Page 14 of Together We Rot

Cherry sighs. “Your mom was never too thrilled about Greene’s. Sure she would have sold it, too, for the right price. This place has always been your father’s child.”

Goes to show how much he cares about his “children.” I almost say it, but I bite my tongue. At this point, Dad’s the least of my concerns. “I don’t care. After this, it’s all over. We already lost the house. We’ve lost so much, Cherry. We can’t afford to lose anything else. Besides, what are you going to do?”

She makes a face—hard to say if it’s over the smoke riding the air or my sudden interrogation. “I’ll manage, kid. I always do, don’t I?”

“It’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair.”

I grind my teeth. How many times do I have to hear that from people who’ve already given up?

“I hate to say it, Wil, but it’s too late. I’m not sure how you’d weasel your way out of a contract unless Ezekiel Clarke drops dead or lands himself in jail. And even then, who knows?”

Her voice is distant, foggy, even. “Growing up means learning to roll with the punches.”

I refuse to accept that. “Then I’ll never grow up because I don’t plan on taking this lying down. If they’re punching me, then I’m punching back hard.”

I clamp down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. Ronnie’s words spin in my thoughts. You haven’t broken into their house yet, have you?

No, but maybe it’s time. If Vrees isn’t going to help me and I’m not going to get any answers from Elwood, I’m going to need to double down on my investigation.

“Wil. Promise me you’ll leave that family alone.” There’s a desperate edge in her voice that isn’t lost on me. Cherry rarely begs for anything.

“I promise,” I lie.

Her eyes rest on me for a moment longer. But then she nods, musters a weak smile, and leaves.

•••

“Dad, I’m heading out. Try not to choke on your own vomit, okay?”

I squint to make sure he’s only passed out and not actually dead. It can be hard to tell some days.

When Mom first disappeared, there was still a bit of life left in him. He’d comb his hair, trim his beard, make sure he wasn’t covered in literal ketchup stains. He even got a second job as a chef in the neighboring town of Hartsgrove.

Those days are gone.

Today, he’s whiskey-stained, and his room is a hoarder’s paradise. Our old microwave sits unplugged in the middle of the floor; next to it, there are boxes of old plates wrapped in newspaper; a vacuum ironically catches the majority of the dust, sitting neglected in the corner. He hoards all this in hopes we’ll move out one day and need it all again.

Without Mom, the two of us alone couldn’t afford to pay for the house and the motel, so here we are.

I check the nightstand beside him. There’s a whole medicine cabinet’s worth of prescriptions—some to make him less depressed and some to make him less of an alcoholic. He’s used none of it. His drug of choice is a bottle.

“The things I do for you,” I snarl, flipping him to his side. Not like he hears. He barely hears me when he’s awake. “If you need me, I’ll be saving the motel. Saving us.”

I leave him with that, and slam his door shut behind me.

Without Cherry here, the whole motel has grown darker. The place feels especially haunted tonight—there’s a quiet sputtering somewhere, a faucet dripping, pipes creaking. Walls grown tired of holding their weight, floors shifting and crying beneath my feet. Shadows find their way in from the outside. Wind slams at the glass doors in violent gusts. The parking lot lights tear through the darkness, but beyond them the world has grown pitch-black. Snow blows in from the east, ripping out from the sky in sideways gusts.

With an aggressive storm like the one outside, I should be happy I’m in here. Cozy and safe with a roof over my head and the blankets raised to my chin... but my mind is set. Whether she wanted to give me the idea or not, Ronnie was right. I’m done camping out in the bushes and waiting for something to happen from the outside. I need to find out what goes on inside their carefully held walls.

I only barely remember to layer up before I charge out.

The doors scream their complaints, swinging open to reveal the snow-drenched forest, newly barren branches, the moon held captive between the clouds.

It’s a ghost town outside. There’s nothing but the snapping of twigs under my feet and the cloud of my breath and the warning whistle of the wind. It tugs at my chin, inviting my eyes toward the tree line.

Tendrils jut out onto the road, inching out from the forest, breaking only to claim new land.

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