Page 23 of Secondhand Smoke
She was at the mercy of a satanic, guitar-playing drug dealer.
Would he tell his friends? Would they laugh at her? Would they hunt her down and burn her at the stake, just like in her worst nightmares?
Was the high worth the fall?
Her lungs throbbed as she pedaled up the hill to her house. The peak was in sight. Her roof came into view over the tops of fir trees. Next, she could see the pristine lawn, then the red brick, then the . . .
Two black and white squad cars stole the empty space in front of her garage. Nell’s rapid pulse froze as her legs stilled, but the bike continued to drift closer.
Cars like those showed up in her nightmares.
Chills of dread speckled her skin, and she dropped her bike on the edge of the lawn and bolted to the front door, a spike of horror tainting her previous worries.
Cars like those showed up when death was around.
She burst through the front door, her breath coming out in wheezing gasps as she prepared herself for the worst.
She searched the entryway for blood or glass, or anything else, but it was empty—as perfectly untouched as it was when she left it.
“Janelle?”
She recognized the pitchy, panicked tone of her mother’s voice. Footsteps met her halfway, and Nell was faced with four worried faces rushing at her from the living room.
Her mother’s eyes were puffy and red, her father donned an uncharacteristic five o’clock shadow, and two uniformed officers scanned her over like they expected to find something wrong.
“What’s wrong?” Nell barely recognized her own voice. It was squeaky and high, and choked on a sob she hadn’t noticed. Nothing made sense. “What’s wrong?”
“Thank the Lord, you’re alright.” Her mother grabbed her and pulled her into her arms, and Nell found herself staringinto the pink cotton of a blouse. “We were worried to death. We had no idea where you were. I about had a heart attack when I realized you weren’t in your room,” she wailed, and it ricocheted in Nell’s empty head.
Pieces connected slowly, one at a time, as her shell-shocked mind crashed down from the terror of seeing those cars again.
She worked through it like a four-year-old sounded out words.
No. One. Is. Hurt.
No. One. Is. Gone.
They. Are. Okay.
They. Are. Alive.
“Where were you?” Her father’s voice echoed a few times before she made out the words.
She unburied her face from her mother’s blouse and met her father’s eyes. The image moved like it wasn’t real.
Maybe she was still dreaming, asleep on Barrett’s bed and winding down from her high.
“Where were you?” he repeated.
Or maybe it was still an echo. She couldn’t tell.
“I’m okay.”
“Nellie, baby, what happened? Why did you leave without telling us?” Her mom petted her hair with gentle, trembling hands. “You can’t do that.”
Nell blinked. She glanced from her mother to her father, to the officers who shared a quizzical look.
“I’m sorry.” It was barely a whisper.
