Page 32 of Chaos Kills

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I droveby the house that Ozzy gave me a dozen times earlier, but I didn’t go in.

Honestly, it was bizarre and could be a ticking time bomb waiting to go off when I open the door. Or maybe like some Indiana Jones shit where you take one wrong step and arrows come flying out of the walls. But, if I’m truly going to get my sisters back, they need a stable place to stay.

And I’m usingstablevery loosely here. So, I enlisted Hot Rod and Juice to scope out the house.

And now, I’m parked in the driveway while everything around me is eerily quiet.

It takes all my mental strength to get out of the car and go inside. Not that I’m scared, but because it’s empty as shit.

Or, it was.

When I flick the lights on, everything from our old house is here. If it wasn’t for the emerald-green walls instead of ivory white, I would’ve thought I was striding inside Dad’s house.

But everything is meticulously placed right down to the magazines and Dad’s La-Z-Boy.

What the fuck kind of sick shit is this?

I force myself to move into the kitchen to discover more. Cereals, bowls, and several bags of whatever is sitting on the kitchen island topped with fake white marble.

It still looks nice.

But I didn’t go grocery shopping. And I have this queasy-ass feeling I know who did all this. Who was in this house when I was gone?

I move to the fridge and find milk, juice, beer, and soda. Then I begin to search the rest of the damn place.

The cabinets are empty, so I’m assuming it’s my job to fill them with what’s on the island. I move through the rest of the three-bedroom house. The girls’ things are put away separately into their own spaces. Before, they shared a room, and this will work out perfectly, but one of them was supposed to be Dad’s.

Mae’s room is painted pink and Ellie’s purple with all of their furniture and things inside. I make my way to mine and come across the same discovery.

All my things are placed where they were in our old house. My bed is made, the small bedside table is seated right next to it and my dresser next to that.

The shotgun.

I scurry and drop to my knees in front of it, reaching underneath it and feeling the cool metal of the barrel. It sets off every hair on my body to rise on end, waving several red flags in my midst.

I haven’t smoked.

I’m not drunk.

How the hell is everything here right now in thesameposition as the old house?

Rising to my feet, I quickly make my way out. I can’t wrap my damn head around it.

Well, I can.

Apparently, we’re good with giving me a house and waltzing into it like we own it. I mean, he bought it, I guess. But legally, my name is on the title unless that was as fake as the marriage certificate I signed that was supposed to have Ramsey’s name.

This is all fucked.

I don’t want to stay here. I hate this house.

But I’m left having to deal with it because where are Ellie and Mae going to go? When the social worker or whoever drops them off, it can’t be at a train car.

Rubbing my temples, I do everything in my power to calm down.

One thing at a time.

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