Page 9 of The Beautiful Dead

Hollow Pines Care Home emerged through the misty drizzle. The massive, white building loomed in the darkness, its long, barred windows staring blankly ahead. The place reminded me of an old asylum, the kind of institution people whispered about but never acknowledged. We passed the front, heading for the back entrance as per Brielle’s instructions. The ornate main doors weren’t equipped for patients arriving in hospital beds like Mom, but what she called the servants’ entrance was.

Arti turned and reversed us toward the back entrance, shut the engine off, and rolled his neck before running his fingers through his hair. The double doors behind us swung open,revealing two figures silhouetted against the harsh light that spilled out from the home.

Brielle and Brock, I assumed. Having never met them, I had no clue what or who I was looking for. No childhood photos. No family visits. Nothing. With a sigh, I slung my bag over my shoulder and climbed out just as Arti did.

“Get the doors for me, kid.”

His dismissive tone grated my nerves, but I moved to unlock the ambulance doors and shoved back one heavy lever at a time. The two nurses who’d accompanied us stiffened at the gust of cold air, scurrying to tuck extra blankets around Mom’s fragile frame.

The rain slicked my hoodie, soaking through the material in seconds as I yanked out the running boards from beneath the ambulance. The metal groaned under my grip, the chill biting at my fingers as I lowered them to the ground, the gravel crunching beneath my feet as I worked.

The pitchy, feminine laugh that cut through the night had me glancing over my shoulder to see what was going on. Brielle stood too close to Arti, a manicured hand resting lightly on his arm as they lost themselves in conversation.

But it wasn’t her that held my attention. It was him, the broad, silent figure standing just off to the side—Brock. His stance was rigid, hands clenched at his sides, his stare locked onto me with the kind of hostility that burned cold against my skin.

I didn’t know the guy from Adam, but judging by the way he was looking at me, he sure as hell had already made up his mind about me. Most people would’ve been unsettled. Maybe even intimidated.

I just didn’t give a shit and let it roll off my back.

It was already clear—this wasn’t going to be anything like the picture Brielle had painted over the phone. That the family whohadn’t known I’d existed were excited to get to know me and welcome my mom back into the fold. It had sounded too good to be true when the words had left her lips, but now? Reality proved they were just a pretty picture she’d wanted to paint to get me here.

The question was why?

Growing up, Mom never talked much about her family. She never fit in, she’d said. And I was better off not knowing them. But she’d also mentioned—vaguely—that if we ever needed help, there was a seventy percent chance they’d be there for us.

“It’ss w-worth a…ssshot.”

Her words echoed in my head, slightly slurred from her first, smaller stroke. Seventy percent weren’t great odds, but it was better than nothing. And now I was all out of options, with no savings left and her insurance drained. It wasn’t like I had anyone else I could ask for help.

It had been just me and mom growing up. Dad died on active duty when I was two, but beyond that, he was a ghost. There were no photos, medals, or even letters from him for me to read to get to know him.

No proof he’d ever really existed.

Not that it mattered. Even my own mother struggled to understand me. So why would a bunch of strangers parading as my family be any different?

I was better off alone. I’d always known that.

The nurses maneuvered Mom’s bed down the ramps, their hurried footsteps echoing across the bricked driveway as they wheeled her inside. The open doors spilled warm light onto the rain-slicked ground, a stark contrast to the cold seeping into my bones. Water dripped from my hair, rolling down my face as I shoved the ramps back into place and slammed the ambulance doors shut.

My hoodie clung to me, heavy with rain, as I trudged toward the entrance. One of the double doors had already swung closed, but before I could step inside, Brielle blocked my path.

Her expression was unreadable at first, but her pale blue eyes were frigid—empty of the warmth I’d expected.

“What are you doing?” Her tone matched the ice in her gaze.

I hesitated. Why did it suddenly feel like I was trespassing?

“I just…” I cleared my dry throat. “I wanted to make sure Mom was settled in, and?—”

“Angelica is fine,” she cut in with a clipped voice. “Arti and the nurses will take care of that.”

“Okay, but can I?—”

“No.” The word was a slap.

She braced her arm against the doorway, leaning in just enough to make her point clear.

“You need to find somewhere to stay.”

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