Layla
I don’t look behind me as I run out of Dalton’s studio. Whatever was in the room with us–I don’t want to see it. The feeling of it watching me—watching us–still drifts over my skin as I grab the banister and slide down the stairs, nearly falling all the way down in my haste to get to Aunt Penny’s room.
I can’t hear myself think over the blaring music. The song plays over, and over, and over, the screeching of the ancient record sending shockwaves through the house.
But I know one thing is true. Dalton isn’t lying. I believe everything he told me. It’s unbelievable, but so is everything that’s happened to me since I arrived at this place, and Dalton has been the only real, tangible thing keeping me grounded.
There has to be a way out of this for both of us.
I yank Penny’s door open and fly into the room.
“It’s
LaylaDeath is cold and empty. It’s silent. It’s lonely.I feel weightless, like I’m being carried. But there’s no sound, no feeling in my body. Just a faint, flashing light.Everyone talks about seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. Follow the light--into death.Whenever people talk of the light they follow into heaven—or in my case, it’s probably hell—I always imagined it would be bright white.Not flashing red and blue like this light.“Come on, darling. That’s it, now. Breathe deep.”Air fills my lungs–cool and rich, and my body explodes back to life. My eyes fly open, the flashing lights of half a dozen police and fire vehicles filling the space all around me, blurring my senses.“Big breath for me now,” Robert Wilson says, one of his hands cupping the back of my head as the other keeps an oxygen mask fast
Julia“It’s… Well, uh–”“Can you imagine it, Julia? The garage will go there, and over here–” He waves his hand to the far side of what looks like it used to be a driveway of some kind, but grass has started spreading through every crack in the concrete. “I’m thinking three, four stories. With a pool, of course.”I cross my arms under my breasts, my heels clacking on the concrete. “I’m not seeing it, Jake.”Jake, my husband, rolls his brown eyes as he turns his back to me and spreads his arms wide. “This is twenty fucking acres, babe. We can’t get this in New Orleans.”“I wanted ocean views.”“Then I’ll cut down some trees, baby. Hell, the Gulf is right out there.” He whirls back to me, giving me that charming, cocky smile that made me fall in love with him three years ago. “I promised I’d build you
BaileyI watch the sun gleam off the roof of my car through the window of the breakroom at the Sunshine Clinic, a little urgent care tucked on a busy corner on the outskirts of New Orleans. I check my watch. It’s nearly 6:00 P.M., which means my shift is almost over, thank God. I roll my shoulders and slouch in the creaky, plastic chair, drumming my fingers on the vinyl table top. Jazzie, a fellow nurse and the clinic manager when the doctors aren’t around, walks into the breakroom looking bored and withdrawn. She opens the fridge and pops open a can of diet soda with a heavy sigh. “It’s hotter than hell.”“At least it’s slow today,” I say, glancing at my watch again. It’s now 5:57 P.M., just three more minutes….“Just go, Bailey. None of the doctors are even here right now.”I glance up at Jazzie as she leans against the counter near the fridge and presses the cold soda can to her temple. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and her hairline is peppered with sweat. “Are
TannerI wipe my brow and look down at the scattered, broken power tools lying at my feet. This is the fourth time this has happened in the past month since we started framing. My guys sometimes keep their tools in one of the old outbuildings that survived the fire that destroyed the main house, but lately some strange stuff has been happening. I look up at Jose, my framer, who’s standing with his arms crossed a few feet away. He gives me a shrug. “You check the cameras?” I ask, motioning to the outbuilding–nothing more than a decaying shed that’s probably as old as my grandparents, who are well into their nineties. “Nothing. Not even a raccoon. And the padlock was still on the door.”I run my tongue along my lower teeth. Shit. I nudge one of the drills with my foot. It’s melted, literally. Like someone threw it into a fire. The yellow plastic is now a charred black, and the rest of the tools aren’t in any better shape. I had cameras installed around the property after the second
BaileyHelen and Robert’s house has always been bright and homey. It smells like roses as I step inside, breathing deeply. Helen’s wallpapered formal living room glistens–spotless and freshly dusted. The kitchen is on the other side of the foyer, as well as a dining room and small washroom. The layout is similar to the old Gregory house. All of the old houses were built like this–every room contained, connected by archways and built around a grand foyer with a sweeping staircase. But comparatively, Helen and Robert’s house is much smaller and cozier, as is their heavily wooded property. Helen pours glasses of sweet tea. “He’s upstairs in bed,” she sighs, sipping from her glass. “He’s still coming off the drugs. I was told he’d be woozy for a day or two.”“Is he on any pain medication?”“He has a nerve blocker in his chest right now. Robert doesn’t do well on the heavy duty pain killers they prescribed. They make him sick to his stomach.”“He might be al lright with something over t
TannerBailey sings to the radio over the sound of the faucet, her hands shielded by pink rubber gloves dotted with white daisies. Rain patters the windows in the kitchen as I set a few dishes down next to the sink, smiling down at my girlfriend. God, she’s beautiful, and I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch to have her here. I came home from the job site today to find her in the kitchen up to her elbows in dinner preparations. Cornbread, mashed potatoes with gravy, breaded pork chops, and creamed spinach. I remember the first time I brought her back to my place. I’d offered to cook her dinner to try to impress her, but I only knew how to make spaghetti with sauce from a jar. So, we ate that, and steak. And the next night, at her old apartment, she made me some type of pasta dish with chicken that had me seeing stars and planning our future together. I count my blessings everyday, and she’s always at the very top of that list. “There’s plenty leftover if you’re still hungry.” She grins a
BaileyThe Wilson house is fairly small, snug, and full of memories. I love old houses like these. Every creak step and notch in the floorboards holds a memory, and for the Wilsons, that’s over three decades of marriage and cohabitation. I run my finger over the squeaky clean mantle above the seldom used fireplace. I’m sure it’s just for show. I can’t imagine needing a fire ever in a state like Louisiana, but I sure do like the idea of cozying up in front of a fireplace and reading a book on a cold, snowy winter night. I chuckle to myself at the thought of snow–having never seen it in real life–and go about my business. I’ve set up a little workstation in the study off the living room, which is nothing more than a desk, a crammed bookshelf, and a large safe that takes up most of the tiny room. Robert likes to hunt and fish, and it shows. I eye the boxes of bullets, thankful they’re covered in years’ worth of dust, as I sit down at the cluttered desk and search for Robert’s file in
TannerJose and the rest of the crew have been sitting around kicking rocks for days. That’s just how things go, but this house has been the bane of my existence all summer. Once we clear this inspection, work can start up again, but it’s taken weeks to even get to this point. I scan the behemoth of a house, finally able to see the shape taking form. It’ll be beautiful when it’s done, sure. I’ll make certain of that. While I’m not a fan of modern homes, I’ll leave my mark on this one as best I can. It’ll be the best damn modern home in all of Hahnville. Storm clouds funnel overhead as I walk around the house, checking the work we’ve done. It’s fully framed now, thank god. I’ve replaced every single fucking tool since we started building the foundation in the spring. Jake is finally off my ass about the schedule. It sounds like his wife is changing her tune about living here, which means he’s more involved in making this a home rather than a shell made of white and gray walls to sel