Twenty-five
Nerves pinched my stomach as we pulled into Jeremiah’s driveway. I wanted to see him again, but I also felt apprehensive about it. I couldn’t imagine that his condition had improved. Seeing a grown person in a coma is one thing. Seeing a child that way is something I have issues with.
We climbed out of the car and walked up the footpath to the house. Weeds choked the yard. The toys and clutter on the porch had remained the same as last time.
I hesitated before I knocked on the door. It seemed too still, too quiet. What if something bad had happened to Jeremiah? I exhaled and knocked anyway.
Albert reminded me that silly premonitions pop inside my head all the time. Don’t worry so much. My knotted insides didn’t listen to him.
No one answered, and I knocked again. I tried the doorknob when I noticed the doorframe was busted and the locking mechanism had been stripped away. Odd.
“Mrs. Dickinson?” I called. “Hello?”
Breaking and entering isn’t usually my thing, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I opened the door and stepped inside.
Kull followed without a word. I recognized his quiet mode. Something bothered him, too. Maybe he sensed that same feeling of unease that nagged at me.
Silence cloaked the house. Sunlight filtered through the dingy dining room windows to illuminate the foyer. Broken toys, crusts of bread, and laundry littered the floor, but that was nothing new. Stagnant smells of urine and rotting food filled the house. That was new.
I wrinkled my nose. “Mrs. Dickinson?” I called again. “Sissy? Anyone home?” Dodging piles of clutter, I walked slowly down the hall.
“It appears abandoned,” Kull said as he followed me.
“Maybe they had an appointment or something.” That nagging, nervous feeling got worse as I approached Jeremiah’s bedroom.
I almost didn’t open the door. My imagination went wild sometimes, especially when I was worried like this. I didn’t want to see a child’s corpse in that bed, but my brain conjured the image anyway. I knew Mrs. Dickinson would never let something like that happen, but what if something had happened to her, too?
Half against my will, I nudged the door open. Sunlight streamed over the rumpled Sponge Bob sheets. The smell almost knocked me over. Urine stained the floor and bed. Gross.
I swallowed my disgust and crossed to the bed. Empty. I prayed his foster mom had found someplace better to care for him and tried not to ponder the alternatives.
Footsteps came from the hall. Kull turned. His hand went to his knife.
Someone was in the house.
Kull peeked into the hallway. The footsteps stopped. I walked on quiet feet to stand beside him but heard nothing. We waited for several seconds, and then he opened the door.
We stared into an empty hallway.
Another sound—a door shutting. Sissy’s room. “Follow me,” I mouthed to Kull.
We crept down the hallway and stopped at the Do Not Enter sign. The door swung open.
A butcher knife greeted me, attached to a bone-thin, pale-faced Sissy. She stared at us with eyes shadowed in dark circles. “Get out,” she said in a hoarse voice.
“We’re not here to hurt you.”
She darted a nervous glance at Kull. “I said get out.”
I ignored her demands. “I stopped by to check on your brother. Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
“Are you here alone?”
The knife shook so hard I was surprised she didn’t drop it. She swallowed before answering. “No.”
“I can help your brother. Can you tell me where he is?”
“Stop asking questions. I said get out!”
She lunged for me, and I dodged to the side. Sissy tripped and almost landed on the knife. She rose onto her elbows but collapsed as she tried to stand. Her pink tank top exposed her protruding shoulder blades as she snatched the knife and crawled to the corner, where she crouched like a wounded animal, her eyes wide and dilated.
“Leave,” she whispered.
“How long have you been alone?” I asked.
“Go away.”
I pulled a granola bar from my pack. She looked at it with ravenous eyes. “Are you hungry?”
She licked her cracked lips. “Not interested.”
“There’s more where this came from. We’re headed to lunch. You could come if you like.”
“I’m not leaving,” she said in a weak voice.
“It’s up to you. Think about it.” I turned to leave. I got halfway down the hall when the butcher knife plunked to the floor.
“Wait,” she called. I stopped and let her come to us. “I’ll come, but I won’t tell you anything. And you never saw me. Got it?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Got it?” she repeated.
I wasn’t in the habit of accepting demands from fourteen-year-olds, but I decided to compromise. “Fine, but you’ll have to follow my rules. No cursing and no back talking. Got it?”
She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”
Sissy opened a closet door and grabbed a hoodie that looked three sizes too large. When she pulled it over her head and let the hood conceal her face, it made me wonder who she was hiding from. Had she gotten into some kind of trouble? And why was she here alone? Where were Jeremiah and Mrs. Dickinson?
Those were questions I was not allowed to ask, but we’d see.
Dreamthief Page 33