Page 8 of Escaping Our Reality

“I’m not for sure, but I think it is. She never let me ride out there with her, but I saw receipts in her vehicle from gas and stuff. Whenever I asked her about it, she always made up a different excuse of why she went out there.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wooden slats of the chair. “I don’t see how I could’ve missed all this.” It’s Caleb’s turn to comfort me now. He reaches over and gives my knee a reassuring squeeze.

“I know you hate it when I talk about you being young, but it’s the truth, Ella. You were what, one month away from turning sixteen when she had her surgery? You were a kid. You’re not supposed to watch over your older sister. That’s what parents are for. It’s just shitty luck that you have a mom who’s more interested in the next piece of jewelry she can buy, and a dad who’s more interested in the next piece of cunt he can screw.” Caleb doesn’t hide the utter disgust in his voice. He’s always been protective of Carrie and me, and I’ve always loved him for that.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about this, Caleb? Why not tell me or Detective Marcum, at least. He needs to bring Catie, Hannah, and Dakota in. He needs to question them.”

Caleb chuckles cynically. “He’ll never get anything from them. They’ll deny everything. They don’t wanna be known as the crack whores they really are.”

“But still, why not tell Marcum about Carrie’s addiction?”

“You know what happens when people find out that the missing person they’re looking for is a drug addict. They stop looking. It’s automatically assumed that they went away on some bender. That they just walked away from life becausethey wanted to. You think Carrie’s face would’ve been plastered across every news outlet in America if they knew she popped pills like they came out of a PEZ dispenser? Hell no! My girl would’ve been tossed to the back page of the newspaper. Keeping this secret is the only way I can make sure that every single person in the lower forty-eight knows what Caroline Hill looks like.”

I chew my bottom lip. He’s got a point. Not that I agree with it, but it’s probably true.

He lowers his head between his hands. “We were kids too. Me and Carrie. I thought I could do it alone. I thought I could save her just by loving her. She’s the love of my life. Still is. But there’s no way I can compete with addiction.”

Chapter 5

ELLA

Friday night.

Friday night and I’m back in my car outside of the gas station.

I played my life with Carrie over and over on a loop in my scattered brain all last night and all day today. I googled the symptoms of prescription addiction. I pinpointed every time she acted euphoric. Every time she acted depressed. Every time she was sick with a headache or nausea. I focused on every time she dozed off for a nap during the day. I thought about every time she rubbed or touched her face. I fixated on every all-nighter she pulled to study for a test. I concentrated on the ten pounds she lost in the last few months before she disappeared.

I should have paid more attention.

I failed my sister.

I’m a fucking failure.

I debated telling Marcum what I found out. It would be so easy. Easy to pass the buck. Easy to pass the responsibility. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I’m stubborn. And I’m foolish. Like a mouse eating food from a mousetrap. I ignore the risk for the reward.

I’m not sure this situation has a reward… but I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

The dollar store and fast-food restaurant are busy tonight. The gas station too. I watch as the light inside the garage next door turns off. A few minutes later, an old truck drives awayfrom the back door. Grabbing my wristlet, I zip my phone into the middle pocket and head into my destiny.

***

I take a deep breath and straighten my spine the second I see him walking over to my table. Lifting my chin in the air, I study him. His hair is covered with a red ballcap, and he scratches at a scab on the side of his nose. His face is a contradiction. Swollen, yet gaunt.

A new cashier just came in so he must be off duty now. Sliding into the opposite side of my booth, he picks up a piece of chicken I didn’t eat and pops it into his mouth. “So, you wanna tell me why you’ve been parked in my gas station, watching me for the past two hours?” He waggles his eyebrows. “You like what you see?”

Like what I see? I’d be more turned on watching a colonoscopy. “Your gas station? You own it?”

He laughs, rubbing his tongue across his stained teeth. He pulls a cigarette from the pocket of his shirt and twists it around in his hand. “Nah, who wants all that pressure. I just work here.”

“You mean you work here and sell here.” I can’t believe I just said that. My heart feels like it’s being powered by a stampede of wild mustangs.

His eyes narrow and he looks me up and down, slowly, like an oscillating fan moving back and forth. “What do you think you know about it? You work for the police?”

“No.”

“You know if I ask you, you have to tell me the truth. Police entrapment and all that.”

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