Page 26 of Evil Hearts

Chapter Two

“ Y ou look like shit, Sis.” Cameron flips one of what he refers to as his world-famous pancakes in the pan.

I wouldn’t call them famous, but they are unmatched in comparison. I, however, am privileged to know his secret. He uses a pre-made muffin mix.

I stick my tongue out at him and my nieces, Gracie Marie and Heather Jo, giggle.

“Is there something you want to tell your auntie?” he prompts the rambunctious pair.

“Happy death day,” they mumble, followed by mischievous smirks.

“Girls,” Cameron snaps.

“It’s fine. The girls are just teasing me.” They aren’t aware of the past. All they have been told is that their grandparents passed away. Not that it was my fault, or that they were murdered.

“Can I get my breakfast to go?”

“Sure.” He packs me two pancakes smothered in whip cream, strawberries and syrup into one of the girls’ bento boxes they use for lunch. “Happy twenty-first, little sister.” he pulls me in for a hug and presses his lips to my forehead like our dad used to do. The affection is welcome and heartbreaking. He stares at me an extra beat. “Be here for dinner?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. We invited Barry.”

I make the motion of sticking my finger down my throat while making a gagging sound.

“This is where they get that shit from.” He sighs. “Barry’s nice.”

“He’s not my type.”

“Is anyone?”

I shrug. “I’m sure there’s someone. I just can’t think of them right now.”

The girls laugh again, and I kiss the tops of their heads. “Take it easy on your dad. I think I see some gray hairs.”

Cam runs to the mirror in the dining room to check. He makes it too easy.

“I’ll see you later.”

Outside, away from prying eyes and ears, I drop the happy facade. Today isn’t a day that should be celebrated. My brother is right about one thing, though. Not Barry, but I need to do something with my life. I can’t expect him and Jacalyn to allow me to live with them forever.

Sure, they get a free live-in babysitter out of the deal, but there’s gotta be more to my life. I trudge down the sidewalk to my inherited from my brother clunker of a VW Beetle that has lived three lifetimes before me and pray she starts.

I toss my breakfast in the passenger seat and go where I always go on this day.

The cemetery is devoid of the living, other than me and some birds hanging out on a nearby tree. I walk the familiar worn path, taking my time, observing some of my favorite statues. Cam calls me morbid because I love the macabre and gothic. Says I’m obsessed with death. I wouldn’t call it an obsession, but I’ve always been drawn to the dark and the mysterious.

The supernatural.

My favorite books and shows have always been those about other worldly creatures. Things that go bump in the night and suck your blood. Shadows who haunt your dreams.

Part of me believes that I’m the one who should be lying here. Cold and in the ground. But they would rather it was them. That much I understand. My parents loved me and Cam more than life. They would’ve absolutely been wild about the twins. They were two when it happened. Now they’re seven.

I’ve been coming here for five years.

Five years of tears.

Five years without them.

I approach the mausoleum where they sleep eternally. One day I’ll join them, as will Cam and his family.

Using my key, I unlock the gate and enter. Taking a seat on the bench, I pick at the fraying denim that frames the holes in my jeans. Uneasiness settles in my gut. I stare at the names etched in the stone slabs, noting that mine has been added along with my birthdate and my death date.

Chills fan down my spine.

It says I died today.

Is this some sort of cruel joke?

Cam used to love pranking me when I was a kid, but would he do something this sick?

It’s got to be a mistake.

Replaying the morning in my mind, I get stuck on one detail. My nieces told me happy death day, not birthday. I swallow the orange sized lump lodged in my throat and touch the scars on my left wrist. The ones from where I attempted my life on my eighteenth birthday.

Tears burn in the creases of my eyes as the scars reopen like fresh cuts.

I wanted to die, but now I want to live as the shadows from my dreams close around me.

“Come to me, little wolf.”

Blood trickles down my arm and I suddenly grow sleepy.