Page 6 of Crown of Death

I shrug, not looking at him so he can’t read the weight of the day written across myface.

“Food is ready!” Dad declares. He pulls a few dishes into his lap and wheels his chair over, mom brings the rest, and they set it on the table. We all gather round, one big, mismatched, happyfamily.

My father, Ethan Pierce, has strawberry blond hair that is slowly thinning, to where he’ll have to start shaving it soon. But, he’s thick and strong. Though he doesn’t feel it right now while he’s stuck in that wheelchair. He’s been building custom homes since long before I wasborn.

My mom, Gemma Pierce, is beautiful. With blonde hair that toes the line into platinum—and it’s her natural color—blue eyes, petite figure, she’s a bombshell. She’s kind and warm, but is also always worried about what other people think of her outside of the house. But at home, she’s just mom to me and mybrother.

Then there’s me. Dark brown hair. Light hazel eyes that I’ve been told more than once look kind of like a cat’s. I’m a little shorter and my lips are fuller andround.

And Eshan. With his lanky build and dark chestnut skin. Big brown eyes and perfectly smoothcomplexion.

And Eli. Black eyes, black hair, blackskin.

None of us are family by blood, but family through theheart.

I was placed in Ethan and Gemma’s home as a three-day-old baby. They’d never been able to have children of their own. And then when I was five, my parents brought Eshan home from Nepal, one year old. And then there was Eli, who didn’t quite fit the role of brother, son, or uncle. But, he found a place,nevertheless.

They all chat and laugh, and normally I’d be laughing the loudest of them all, making some brash joke. But I keep thinking about poor Carolina today and the impossible state she was brought to usin.

“Logan,” Dad says, pausing with his spoon over his bowl. “You’ve been near dead silent all night. What’swrong?”

I feel all eyes land on me and my face heats. I’ve never been one to hold muchback.

“Just work,” I say, shrugging. “There was this poor woman. Itwas…”

“No gruesome details at the dinner table,” Mom cuts in, her face already turning pale. She’s never handled my chosen professionwell.

“It was bad,” I say instead with a nod. “It was just hard, seeing that someone so seemingly normal could be treated soviolently.”

No one says anything for a moment, because what is there really tosay?

“I can’t even imagine the things you have to deal with sometimes,” Dad says, giving me a sympatheticlook.

Dad fell off some scaffolding four months ago. He broke hisback.

Brokeit.

Somehow, he isn’t paralyzed. He’s just slowly having to relearn how towalk.

But there was a time, when the bills were pilling in, and the money had stopped. And my family neededhelp.

So, even further into debt with Shylock Iwent.

And now I get threats, my friends get threats, my family getsthreats.

So I get terrifying encounters, making payments so he doesn’t hurtanyone.

I shrug and look over to my brother, who has this little look in his eyes that tells me he wants the gory details of worklater.

Eli has something in his eyes too, but I can’t quite peg itdown.

The family moves to the living room after dinner and strikes up a game of Mexican Train. I play, though notwell.

And Eli sits on the couch, tapping something into his phone and reading. His work spills into personal hoursoccasionally.

By nine o’clock I’m exhausted from the early start to the day and the emotionally draining work. I say goodnight to my family and Eli and I headoutside.

“It must have been pretty awful,” Eli says as we slowly walk down the sidewalk. We pause at the curb, next to our cars. “You’ve dealt with some pretty gruesome stuff, but normally nothing gets to you. Not likethis.”

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