Page 17 of Ruthless Intent

It’s so weird waking up in my old bedroom. Opening my eyes to the posters on the wall that I put up when I was sixteen is disconcerting. It forces memories to the forefront of my mind that I haven’t thought about in years, and don’t want to think about now. When I came to the house after Dad’s funeral, I didn’t go upstairs. I waited in the living room for my mom to pack some clothes, and then we left. Walking into the bedroom yesterday and seeing that nothing has changed was a shock. I expected to find Mom had cleared out all my stuff and redecorated.

A glance at my phone tells me it’s still early, but I’m wide awake. I’m not someone who likes to stay in bed, so I get up, and creep downstairs as quietly as possible. I don’t want to wake my mom.

I’ll make tea and toast, and then I’ll be ready to face the day. The first thing I want to do is go and visit Jason. I haven’t been to his grave since Dad’s funeral.

I check the weather report, which confirms it’s going to be another nice day, with a slight breeze, so I dress in jeans and a t-shirt, grab a sweater, and my car keys. I’m leaving the house just as Mom walks down the stairs.

“I’m going to see Jason,” I tell her.

She nods. “Ashley …”

I turn, one hand on the door handle. “Yes?”

She gives a small headshake. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you when you get back. Drive safely.”

“I will.”

The cemetery is set on the town limits, and it takes less than twenty minutes to get there. Or it would have if I didn’t stop at a florist to pick up flowers. The woman comments about how she hasn’t seen me around, and we end up having a thirty-minute conversation about how much the town has changed in the past five years.

I don’t think she recognizes me, but it’s hard to say for sure. She doesn’t ask who I’m visiting, or comment about how long it’s been since she’s seen me in town. I don’t recognize her, so I think she must have moved to town after I left.

When I finally arrive at the cemetery, it’s almost ten, and people are arriving at the church across the road for Sunday morning service. I keep my distance and walk through the cemetery gates.

Dad and Jason are buried close to each other at the far end of the cemetery. I spend a few minutes cleaning away the old flowers off Dad’s grave, before arranging the fresh ones. I talk to him while I work, catching him up with what I’ve been doing with my life, then I turn to Jason’s.

Crouching in front of the gravestone, I brush away the fallen leaves balancing on the top with my fingers.

“Hey, Jace. I’m sorry it’s been so long.” I place the vase of flowers down, then settle onto the grass. “It feels so weird being home. Is that how you felt every time you visited your mom, after you moved out and got your own place?”

I draw my legs up and loop my arms around my knees. “I wish you were here.” My laugh is soft. “But if you were, then I wouldn’t be sitting here, would I?” I pluck at the blades of grass surrounding me. “It’s stupid. I’m not that little girl anymore. His threat was nothing more than anger because he thought he wasn’t going to be convicted. He’s not going to come after me. If I really thought that, I wouldn’t have come back home, would I?”

The warm breeze through the trees is my only reply.

He will come back, though. I know that as well as I know my own name. I didn’t need Sondra to confirm it. This is his home as well. His family owns at least a quarter of the town, and he can trace his ancestors back to when it was nothing more than a few wooden shacks offering a place to rest on long rides from one city to the next.

Will he even recognize me? Will we cross paths?

My heart does a weird little jump.

Fear?

I was scared for a long time after he was convicted. I thought that he’d escape and come after me.

When I first heard the news he’d been released, those fears crashed back over me. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to come home. To run back to my mom and hide behind her.

But now? No, I don’t think fear is driving me. I think Scott might have been right when he suggested I needed closure. Why else would I risk coming back to the town that he lives in?

Do I want to see him?

Maybe.

There’s a part of me that wants to confront him. That wants to look him in the eye and ask him if he thinks he truly deserves to be free.

I want to see him through the eyes of an adult, and not as the frightened child I was.

I shift position on the grass, reaching out to trace my fingers over my brother’s name carved in the stone.

“I miss you. Mom says that my memory of you is flawed. Rose-tinted glasses. But I don’t care. You were always there for me. And I fucking miss you, okay?” My voice breaks. “It isn’t fair. You should be here. Your life shouldn’t have ended like that.” My fingers curl into a fist and I grind it into the ground. “It’s not fucking fair!”

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