Page 43 of Unexpected

“Hey, I’m right there with you. We’ll get her through this. Her family’s out of town, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, they’re in Nashville. I’m going to try to talk to her tonight and see what she’s thinking.”

Josh finished his beer and immediately yawned. My little brother was looking older by the day. The circles under his eyes were darker than usual, and he looked altogether worn down.

“You doing okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great. Just lots going on between work and Zach.”

My nephew was nearly five going on fifty if you asked me. The kid was wise beyond his years and sweet as hell, which was surprising since his dad was, well, my brother and his mom was. . . his mom.

When Josh and his ex-girlfriend, Samantha, began dating six years earlier, he told me it was just a fling. They were casually dating until she found out she was pregnant a few months in.

Sam made life shit for Josh. She always held Zach over his head—nothing was ever good enough. And he always gave her however much money she needed. When it got to be too much—rent, child support, work—he moved in with me. I never charged him rent as long as he saved and saw his kid as much as he could.

“She still giving you shit?”

He laughed. “Always, bro. But Zach’s fifth birthday is coming up, and I was hoping to throw his birthday party here, if that’s okay?”

“Absolutely. Whatever you want to do. I’ll bring the cake.”

He smiled, although it didn’t seem entirely genuine. I’m not sure I had seen a genuine smile from him since everything happened with our parents. He became good at putting on a front, but that’s all it was—his cheery and lively personality was a front for all the pain, and it was his way of dealing with the fucking trauma. He made jokes and made everyone else feel great while my coping mechanism became beating the shit out of people. We made it work.

He patted me on the arm and hiked his thumb over his shoulder. “I gotta get ready for work but let me know if you need any help with Hazel.”

“Hey,” I asked before he could leave the room, remembering something he had told me the other day. “Did you ever find your phone?” Guy was always losing his phone, but usually it would turn up in a random spot at the bar or somewhere around the house.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Nah, must’ve fallen out when I was at work or something. Halloween was a fucking crazy night, so I couldn’t find it at the bar. But I got a new one. Same number and all that.”

“Okay, cool. And thanks for hanging out with her today.”

He shrugged. “Not a problem. She’s good company.”

Yes, she was.

The house was dark, and I swore I could smell the tangy, metallic odorof blood when I walked in the door. The door was unlocked, the house was dark, and I smelled blood. All bad signs, but I continued through the hallway into the living room.

The coffee table was overturned in the middle of the room. The books my mom kept there were discarded beside it, along with the empty beer bottles my dad had most likely collected throughout the day.

Where was Josh?

Dad’s recliner was tipped back and that’s the first place I found blood. The tan arm of his chair that was dirty from years of sweat was now smeared with blood. But who’s blood?

Where was Josh? Where was Mom?

I wanted to call out to them, but fear kept me quiet. Fear had me tiptoeing around the contents of the side table that usually stood by Dad’s chair. Picture frames were shattered, and his house shoes were there and so was the remote.

The kitchen appeared the same as it was the day before when I left for the night. I shouldn’t have left for the night, but there was a party, and I told my parents I was going to spend the night at a friend’s house. I woke up that afternoon still drunk from the night before and left for home only after I shoveled down a cheeseburger and some fries. I could still taste the grease on my tongue.

Through the kitchen and around the corner was the hallway that contained all the bedrooms and the guest bathroom that Josh and I shared. The smell of blood became stronger the deeper I went into the house.

I bypassed our bedrooms and instead paused at my parents’ bedroom door. I waited for a moment and stared at it. More blood covered the brass doorknob and was smudged around it.

They were in there. Behind the bedroom door, covered in blood, were my parents, maybe my brother. I knew it with my entire being as the hallway spun and my fear turned into terror, which turned into absolute horror when I finally found the strength to push open the door. I didn’t touch the knob or the blood. My mother’s blood.

I lurched myself out of the dream and in a state of semiconsciousness, I peered around the living room to gather myself.

It was the same dream I’d had since it happened: I’d walk into the house and make it to the bedroom door. I would always wake myself up before I saw what was inside, though. I think it was a tiny portion of my brain trying to protect me from seeing the scene once again.

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