Page 9

C hapter 9

Grey

“I don’t think I can keep going much more.” Naya’s beautifully soft-spoken voice sounds ahead of me, slightly panting, with exhaustion draping over every word.

With feet aching and my back muscle protesting from the strain, an all too-consuming agony lingers in every nook of my body. Naya walks ahead of me, just as tired, with her shoulders slumped forward and feet dragging behind as we finally reach the edge of the city. We’ve been heading toward it for hours—a nearly impossible task. Ten agonizing hours, to be exact, with many breaks, but here we are.

”Not much longer now,” I tell her, out of breath.

The closer we come, the more it feels as if spidery legs crawl inside my body, doing everything in their power to creep me out. And they’re succeeding. My head throbs, and my palms are sweaty as I hold on to the strap of the bag, needing to rest my back for just a few minutes.

My feet pound against the asphalt on the desolated road, the forest thinning and the roads more evident with each step. As more houses begin to dot the side of the road, the city’s presence looms closer. Each movement feels like a needle stabbing my heart, pumping poison into my veins. Anticipation and dread mix into an unbearable cocktail of anxiety.

Naya knows something is up; I noticed that the first time Daxton and I were in the car, our body language portraying our hesitation. But I cannot bring myself to speak about the awaiting horrors, even if I know this is the only way. Someone left that note; someone knows where we are, and that puts our lives in danger. I cannot risk that—not again.

My forehead is damp with sweat, and I’m on the verge of giving up when I spot the train tracks hidden between the bushes. It’s overgrown with trees obscuring the way, while weeds wind around the rusty rails lying on the ground. As I lay eyes on it, a spear pierces my heart with unrelenting speed, freezing me in place. I stop Naya, nodding toward the abandoned train tracks.

I need to breathe deeply to suppress the memories clinging to me like poisonous snakes, destroying me from the inside with their bite.

I push thorny branches aside so we can get past the tracks, which have been out of traffic and abandoned since before I was even born.

“What is this place?” Naya whispers close to me, apprehension tingling in her voice.

I remain silent, taking a step forward. Words churn in my mind, but I know speaking now will only unleash a storm of regrets. My nerves are too out of control, tension radiating off me in tangible waves.

I let my gaze sweep over the thick tree next to the rail, its bark marred with carved letters. Anger simmers within me.

“C + G,” the letters taunt, a cruel reminder of the brother I lost. My gaze locks on the tree, rooted in place, and I’m unable to move. Naya eventually notices my fixation and approaches it, her presence a silent shadow in a world covered by vegetation.

Seeing her so close to that tree brings on emotions that make me want to lash out; I cannot explain what it is, but it brings me discomfort unlike any other. Her fingers trace the carved initials with a familiarity that feels like an intrusion, igniting a tumult within me. The way she inspects them, as if she has the right to do so, drives me to the edge. Damn it, I’m going crazy. I knew coming back here was a mistake.

“Grey...” Her voice breaks the tense silence, mismatched eyes locking with mine in an intense gaze that does nothing to calm me down.

It’s as if Naya has become the embodiment of all those things as she touches her hand against the tree me and my brother used to play by, carving our initials as a promise never to let each other go.

“Get away from there,” I manage through gritted teeth, emotions irrational.

To the left, cobbled stones are obscured by weeds. A weather-beaten sign looms ahead, the wood covered in splinters. It looks as if it has hung there for years without maintenance.

“PRIVATE. KEEP OUT.”

The words are written in a handwriting that is old-fashioned yet still readable, and I hear Naya’s breath hitch as she notices it. I know there are questions on the tip of her tongue, but I’m glad she’s keeping her mouth shut.

I cannot handle anyone talking to me at the moment. It’s all too fucking much.

An abandoned house emerges on the overgrown lawn. Broken windows and storm-battered trees lean against its walls. Peeling paint and a rusty, sagging gate greet us. I inhale deeply, but it comes out as a shaky breath.

Naya’s hand carefully finds mine, and I resist the urge to pull away. Instead, I squeeze her hand.

The roof shows signs of collapse, but it still feels stable enough to sleep under.

Naya leans her head against my shoulder, her silence speaking volumes as she surveys the yard and the wild vegetation. The gate stands open, untouched in the years I’ve been absent. A tattered strip of police tape flaps in the wind on the door.

“Crime Scene. Do Not Cross.”

Confusion clouds her features as she hesitates, eyebrows furrowed, yet her hand is still on that fucking tree.

“Step away from the tree, Naya,” I repeat, my voice a warning tinged with urgency.

She casts one last look at me before stepping away, coming closer to me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I force out, attempting to breathe through my nose.

Her touch on my arm is usually a comfort, but now it feels like an anchor dragging me into turbulent waters with motors ready to slice me open. “Don’t touch me,” I snap, indifference lacing my words as she steps back, confusion plastered all over her face.

I can’t bear the closeness—the contact. Not now, when it feels as if my world is about to be turned upside down.

Regaining composure, I fist my hair in my hands and pull harshly. “Just a few more minutes.”

She nods in response, keeping her distance as we navigate the abandoned train tracks

No one has been here since the incident. The police gave up the investigation when I openly admitted to the crime, ultimately sending me to a psych evaluation.

My pulse thrums in my ears, and my skin feels too tight, crawling with unease. Weed sways like crimson dancers, concealing what I inevitably must confront. I don’t fully understand my compulsion, only that I need to relive the scene where it all happened.

A memory hits me, punching me so hard in the gut, I fall to my knees, an agonizing headache splitting my head in two.

Apprehension thrums through my veins as I head past the withered train tracks, slithering their way far ahead and into the woods beyond. They’re abandoned, close to the three story building where I used to live.

Sweat beads on my forehead as I take another step, turning as I spot the house emerging before my eyes. It’s as if every cell in my body screams at me to run as far away from here as possible, the desperation to get away crawling under my skin like flesh-eating insects.

My muscles tighten with each step, resisting the urge to move closer, but I push through it, swallowing the nausea welling up.

I have to do this.

I need to do this.

They’ve forsaken us too many times.

Shifting uneasily, I glance down at my phone, its screen lit up with a message from my dad—the fatherly figure that he is. The same dad who hasn’t reached out in months, not since we were once again thrown into foster care.

I clench my fists, breathing through my nose, yet it does nothing to soothe me. Being thrown out at nine and abandoned at the threshold of an orphanage left its scars. When we thought we’d finally found stability away from our parent’s turmoil, they dragged us back to their home, only to discard us again. Repeatedly.

For the past two weeks, Cody and I have been living on the streets. Our so-called parents got us thrown out of the orphanage and forced us to stay with them. We escaped, of course, but I had to leave my car behind. It’s been rotting away in their yard, denying us shelter from the hardened, chilly street.

Glancing at the manor, the trees whistle in the breeze, yet something feels off. I check my phone again, hands slightly trembling. Maybe I regret coming here after all.

“Cody is here. Please come back. I’m sorry for everything.”

That manipulative bastard.

I bite down on my tongue to keep from screaming. The fear of abandonment has always haunted me. My parents did nothing to ease that worry—they only made it worse. I should want nothing to do with them, yet the moment they apologize, I come crawling back like a wounded little puppy, forever seeking the approval of his bastard father.

I hate myself for it. I wish I could tear that sense of longing for family from my chest. Up until now, it’s only ever been me and my brother.

Taking another step toward the house, a sense of unease washes over me again. It’s unnervingly quiet, unusually still for midday, especially in a house that’s always bustling with activity. Bile rises in my throat as hesitation taints every step.

And then, I see it.

The first thing I lay eyes on is my car with its black paint scratched on the side from all the times I’ve crashed into things. Both for fun, and while drunk driving. I never got a driver’s license, but no one here pays any mind to the civilians.

Birds squawk in the distance, a crow cawing somewhere—a bad omen coming closer as I approach the massive building. The doors of my car stand wide open, and a heavy feeling settles in my gut, not ready to confront whatever is going on.

Is that why my dad texted me? Has he fucked up my car, my only safety in a world that failed me?

Then I see the blood, smeared upon the grass as if it were freshly spilled. My heart beats erratically, and I choke back the rising wave of dread. Dark streaks of blood stand stark against the green grass, leading right up to the car, its windows speckled with the crimson liquid.

The unmistakable metallic smell wafts through the air, mingling with the damp earth. Everything is eerily still—too still, and it only amplifies the horror rooting itself deep inside me. I glance down, noticing red droplets now dusting my white, albeit dirty, shoes, stained from the dark, glistening grass. That is not even the worst of it. What’s worse is my dad’s phone, the screen cracked into pieces, lying amidst a pool of blood under the open car door.

A hand hangs limp outside the open door, connected to a body slumped in the front seat by the wheel. I don’t react; I merely run toward the car with my heart in my throat, fearing the absolute worst. I already understand what I’m going to see.

A whimper I did not think I could utter tears its way from my hoarse throat, and I stare into the vacant eyes of my father, lifeless and unseeing. Those cold eyes are staring at me, but now it’s not because of contempt—there are no emotions left in him, just the emptiness of death. I force my gaze to shift to the female figure beside him. My mother is equally lifeless, face once twisted with bitterness toward the two sons she despised now frozen in stillness.

It’s too much blood; I think I might puke.

“G-Grey,” a voice stutters from behind me, and I whip around.

“What have you done?” I scream at him, not knowing what I feel—sadness, relief?

They’re dead—it’s over, and they won’t hurt me anymore.

I should’ve been the one to kill them for all they did to us.

Cody stands before me, a knife glinting in his trembling hands, crimson splattered all over his face. Killing with a knife is personal, and these deaths were woven into that of revenge.

His eyes are wild open, betraying the aftermath of the shock he must feel. His expression falls into that of a crazed one, rapidly switching between looking at me and the car.

The thoughts overwhelm all rational sense.

They’re dead—they left me and abandoned me. I should have come sooner.

“W-we were fighting. Things e-escalated.”

“You think?” I roar, and he flinches, looking back at the corpses of our parents—it’s as if he can’t believe they’re truly gone.

God, do I hate them. They were shitty parents, but fuck, why does it hurt so much?

Anguish claws at my heart, reality crashing into jagged fragments of a broken mirror that won’t mend. The sensation feels like a punch to my gut, leaving me hollow inside.

Rage replaces grief, burning hot and fierce within my soul. How dare they leave me? How fucking dare they do this to us, ruining our childhood, and leaving us before they could make amends?

My head spins, the hollowness taking over me once again. Another second pass, Cody merely staring at me, his hands trembling so badly that he drops the knife to the sodden earth.

Sirens wail in the distance, blaring as it comes ever closer.

“How?” I grit out.

His face pales, losing all its color. “Mom managed to call them before...before I...”

I swallow, cursing this entire damned situation and my stupid fucking brother.

I look at him as the sirens piercing the air draw nearer, their urgency matching the pounding of my heart.

“Run,” I tell him.

He stares at me, eyebrows drawn, as if unable to comprehend my words. “What?”

“Fucking run!”

He doesn’t hesitate before he bolts, never looking back. I reach down and pick up the knife, unable to conceal the trembling of my entire body.

Seconds later, the sirens blare right outside our house. I fall to my knees as the world tilts upside down.

My hands are cuffed tightly behind my back by one of many officers who doesn’t even ask me any questions.

I realize that nothing will ever be the same again.