Praying for Rain (Praying for Rain Trilogy, #1)(47)
Even though the framed photos hanging on the wall above the couch show a family of smiling strangers, I can’t help but picture my mom and my sister the way I found them that day. One passed out and dead to the world, the other …
Before I know it, I’m grasping the sides of the doorframe and kicking the motherfucker in. Wood splinters around the deadbolt as the door swings open violently. I burst into the living room and realize immediately that the place doesn’t smell like cigarette smoke and sour, spilled milk anymore. The walls inside have been painted a light gray as well, and the furniture is simple and clean.
“Hello?” I move more cautiously into the hallway, my heart chugging like a freight train.
When I peek into the first room, my old room, I don’t find a mattress on the floor, surrounded by a collection of flashlights in case the power went out. I find a computer desk and two matching bookcases filled with books.
Lily’s crib was in my mom’s room because the extra bedroom had a padlock on it. She never told me what was in there, but now, the door is wide open.
Adrenaline pushes me forward as my eyes land on a white crib, positioned against the far wall with rays of late afternoon sunlight hitting it sideways from the window. The zoo animals hanging from the mobile watch me approach, holding their breath along with me as I relive that day with every step.
I remember the relief I felt that she’d stopped crying, followed by the realization that her skin wasn’t the right color. That her open eyes were fixed on nothing. That her once-chubby cheeks were sunken, her knuckles raw from incessant chewing.
But when I look into this crib, it’s as if I’m experiencing that day in reverse. First comes the dread and then the relief.
There is no Lily. No death. No failure. Only a fitted sheet covered in pink giraffes and gray elephants and a tiny pillow embroidered with three simple words.
You are loved.
I pick it up and read it again, blinking away the sudden, stinging tears blurring my vision.
You are loved.
I grit my teeth and try to breathe through the pain.
You are loved.
I want to throw the pillow to the ground and stomp on it, but instead, I find myself clutching it to my chest, pressing it as hard as I can against the place that aches the most. I hear the words again, repeated in my mind, and realize that the voice doing the whispering isn’t my own.
It belongs to a different neglected girl. One with sad blue eyes too big for her delicate face. One who found a way to care for me, even when she wasn’t being cared for herself.
One that I just threw back to the wolves.
I might not have been able to save Lily, but I’m not that same scared little boy anymore.
I’m a man now.
A man who lies.
A man who steals.
But a man who will do whatever it takes to protect his girl.
Wes
The energy in town has escalated into a fever pitch of desperation. The parking lot fistfights and burning buildings and rioters smashing car windows and stray dogs snarling over Burger Palace wrappers blur together as I power through the anarchy with my head down. Glancing up only to note how quickly the sun is sinking behind the trees, I walk faster.
I know April 23 won’t technically be here until midnight, but from the looks of this place, I think hell is going to show up ahead of schedule.
As I hustle across the highway, I pass a group of shitfaced good ole boys hanging out on the tailgate of a stranded F-250. They have the doors open, blasting some obnoxious country song from the truck’s CD player. They don’t seem to notice me, but as soon as I get within arm’s reach, one of the fuckers reaches out and grabs my backpack. It all happens so fast. One minute, I have my sights set on the smoking shell of a library across the street, and the next, I have a forty-year-old man on the pavement with my pocketknife pressed against his throat.
His stunned, glassy eyes lift to something over my head as his buddy in the truck yells, “Mikey! Git my rifle!”
Shit.
Backpack in hand, I take off running, disappearing behind a Chevy Suburban just before three bullets pierce the hood and fender. Their laughter fades behind me as I tear past the library. The exterior walls are still intact, but the fire inside has eaten through the roof and is now shooting fifteen feet into the air. A few extremely stoned-looking Franklin Springs citizens have gathered around to watch it burn.
I hope Rain made it through here okay, I think as my feet hit the trail.
If she even went home. Fuck. What if she didn’t go home?
I rack my brain for other places I should search, but nothing comes to mind. Carter’s house is gone. Her friends have all left town, if she even had any. The businesses around here are either boarded up, burned down, or occupied by thugs. She has to be there. She has to.
What the hell do I say to her dad?
“Hi. I’m the guy your daughter was with while you were worried sick about her for the last two and a half days. Sorry about that.”
Maybe he really is deaf. If that’s the case, I won’t have to say anything.
As I jog, I wonder if Rain knows sign language.
I wonder if her mom will be home.
I wonder if she even has a mom anymore.
I don’t slow down, the closer I get. In fact, I pick up the pace as soon as the tree house comes into view, hurdling over the fallen oak where Rain told me she went home this morning.