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Her
I take Brent’s car and head out of Portland before day breaks.
It’s an easy drive tainted by the itch of paranoia. I stalk my rear-view mirror and pull over numerous times to make sure I’m not surrounded by the same cars. I also drive below the speed limit in an attempt to stay off the radar of any highway patrols.
Once I reach the outskirts of Seattle, I start to relax, and autopilot kicks in. I don’t think about where I’m going until I’m in a familiar neighborhood, passing memories with each block.
Nostalgia tickles my senses as I slow through my old stomping ground. My elementary school looks the same, the brick building barely having aged over time. There’s the track field I ran on. The mall I used to hang out at with my friends. My kindergarten teacher’s house.
They all seem the same, and for a moment I feel the same, too.
The past engulfs me, returning me to another life where I was a different person. Back to the days when my only concerns were good grades and which party I would go to on the weekend.
I continue through traffic lights and streets, not stopping until I’m staring up at the thick metal gates which block my view from the prestigious property my family used to own.
It isn’t the same vertical wrought-iron design my father installed. They’ve been replaced with horizontal ivory slats that attempt to cut me off from my childhood, but I still remember.
I can’t forget how my sister told me to climb the property wall if I ever wanted to sneak out at night. I remember the smell of wisteria that lingered in the breeze every spring. I remember how my brother would run down the hall early each morning, waking me up with his enthusiasm to start the day.
I remember it all as if it were yesterday, even when it sometimes feels like a conjured fantasy. I want to get out and touch those walls that once encased a wealth of happiness, to peek into a yard which created laughter. But I can’t.
I need to be careful. I won’t risk being seen by people from my past. Not when they could drag my focus away from my goals with greater efficiency than Hunter already has.
I’ve started craving comfort again. Even the slightest human interaction. After a few brief encounters with a man I barely know, I’ve become foolishly charmed by the possibility of more.
Disco
Leaving them behind was necessary for focus. I couldn’t second-guess my end-game or the steps it would take to get there. I've become strong and determined with the sterility. I have no distractions.
The only things that matter are my parents and siblings, and the building fire they created inside me. They stoked the flames of retribution. That is why I am here. I need them to remind me of the promise I made ten years ago.
Them and only them.
I start the engine and continue along the road, passing the place where I fell off my bike and broke my arm, and the corner where I had my first kiss. After a quick detour for cheap takeout, I drive to the next suburb, toward the people I cherish most and love even more.
As I approach, remorse mixes with the digesting hamburger and fries now seated in my stomach. I’ve neglected my family for too long, and there’s no excuse.
I approach another set of gates, these not quite as ostentatious as the last. They don’t fit my mother’s demand for flamboyance, or my father’s appreciation for security. But the rich grass is immaculate, and I know Mom would love the scent of approaching rain in the air.
I pull over and climb out to face the devastating reunion. I keep my head low and try to ignore the uncomfortable scratching sensation at the back of my neck as I pass the first row of graves, then another, and another. I stop when I reach the seventh, and that hamburger threatens to make a comeback at the sight of the four identically shaped headstones standing before me, each with different text.
Stanley Carmichael. Emma Carmichael. Stephanie Carmichael. Thomas Carmichael.
I raise my chin, paste on a smile, and pretend I’ve got this.
“Hey, Mom. Dad.” I scan the cemetery to make sure I don’t have an audience to my one-sided conversation. Apart from a gray-haired woman yards and yards away, I’m alone. Like usual. I should be used to that by now.
“Sis. Baby Tom.” My younger brother hated that nickname. He didn’t like being seen as little or small. I’d only taunt him because it gave us the opportunity to tussle.
God, I miss tussling with him.
I kneel before them, my heart so heavy each beat feels certain to be my last. This is where I belong. Well, not exactly here. A few feet to the left, in the reserved space beside my brother. “I fucked up.”
I swallow as a whisper of a chastisement brushes my mind. I hear their words, their voices, or maybe it’s the approach of psychosis. I guess I’ll find out sooner or later.
“I messed up bigtime.” I stretch out along the grass and turn onto my back. I lie between them, my mom to my left, my dad to my right, as I blink up at the heavy clouds and let the chill of the ground seep through my coat. “I killed someone in my search to find Jacob.”
Silence presses down on me, blanketing me in loneliness. It becomes hard to think. To breathe. To live. “I took his life, and now I know it’s a race against time before karma catches up with me.”
More whispered words fill my mind. Words of comfort and support. I have to believe it’s them. I need to convince myself they’re here, listening.
“The funeral is tomorrow.” Dan will be laid to rest. His family will crumple, his friends will sob, and I have to accept the guilt.
My heart freezes beneath tightening ribs. I glance over my shoulder to my family, who have been reduced to stones amongst lush grass, and swallow through overwhelming dread. “I’ve become Jacob. I’ve done exactly what he did. And I don’t know how to forgive myself.”
Silence.
There are no comforting messages this time. I can’t hear them. I can’t feel them.
The bitter cold of loneliness digs deeper, and I curl into the fetal position, letting the frigidity take over. My stomach tumbles. Roll after roll of building self-loathing.
This is what I need to focus. I can’t forget what I’m fighting for, what my goal is.
I close my eyes and focus on the image of Jacob in my mind. Young, blond, athletic.
I’d give anything to make him suffer. To restrain him the same way he did my family, and set his house on fire. I’d watch those flames melt his skin, and I wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse. I’d hear his screams, and I would smile. And he would scream. I know he would, just like I know my family did as they burned to death.
Bile launches up my throat.
I can’t go back there. Not that far. It’s too hard to leave.
I squeeze my lids tight and focus on relaxing. I have to calm myself. Think positive thoughts. I picture each muscle, one at a time, willing them to loosen. Toes. Calves. Thighs.
This is why I rarely return to Seattle. It took all my energy to commit to the future and not dwell in the torment of my past. Years dragged before I could break the habit of spending days in bed, cuddling my pillow as I sobbed with the need to wake up from this nightmare.
Relax. Hips. Stomach. Chest.
But I’d been so naive with Jacob. Entirely i