House At The End Of The Street Part 5

Suddenly a voice could be heard through the baby monitor. Elissa saw a figure standing at the front door. It was a police officer-a man about forty years old. "Ryan! Are you there?" he yelled. He pounded several times on the door.

Elissa sucked in her breath, yelling as loud as she possibly could. "Help! I'm down in the bas.e.m.e.nt! Please help me!"

"Ryan Jacobsen!" The officer kept knocking. Ryan grabbed a handkerchief from the drawer and knotted it around Elissa's head, tying the end of it in her mouth. She gagged several times as she tried to scream through the cloth. Then Ryan turned to go. He didn't look back at her as he climbed the ladder, the trapdoor falling shut behind him.

Ryan stood at the top of the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs. He straightened his s.h.i.+rt and made sure there were no blood smears on his clothes. This wasn't his fault. He had been punished for so long; he was just trying to make everything right. Why couldn't they all see that he was trying to make it right? He wouldn't let Officer Weaver take the girl away from him. He'd already lost Carrie Anne once. He wouldn't let it happen again.

He walked into the kitchen, taking in the silhouette just outside the door. Weaver had his hands cupped over his eyes, trying to see inside the dark kitchen. He'd come to know this man over the years. Weaver said he looked out for him. He was the one who'd come by when people were outside, throwing rocks through the upstairs windows. Weaver claimed he cared about Ryan-he said he was there if Ryan needed someone to talk to, though they he never had.

"Ryan, I was just at the hospital," Officer Weaver said as Ryan opened the door and let him in. "I saw what you did to Tyler's leg. His parents are threatening to sue. Want to tell me what happened?"

Weaver's eyes scanned the kitchen. Ryan moved in front of the trash can, closing the lid behind him. He blocked it from Weaver's view. "All I did was fight back."

Weaver rested his hands on his belt. "Listen, I'm going to do my best to get this to blow over. But I need you to stay out of trouble."

Nothing is going to blow over, Ryan thought. It was too late now. Everything was wrong. Any chance he'd had for a normal life had disappeared long ago. Everything was punishment now, punishment for what he'd done to Carrie Anne.

Ryan leveled his eyes at the officer. "You ever get tired of playing tough guy?" he asked. This was always Weaver's routine, telling Ryan what to do, pretending like he was protecting him. He'd never protected him. No one had.

Weaver let out a long, slow breath. "I'll call you in the morning so you can give your statement. Elissa's mom is worried about her. She sent me over here because she thought Elissa was with you. Have you seen her?"

Ryan's eyes fell somewhere on the floor. He picked at his fingers, a numbness spreading out inside of him. "I saw her earlier at the Battle of the Bands," he lied. "Isn't she there?"

"No. We thought she might be at home, but she's not there either." Weaver stared him down. Ryan hated how the officer studied him, his house, as if it were his right to be here. Get out of my house, Ryan thought, the rage building inside him. This is my house-the only thing I have left.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," Weaver said. As he walked out, his eyes lingered for a moment on the counter. Then he stepped onto the porch, the door closing behind him.

Ryan turned, noticing the girl's wallet sitting there in plain view. Weaver had seen it-he knew he had. Ryan threw it in the trash can and went to the door, locking it. He started back toward the bas.e.m.e.nt, when he heard a phone ringing-Elissa's phone. In the dimly lit kitchen he couldn't make out exactly where it was. He glanced out onto the front porch, where he saw Weaver, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He had turned back to the house when he'd heard the first ring coming from somewhere inside.

Ryan scurried along the kitchen floor, moving quickly around the middle island, trying to find it. He finally spotted it under the table, the light glowing from the plastic screen. He made a dive for it. When he had it in his hands, he managed to turn it off, but it was too late. Weaver was already at the door. He pounded hard against the gla.s.s.

"Ryan-open up!" he yelled. "I know she's in there."

From where Ryan was hiding he could see Weaver draw his gun. Weaver broke the pane with the b.u.t.t of it, then reached inside, unlocking the dead bolt. "Ryan?" he said again, stepping back into the dark kitchen. Ryan slunk deeper into the house, hiding near the pantry.

Weaver carefully moved around the kitchen, holding his gun in front of him. Ryan watched him, his eyes moving from the officer, back to the open bas.e.m.e.nt door. He wouldn't let anyone take Elissa from him. She was his now, and she would be here because Carrie Anne couldn't be. She would stay with him here and he would take care of her, make everything right. Weaver would have to understand that.

Ryan pressed himself against the pantry as Weaver moved closer to the bas.e.m.e.nt door. Anger pulsed through Ryan's veins. As soon as Weaver was within striking distance, Ryan kicked him hard in the back, sending him tumbling down the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs.

Ryan ran after him, watching as Weaver landed with a crack on the cold concrete floor. The man twisted in pain. The memories returned, and Ryan had to blink back tears. He kicked the gun away from them and pressed his knee down into the center of Weaver's chest. "You could have stopped all this a long time ago. But you didn't. You let them do what they did. You knew. You were there."

His hands were shaking. He rocked back and forth, pressing his knee into Weaver's chest, and the man winced in pain. Ryan couldn't stop thinking of that day-the day Carrie Anne had died. His parents had been in their room, the smoke from the drugs drifting out of the window. Their eyes were half closed when they came outside. Weaver had been there-he had watched it all happen. Back then he spent afternoons at their house getting high when he was supposed to be on patrol. You were there, Ryan thought, pressing his knee into Weaver's chest even harder than before. You saw it all.

After Carrie Anne had died, Weaver had helped Mr. Jacobsen take the body into the woods. They wrapped her tiny body in a sheet and secured it with duct tape. Then they buried her-his five-year-old sister-in a pit. Ryan still knew the spot. It was just beyond an old elm tree that twisted to the left. There was a dense patch of wildflowers that grew there.

Ryan remembered how badly he'd shaken with fear and grief. His whole body had been trembling, and he'd been crying. But his mother had been too high to comfort him. She'd seemed catatonic as she sat next to him on the back steps. When his father and Weaver had come back, they'd put the shovel back in the garage, as if it hadn't happened at all. I don't think you have much of a choice but to go along with this Bill, his father had said. No one can know what happened. No one can know he killed Carrie Anne.

Ryan pulled the switchblade from his back pocket. He'd always kept it hidden in the kitchen and had secured it when he'd first entered the house and had heard Elissa inside. He flicked his wrist and the blade came out.

He buried it in Weaver's chest, between two of his top ribs. He felt only rage as he drove the blade in. "I protected you," Weaver said, struggling against it. He reached for his gun, but it was several feet away.

Ryan's eyes were full of tears. He couldn't contain the anger he felt for this man-the man who'd helped bury his sister, who watched for years as his parents abused him. They had wanted to punish him for what happened. No, they'd never admitted it was their fault. They'd never admitted they'd been locked away in their room getting high. It hadn't been their fault-they'd reminded him of that every day. It was his. "No, you protected yourself. You protected them. Even though you knew what they did to me."

He watched as Weaver strained against the blade, then went limp. Blood covered his hands. Ryan hated him-he hated him for letting them do it. He had only been seven years old. They had punished him for what had happened, and they would've kept punis.h.i.+ng him if he hadn't stopped it himself.

When Weaver was completely still, Ryan let go of the blade, falling back on the floor. The smell of blood was in the air. He hated it-he hated them. He took a breath, trying to calm himself as he sat there. It was over-Weaver was dead. They were all dead. He had stopped them.

When he finally caught his breath, he wiped his hands on his pants, smearing them with blood. The wave of anger subsided for a moment. Then he pulled open the trapdoor, disappearing again below it.

Ryan had been gone for several minutes. Elissa watched the officer appear and then disappear on the monitor, and now she could hear a scuffle somewhere above. She strained against the rope. She couldn't move her hands at all, only her ankles. She kicked them away from the chair's st.u.r.dy wooden legs, trying to loosen the bonds.

A metal lamp was only a few inches away. It was three feet tall, the bulb exposed. She heaved and twisted her entire body, moving the chair just a little bit forward, toward the lamp. She pushed her ankle out, reaching with her toe until she kicked the lamp forward. It wobbled a bit. She kicked it again and again, until it fell toward her.

The searing hot bulb landed on her forearm. The pain was excruciating. She winced against it, trying hard not to scream. She leaned forward, nudging the bulb a little farther down her arm until it landed on her wrist. The thin rope started to melt. The air filled with the smell of smoking plastic. She moved her wrist up and down, trying not to scream as the rope melted on her skin.

The cell door had fallen closed. She heard the trapdoor creaking open and the heavy sound of footsteps on the ladder. She moved quickly, freeing her hand, then working at the other wrist, trying to untie the other rope. It took her a minute before she was able to unknot all three restraints. The skin on her arm still burned. It was red and swollen from where the bulb had touched it.

The footsteps came closer. Elissa darted behind the door, pressing herself against the wall so he wouldn't see her when he came in. She tried to stay perfectly still, even as the rough concrete dug into her back.

Slowly, the door opened. She inched toward it, hiding against its cold metal back. Ryan stepped inside the small cell. Every muscle in her body tensed at the sight of him. There was blood all over his hands and on his jeans. He was hunched forward, his fingers gripping a knife. He took in the corners of the room-the twin bed, the chair where Elissa had been, the burnt rope. Before he could turn she darted around the door, pulling it shut behind her. She turned the lock quickly.

Ryan pounded his fists violently against it. He threw his whole weight into it, shaking the wall. She climbed the ladder as fast as she could and let the trapdoor fall flat. She took in the dank bas.e.m.e.nt. It was then that she saw the officer's body. Blood pooled around his right side. His eyes were still open. Her fingers tensed in a fist.

She looked around the room, trying to find something to seal the trapdoor shut. Ryan was screaming in the cell below. Her head still ached. Now that she was standing, dizziness threatened to overtake her. She grabbed the edges of the was.h.i.+ng machine, trying to steady herself. She took a deep breath and with a few hard pulls she managed to get it a few feet from the wall. Then she went behind it, toppling it over the trapdoor to weigh it down.

She darted up the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs, feeling for the k.n.o.b. She twisted it, but it didn't give. She tried it again and again but it still wouldn't open. Her heart was racing, her entire body shaking with the realization: She was completely trapped.

She went back down the stairs, feeling at the officer's waist. His gun was gone. He had handcuffs, a few bullets in a leather case, and a flashlight. She tried his pockets, but there wasn't anything useful. She took the thick metal flashlight, hoping she could use it as a weapon if she needed to.

Think, Elissa said to herself. Think think think. Far below, she heard the cell door bang open. Ryan was screaming as he climbed the ladder. "You better get back here," he yelled, his voice filled with fury.

The was.h.i.+ng machine was halfway over the door, but he strained against it, the wood slats creaking as though they might break. She scanned the room, using the flashlight to figure out what was there. Besides the washer and dryer, there was a water heater and a wall of metal pipes with some old cleaning supplies and concrete blocks. In the corner she found another door. She slammed her shoulder into it, bursting into the garage.

She spun around to try and secure the door, but there was no way to bolt it shut. She darted toward the garage door, yanking up on the handle. It wouldn't budge. In the dark she could only see flashes of the room. She looked at the edges of the wall, trying to find a b.u.t.ton for a garage opener, but there was none in sight.

She climbed into the car, and sat in the driver's seat, groping with her fingers, feeling the ignition. No keys. Nothing. The inside of the sedan, looked so different now. This was the car he'd kidnapped Rebecca in. He'd brought her here, possibly giving her a ride the same way he'd given Elissa a ride two weeks before. She tried not to think about it as she rifled through the glove compartment, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. There were only maps and a few old ca.s.sette tapes.

There was a noise behind her, and she spun around, checking the garage door. It was still closed. She noticed then there was a small gla.s.s window in it, but there were no signs of Ryan. She pulled the yellow lunchbox from the floor and opened it. Her hands started to shake. Inside was a bottle of chloroform and two thick rags. There was a bunch of the same plastic twine he'd use to tie her hands. This was what he'd used to take the girl. When was he planning on taking her? How long was he going to wait before he killed them both?

She looked up, catching a glimpse of something in the side mirror. Before she could react, Ryan sprung up, grabbing her by the throat with both his hands through the open window. She tried to scream but nothing came out. Her body writhed against him, but he fought her, his top half pus.h.i.+ng into the front seat of the car. As she kept struggling, her nails digging into his skin, she heard the doorbell sound. It kept ringing, the person pus.h.i.+ng it over and over again. Even as she fought him, the strength slowly leaving her body, she somehow could sense who it was.

Her mom had found her. She wasn't alone.

Ryan managed to get the door of the car open. Elissa kicked at him, trying to keep him away, but he grabbed one of the rags and pressed it to her face. It was still damp with chloroform. Her resolve left her. She started to see black at the edges of her vision, and her body went slack. She was not able to fight him as he dragged her out of the front seat and around to the back. Her limbs were weak. With one quick motion he heaved her into the trunk, locking her inside.

It took several minutes for her to regain consciousness enough to realize where she was. She felt for the flashlight she had jammed into the back pocket of her jeans, switching it on. There, just inches away, was the girl she'd seen in the cell. She was curled into a tight little ball, her body rigid. She was dead. Elissa couldn't breathe. She turned, trying to get as far away from the body as possible.

She rested her back against the side of the trunk and began kicking as hard as she could at the place where the backseat would be. Her legs hurt from using so much force. She kicked again and again, jabbing the heels of her boots into the same spot. Slowly, the upholstery started to give. She maneuvered around and dug her fingers into it, feeling the thin carpeting that covered the back of the trunk. She yanked it back, pulling a layer away.

Then she started kicking again. The whole car rocked from the motion. I will not die in here, she thought, the anger swelling inside her. I refuse to let him kill me. She landed one final blow into the back of the seat and her leg went through, pus.h.i.+ng down the center console. She pried at the upholstery until she created a big enough s.p.a.ce to squeeze out of. When she was finally free of the trunk, the girl's body still locked inside, Elissa grabbed the flashlight off the front seat and felt its heft in her hand. Then she lay back for a moment and listened to herself breathe.

Sarah paced the length of the porch. She rang the doorbell again, waiting for someone to appear. The lights in Ryan's house were off. The kitchen window was broken, and it smelled like something was burning. She pressed the doorbell again and again, knowing in her gut something was wrong. Elissa wasn't at home. She wasn't at school. Sarah had called her cell six times, and it had gone to voice mail. Where was she? And where was Ryan?

She thought of the X-ray again, and her stomach twisted. The doctors couldn't believe any one person could've done so much damage to someone's ankle. They went through the eyewitness accounts, trying to piece together what had happened. They were certain he's smashed Tyler's leg with some blunt object-a pipe or bat. The bone was shattered, the break so vicious they'd been surprised Tyler hadn't pa.s.sed out from the pain.

Sarah pulled out her cell, dialing Officer Weaver's number again. He'd left the hospital over an hour ago, a.s.suring Sarah he'd find Elissa. She'd waited there, expecting him to at least call back-but nothing. Now his car was sitting here at the edge of the driveway, empty.

She rang the doorbell again. Finally, a light went on. Ryan appeared from the far end of the kitchen. He opened the front door a crack. "Hi, Mrs. Ca.s.sidy," he said calmly.

Sarah studied him. The side of his face was swollen, presumably from the fight in the parking lot. There was a small cut above his lip. But he had changed into a clean s.h.i.+rt and jeans. She glanced over his shoulder, but the kitchen looked organized-everything in its place. "I'm looking for Elissa," she said. "Is she here?"

"No, ma'am."

"She's not at home-I thought she was with you." Ryan looked at his shoes, using the toe of his boot to press a loose floorboard into place. She nearly felt guilty for a moment, coming here, insisting that Elissa was in his house. He seemed so meek, so...childish.

"No...she's not here, Mrs. Ca.s.sidy," he repeated. He went to shut the door, but Sarah pressed her shoulder into the house, stopping him.

"Look, I'm not angry or anything. I just want to-" The motion-sensor porch light clicked off, throwing them into darkness. Ryan's face slowly came into view, and she noticed the glowing smears across his cheek and on the back of his hands. s.h.i.+mmery, iridescent paint covered his skin. It was the glow-in-the-dark makeup she'd bought for Elissa. The same kind she'd picked out just a day before, as an apology for being so stern.

"Ryan...do you mind if I have a gla.s.s of water?" she asked. "It's been a long day for both of us, I'm sure." She pushed past him into the dark kitchen. There was no fear in her. She knew Elissa was here, inside somewhere. Her daughter needed her.

Ryan pulled a gla.s.s from an upper cabinet and filled it with water. Sarah took it from him, trying to stop the shaking in her hands. They stood there, facing each other, Ryan just a few feet from her. Sarah eyed the knives on the counter behind him. It was impossible to know if he had a gun, or if Weaver was here somewhere, being held inside the house as well.

Before she could say anything, she heard a faint scream coming from somewhere below. It was Elissa's voice-she would recognize it anywhere. Sarah darted to the door at the far end of the kitchen and yanked it open. But before she could get down the first step, she felt the pain rip through her stomach. A knife stuck out of her side. She fell back, landing hard on the floor, watching as Ryan's features changed.

He looked more a.s.sertive, calm even, as he tugged the switchblade out of her flesh and put it in his back pocket. Then he grabbed her ankle, yanking her down the stairs, down into the abyss.

When Elissa got to the door between the garage and the bas.e.m.e.nt, she jiggled and twisted the k.n.o.b, but it wouldn't open. It must've locked from the inside. She screamed again, hoping her mother could hear her.

She felt the gla.s.s pane in the door, trying to figure out how thick it was. It was two feet wide by two feet tall-big enough for her to slip through if she could break it open. She banged on it with the metal flashlight, but it didn't even crack. Sticking the flashlight into her waistband, she scanned the garage again. This time she noticed a toolbox sitting on the far wall. She rifled through it and found one of those smaller hammers that have a ball on the front instead of a flat hammerhead.

She swung at the gla.s.s pane again and again, not stopping until it shattered. She hit the edges, where the doorframe met the gla.s.s, making sure she had enough room to slip through. Above the doorway there was a metal pipe. She grabbed hold of it and lifted her legs up, swinging to slide down through the small window.

The back of her legs sc.r.a.ped against the remaining broken gla.s.s, the blood welling up to soak through her ripped jeans. She was back in the bas.e.m.e.nt. The officer's body was still there. The was.h.i.+ng machine was overturned on its side, shoved away from the trapdoor. She didn't see anyone else. Where is my mom? She started back for the stairs but heard something above her. Someone was coming. She shrank back, hiding behind the old water heater in the corner, the hammer still clutched in her hands.

Ryan started down the wooden steps, dragging something behind him. The body slid forward, landing at the bottom of the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs with a dull thud. Elissa blinked back the tears. Her mother was lying on the cement floor, one arm outstretched, her limbs completely still. There was a wound in her side. Her s.h.i.+rt was ripped and covered with blood.

Elissa stayed there, watching her mother's chest, which still rose and fell with each breath. She's alive, Elissa thought. You have to help her. Ryan dragged Sarah toward the garage door, but he stopped when he noticed the broken window. Elissa pressed her body against the wall. She crouched low, hoping he couldn't see her.

"I want you here with me," Ryan said, speaking to the darkness. "But I need Carrie Anne back. I need her back-I need to make it right. And if you can't do that for me, Elissa, I can't keep you."

Elissa buried her face in her hands, inching farther into the narrow s.p.a.ce filled with pipes, concrete blocks, and old tools. She could sense there was a small room somewhere behind her. Ryan left Sarah's body and started toward Elissa, his footsteps echoing in the concrete bas.e.m.e.nt.

The single lightbulb buzzed above them. Elissa heard each one of her mother's choked breaths. Ryan crept forward and, for an instant, their eyes met. He lunged at her, but Elissa jerked herself backward, through the pipes and into a small alcove where the furnace was. She struggled to stay on her feet, her eyes locked on the cop's gun, which was still sitting on the floor three feet away. She could hear Ryan right behind her. He moved past the pipes and came up behind her as she dove for the weapon, her arms burning as she slid across the concrete floor.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed at her ankles, trying to drag her back to him. As she wrapped her hands around the b.u.t.t of the gun, he let go of her legs. When she turned back, ready to fire at him, he had already run to the other side of the bas.e.m.e.nt. He was fiddling with a fuse box. In one swift motion he threw a lever, sending the entire room into darkness.

She squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She remembered the flashlight at her belt, clicking it on. It showed only small circles of the pitch black bas.e.m.e.nt-the wall with the fuse box, her mother's body, the broken garage door. She held the gun in her other hand, thinking Ryan might have escaped through the garage. Then she took a step to her right and saw him dart out from behind the water heater, the knife aimed at her throat. She fired three times, the bullets. .h.i.tting him in the stomach. He staggered backward. Then he curled up against the wall, his head falling forward as he stopped moving.

Elissa went to her mother, using the flashlight to find her way. She hovered over her and pressed her fingers to her side. The stab wound was deep. It was hard to stop the bleeding. "You're okay," Sarah gasped, reaching for Elissa's face. The tears came quickly, slipping down Elissa's cheeks. "We're okay."

Elissa set the gun down and held tightly to her mother, burying her face into her neck. I'm sorry, she wanted to say. You were right. But all that came out was a low, choked sob, as her terror gave way to relief.

She was looking up the stairs, wondering if she could carry her mother out, when she remembered that the door locked itself. "We need the keys," she whispered, looking back over to Ryan's body.

"No," groaned Sarah.

"It's okay, Mom." Elissa smoothed some hair off her forehead and then moved slowly over to Ryan, fumbling around in his pockets, looking for the keys.

Suddenly, his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist.

Elissa gasped. "Ryan, please, you have to stop!"

He looked at her with such pain, such emotion, that she almost felt sorry for him again. "I can't," he said simply.

She managed to jerk her arm out of his grasp, but the force knocked her backward onto the ground. He rose up above her, bringing the knife into the air with his other hand. "It will be over soon," he said. "Just close your eyes."

"It's over now," rasped Sarah as she staggered to her feet behind him. She grabbed the ball-peen hammer Elissa had dropped on the floor and swung it through the air.

Ryan sagged to the ground, the knife clattering to the floor, his blood pooling around him.

It was over.

Two weeks later, Elissa loaded the last of their boxes into the back of the SUV. The day was cooler than normal, the wind coming through the trees. She and her mother were starting over...again. Going back to Chicago, to a two-bedroom apartment three blocks away from their last one. Elissa would return to her old school, to Luca and her old friends. Sarah would work at the hospital in the city. But nothing would be the same-nothing could ever be the same again. It had turned out Elissa's grandmother was wrong. A place could change you.

Elissa watched as Sarah locked up the house and started down the front porch. She held onto the wooden railing, taking each step one at a time. She still struggled to walk, even though the st.i.tches had already been taken out. Elissa had promised she'd do all the driving during the two-day road trip, even though Sarah winced whenever she took left turns.

Across the lawn, the Jacobsen house was roped off with police tape. In the last weeks it had served as a constant reminder of what had happened there. Ryan, who'd survived despite his serious injuries, had been inst.i.tutionalized. The house had yielded up one last terrible secret of the Jacobsen family: videotapes from the years following Carrie Anne's death, with old family movies. In them, Ryan was dressed in Carrie Anne's clothes. He was wearing a wig, and blue contact lenses. After the accident, his parents had used him as a replacement for their daughter, addressing him only by her name.

For years they'd kept him locked in her room, alternately celebrating family events with him and abusing him. Psychiatrists concluded he'd turned violent from the stress of the abuse. He eventually snapped and killed them both. Afterward, he'd gone back to his role of Ryan, the estranged brother, but he kept up his parents' charade, kidnapping girls and turning them into Carrie Anne. He'd kept them in the secret room, locked up, treating them in the same way his parents had treated him. He kept repeating the cycle, and probably would have for many more years, if Elissa and Sarah hadn't discovered his secrets.

Even now, in the inst.i.tution, under the influence of strong sedatives, he still called out for his sister.

Elissa's gaze fell on the tree at the edge of the state park-the same one Ryan had showed her weeks before, as they sat on the boulder. Sarah walked up and rested her arm around Elissa's shoulder. It felt good to feel her mother there, right beside her. For once, Elissa could look at her mom without thinking about what Sarah had and hadn't done-about the past, the divorce, or the tumultuous years that had followed. Elissa now thought of Sarah only as the person who'd saved her.

"What are you looking at?" Sarah brushed a few strands of hair away from Elissa's face.

Elissa pointed to where the tree stood. She tilted her head, but the face didn't appear to her now. She wondered if it had ever been there at all, or if in Ryan's presence she had somehow imagined it. "What do you see?"

Sarah was quiet for a long time. "A tree?"

Elissa smiled, squeezing her mother's hand. "Yeah, that's what I see too."

Sarah furrowed her brows, as if she wasn't quite sure what the significance was. Elissa wanted to tell her she was sorry, that she knew how wrong she'd been. In the past days those words had never made it past her lips, though they ran on a constant loop in her head. What mattered now though, she realized, wasn't whether she said it or not. For the first time in her life, she and her mother were beginning to see things the same way. It was in everything they did-how they cooked together in the kitchen, how they settled down on the couch together every night. Elissa always picked up when Sarah called.

"Ready to go, Liss?" Sarah asked, starting back toward the car.

Elissa didn't let go of her hand. Instead, she let herself be pulled along behind her mother, their arms stretching out but still linked.