Read Online Too Close to Home by Maureen Tan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maureen Tan
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While I held my sister, who was now a cold-blooded murderer, in my arms. And wondered what I was supposed to do next.
Katie’s eyes filled with tears, the skin around her nose reddened, and she began sobbing, forcing out words between ragged, gulping breaths. She held her arms out toward our grandmother.
“Don’t be angry, Gran,” she wailed. “Katie’s still your good girl, isn’t she?”
Katie’s plea snapped Gran from her stupor. She took a breath, squared her shoulders, gave her head a quick shake. Suddenly she seemed more focused. Less aged.
“Yes. You’re still my good girl,” Gran said, her voice weary and terribly sad. Then her eyes sought mine. “Get on out of there, Brooke. Let me take care of your sister.”
By now, tears were plugging Katie’s nose and throat, and she was choking, wheezing, panicking again.
As soon as I slid from the van, Gran crawled in. She grabbed Katie’s chin, lifted it, forced Katie to look at her.
“Stop that at once. You’re making your asthma worse.”
Katie, like the good girl she was, hiccupped, sniffled and did as she was told. Gran reached past her to turn off the dome light, then the headlights and plunged us into darkness.
It was still dark when I disposed of Missy’s body in a place many miles away from Camp Cadiz. The only light I had was the emergency flashlight that had been in the glove compartment. I released the brake, then watched as the van disappeared beneath the water. Soon, I told myself, crayfish would strip the flesh from Missy’s body and silt would cover her bones. The secret would be hidden forever.
Most of the flashlight’s remaining life was used up as I tried to assure myself that, come daylight, no hint of my crime would be revealed. Only a dim glow lit my path away from the steep bank of the swampy river basin. So I walked as quickly and far as I could before the light gave out.
Then I was alone. There was no moon and no stars. And dawn was hours away.
I settled beneath a tree whose trunk was as large as a garden shed, whose height I could only guess at in the darkness. I leaned against the tree, the flashlight clutched in my hand, now useless for light and probably equally useless as protection. Gran had taken Grandfather’s gun with her. When I’d dropped her and Katie at the Cherokee Rose, she said she’d hide it somewhere safe. For a moment, I regretted not having the gun now. But I wasn’t all that sure I’d be able to use it. Not after seeing what its bullets had done to Missy.
The night wrapped around me. Not private or comforting, as I’d always found it before, but crawling with unseen terrors. Exhaustion and fear honed my hearing and dulled my ability to think rationally. Every moment that passed was potentially the moment just before Missy escaped her grave and cameafter me with mud-caked fingers, her bloody mouth stretched in a silent scream of revenge.
At daybreak, the forest was once again transformed into a safe and familiar place, and Gran could see well enough to drive. I hiked back to the intersection where she had promised to pick me up with Aunt Lucy’s car.
I climbed into the car, settled wearily into the passenger seat, and no doubt looked as exhausted as I felt. But the emotions I saw on my grandmother’s face—emotions that tightened her lips and narrowed her pale blue eyes—had little to do with my disheveled condition. Mostly, I suspected, her expression reflected frustration and anxiety. Her night blindness had forced her to rely on me to hide a murder that, if revealed, would expose the Underground and destroy the secret network that Gran had protected all her life.
But I knew, even then, that the Black Slough would not easily give up its dead.
“Don’t worry,” I said before she could ask. “It’s all taken care of. No one will ever find her. The Underground is safe.”
My eyes opened to the familiar darkness of my bedroom. For a moment, I lay very still, staring at the luminous
Katie’s eyes filled with tears, the skin around her nose reddened, and she began sobbing, forcing out words between ragged, gulping breaths. She held her arms out toward our grandmother.
“Don’t be angry, Gran,” she wailed. “Katie’s still your good girl, isn’t she?”
Katie’s plea snapped Gran from her stupor. She took a breath, squared her shoulders, gave her head a quick shake. Suddenly she seemed more focused. Less aged.
“Yes. You’re still my good girl,” Gran said, her voice weary and terribly sad. Then her eyes sought mine. “Get on out of there, Brooke. Let me take care of your sister.”
By now, tears were plugging Katie’s nose and throat, and she was choking, wheezing, panicking again.
As soon as I slid from the van, Gran crawled in. She grabbed Katie’s chin, lifted it, forced Katie to look at her.
“Stop that at once. You’re making your asthma worse.”
Katie, like the good girl she was, hiccupped, sniffled and did as she was told. Gran reached past her to turn off the dome light, then the headlights and plunged us into darkness.
It was still dark when I disposed of Missy’s body in a place many miles away from Camp Cadiz. The only light I had was the emergency flashlight that had been in the glove compartment. I released the brake, then watched as the van disappeared beneath the water. Soon, I told myself, crayfish would strip the flesh from Missy’s body and silt would cover her bones. The secret would be hidden forever.
Most of the flashlight’s remaining life was used up as I tried to assure myself that, come daylight, no hint of my crime would be revealed. Only a dim glow lit my path away from the steep bank of the swampy river basin. So I walked as quickly and far as I could before the light gave out.
Then I was alone. There was no moon and no stars. And dawn was hours away.
I settled beneath a tree whose trunk was as large as a garden shed, whose height I could only guess at in the darkness. I leaned against the tree, the flashlight clutched in my hand, now useless for light and probably equally useless as protection. Gran had taken Grandfather’s gun with her. When I’d dropped her and Katie at the Cherokee Rose, she said she’d hide it somewhere safe. For a moment, I regretted not having the gun now. But I wasn’t all that sure I’d be able to use it. Not after seeing what its bullets had done to Missy.
The night wrapped around me. Not private or comforting, as I’d always found it before, but crawling with unseen terrors. Exhaustion and fear honed my hearing and dulled my ability to think rationally. Every moment that passed was potentially the moment just before Missy escaped her grave and cameafter me with mud-caked fingers, her bloody mouth stretched in a silent scream of revenge.
At daybreak, the forest was once again transformed into a safe and familiar place, and Gran could see well enough to drive. I hiked back to the intersection where she had promised to pick me up with Aunt Lucy’s car.
I climbed into the car, settled wearily into the passenger seat, and no doubt looked as exhausted as I felt. But the emotions I saw on my grandmother’s face—emotions that tightened her lips and narrowed her pale blue eyes—had little to do with my disheveled condition. Mostly, I suspected, her expression reflected frustration and anxiety. Her night blindness had forced her to rely on me to hide a murder that, if revealed, would expose the Underground and destroy the secret network that Gran had protected all her life.
But I knew, even then, that the Black Slough would not easily give up its dead.
“Don’t worry,” I said before she could ask. “It’s all taken care of. No one will ever find her. The Underground is safe.”
My eyes opened to the familiar darkness of my bedroom. For a moment, I lay very still, staring at the luminous
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