Page 38 of Where He Ended

- Chapter 15 -

Laiken

For six years, I dreamedof this day.

In my head it didn't happen like this. I pictured being swept into my parents' arms as they alternated between crying, and comforting me for being so strong. Kara would be here, so would Dean, and it would be the start of our happy ending.

I get none of that. Instead I'm walking over the same ground where I grew up - with Dominic, of all people. But I don't care. I'm too lit up from the inside of my heart to care about thereasonI'm here.

Just that Iamhere.

I'm home.

The cabin is coated in layers of leaves. Moss has grown over some of the posts that are buried in the earth. Several old bird nests cluster under the roof's overhang. The longer I stare, the more evidence of age I see. No one has been here to take care of this place.

“Nature hasn't been kind,” Dominic mumbles.

Gathering myself, I hurry towards the front door. “It's fine. It won't take much to get it back into shape.”

He stares at me, telling me he doubts that. He's right. But I can't let despair reach me. I'mhomeand all the filthy windows and water damage won't rob me of this bliss.

Stepping gingerly up the mud-caked porch, I cup my hands against the front window and squint. Everything is so damn dirty. I wipe the glass; it hardly helps. What I glimpse through the window smothers some of my hope that I'll find any clues about my dad.

“Come on,” I say, waving for Dominic to follow me. Gripping the door handle I twist, yank and then brace myself to do it again. The second time the door gives, scraping over the mud, creating a fan shape on the porch as it opens.

Dominic walks behind me, gazing over the dusty furniture, spotting the cracked window where a tree branch slammed its way inside from a storm. Mice have chewed at the fibers of the couch. “No one has been here in years,” he whispers, saying what I'm thinking.

Ignoring him, I walk with purpose to my bedroom. I feel like a ghost in my own home. And when I think of how I'd been erased from my little brother's life, I have a frantic need to find some evidence that I ever existed in this family at all.

The bedroom walls are dimly lit from the single window. The rocks Kara and I collected sit on the sill, casting shadows onto the floor. They're untouched, and as I lift my hand to brush one, I stop myself at the last second.

Kara's bed is perfectly made. My bed to the left of the room is messy, the blue blanket folded in the middle and the pillow cocked sideways. It's exactly how I left it six years ago. No one touched my bed all this time. They left it alone like it was some ancient artifact, or like they were worried if they smoothed it flat, they'd be smoothing me out of existence.

Running my palm over the soft blankets sends up dust motes. My eyes water as I imagine my mother staring at my bed, wondering if I'll ever sleep in it again. I remember what Kara told me—that days after I was taken, they were swept off to the Complex.That means they didn't have to stare at my empty bed for long.It's a strange comfort.

Maybe erasing me was the kindest way to heal their hearts.

“Laiken, are you . . .”

I snap my head up to stare at Dominic. Hastily I wipe my eyes. “It's just dusty in here,” I lie, brushing around him towards the main room. As I pass, he reaches for me, but I dodge him. Acknowledging his pity will make me fall apart faster.

And I can't yet.

Not until I know for sure that there's nothing here for us to find.

I sense him following me through the house. It's not a big cabin. It doesn't take me more than a few minutes to peek into the bathroom, then the kitchen. I should be looking at things closer, but I'm too edgy to linger. I need to see everything as quickly as I can.

Out the backdoor, I pause on the top step. The yard is covered in debris. Layers of brown leaves, some of them rotting in wet piles, make it unrecognizable. But then I spot the woodpile.

Gripping the rail, I wince as the memory strangles me. The sky is overcast right now so it's easy to imagine the rain pouring. It enhances the images that flash through my brain: Kara, crouched behind the wood, her tears so raw and honest and scared.

Our father trying to comfort us, telling us he's sorry.

“It won't be so bad. You'll get to see new things, eat amazing food. It'll be—” he hesitates. “Life changing.”

“For how long?” Kara asks.

“I just don't know, sweetie.”

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