. You get them back when the debt is cleared. In full.”