Page 2 of Hell Gate

She ignores me, which is fine by me. The main road ends and after a few turns, the station wagon pulls through a covered bridge onto a wooded road. Tall, skinny pine trees reach high into the air like spindly fingers, connecting the canopy overhead that makes the eerie road dim and shadowed.

An overgrown abandoned cemetery catches my eye. The rusted iron gate declares it as Brim Hills Cemetery, but half the letters are missing.

It reminds me of a Japanese isekai manga I’ve read where the main character dies being hit by a car only to wake up in a different world entirely. The artist loved to use city ruins taken back by nature to contrast the main character’s despair. I ended up enthralled by the story of discovering the hidden truth behind the world the main character was always meant to find. After reading it, I became addicted to isekai stories as my preferred escape from my harsh reality.

The cemetery disappears when we round the bend, then the tires hit a nasty pothole where the paved road is basically gravel. The car bounces and shudders through a turn down a driveway I almost missed.

“We’re here,” Mrs. Talbot announces.

Jumping for joy over here. Everything I take in on the short drive to the girls' home tells me the time I spend stuck here is going to suck. Creepy ass house in the woods? Check. Even more unsettling matching shed peeking out from beyond the house? Check. At least three miles to the nearest sign of civilization? Ding, ding, ding, we have ourselves a winner of a girls' home.

At this rate, I actually wish I could go back to live with the Clarks. Heat pricks my palms and I rub them on my thighs to stop the weird energy. Not now. Keep it together.

A brittle laugh catches in my throat before it can escape into the world. If I’d rather be there, it’s official. I’ve finally lost it.

The car rolls to a stop in front of the three story house that looks like it was built by Wish-brand Quakers. One strong wind and this place could collapse. Weeds, ferns, and sapling sprouts create their own mini forest on either side of a damp mulch path leading up to the house.

“Get your bag and come inside. Don’t dawdle,” Mrs. Talbot orders as she exits the car and bustles away at a clipped pace.

One month. I scan the house again with a dejected frown. Absolute eternity.

Inside, I’m hit with a musty floral scent hanging in the air that I nearly gag on. I clap a hand over my nose and mouth. What is that, two decade old potpourri? Yikes.

Unaffected, she leads me to the second floor, down the narrow hall, then points to a door near the end. I pause in front of it, hiking the duffel bag stuffed with my meager belongings higher on my shoulder.

A piece of masking tape hasLily Sloanescrawled in marker beneath a more permanent black placard with white letters that readsMarie Hawkins. I stopped wishing for those cute little decorative name plaques for my door before I hit ten, but even this is a new low. A burning sensation stirs in my stomach. I rub it, yet it doesn’t soothe the discomfort.

The matron raises her thin eyebrows. “It makes more sense to save resources and use something disposable. You’re almost of age. You won’t be here long.”

Thanks, I don’t say.

She opens the door to an empty room. It’s set up much like a college dorm—two single beds pushed to opposite corners, matching desks, and two nightstands. My new roommate’s side is tidy. There are a couple of posters pinned to the wall.

The sparse side of the room is mine. I dump my duffel on the faded floral quilt and wipe my clammy palms on my legs.

“House rules,” Mrs. Talbot announces.

Oh boy, can’t wait.

I keep my snarky non-enthusiasm to myself, as I do most things. People think I’m quiet and sullen, but I just prefer to play it safe. When I don’t hold back, it’s easier for me to lose my temper and things get away from me. When I lose control…

Well, it’s not pretty.

I slump on the edge of my bed as Mrs. Talbot paces into the room.

“I was—informed of your need to act out,” she begins with a hard glance in my direction.

Translation: she waswarned. I’m used to it. Broken little Lily, desperate for attention. People stopped listening to me and looking for my side of things a long time ago. A wave of uncomfortable heat spreads across my chest. When my expression remains a bland mask, she continues.

“I’ll have you know, I run a tight ship. Attitude and disobedience won’t be tolerated here. You and the other girls are in my care, and I take pride in shaping each of you to the best of my ability during your time here.” She assesses me with the same judgmental once over she gave me in front of the Amtrak station, lingering on the fishnets stretched over my legs. “Though you may not be under my roof long, I expect you to respect the rules here.”

The weight of her stare follows another long pause. Begrudgingly, I mumble, “Ma’am.”

“Good. In this house we wake at six sharp. First up is chores, then breakfast. After that, homeschool lessons.” At the surprised sound that escapes me before I smother it, she turns from pacing to stand before me with her hands propped on her hips importantly. “You don’t have your GED yet, young lady. Your time here is short, but you’ll complete your lessons.”

I cough in response and it seems to appease her. She drones on about lunch after homeschool. In the city, I was in my senior year for the second time, but what’s the point? I’m not going to college. Once I’ve got the boot, I’m on my own.

My plan is to get out of here and find steady work. If I’m lucky, I’ll land something that keeps a roof over my head and food in my belly. Too many kids are turned out onto the street when they age out, expected to fend for themselves with little help from the government funded program that cared for them up to that point in their lives.

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