The Reaping (The Fahllen #1)(9)
Author: M. Leighton

I marched right out of the cafeteria and straight out the door, refusing to look left or right. I didn’t stop, just kept walking until I was in front of my mailbox. It didn’t take that long for my temper to cool, however, and for regret to sink in. Already I dreaded the fallout my actions would incite and, lucky me, I’d have all evening and all night to dwell on it and dread the next few days.

I lowered the mailbox lid, rusty metal hinges creaking in protest, and took the mail from inside. My arms felt like they weighed fifty pounds each. I was suddenly exhausted. I felt the stress and strain of the previous three days in every fiber of my being it seemed.

Unlocking the front door, I walked straight through to the kitchen and poured myself a huge glass of water. My throat was on fire.

I carried my drink to the living room, along with the mail, and set it down on the coffee table. I collapsed onto the soft couch cushions, letting the mail fall from my fingers and scatter across the floor. I didn’t bother to pick it up. At that moment, I was more interested in letting the familiar smells of home soothe my jangling nerves.

After several minutes, I sat up to go through the mail. I picked up each piece, examining it as I went.

Bills, bills and more bills, I thought as I picked up the last two pieces. But it wasn’t all just bills. Hidden beneath the next to last piece was a plain white envelope. It had my name as well as my father’s written across the front in a neat, feminine hand. Our address wasn’t listed, only our names. There was no return address. And no stamp.

A heavy blanket of foreboding settled over me as I slid my finger under the adhesive flap and pulled. Inside was a single sheet of lined white paper. It was the kind of paper we used in school. I found that odd. It was neatly creased into thirds and on the middle portion was a short note, written in the same feminine script.

Grey’s gone, Carson. Be careful. I’m sorry! I never meant to hurt you.

I felt the blood drain from my face. It plummeted, along with my heart, to somewhere in the vicinity of my toes. Though the short sentences made no sense, I recognized the name. Grey had been my sister’s name, my dead sister’s name.

I was so immersed in my thoughts, in confusion, that I didn’t hear Dad’s truck. When he appeared in the kitchen doorway and spoke, I nearly fell of my perch on the couch.

“Dad!” I said breathlessly, holding a hand to my chest where my heart was thundering away like a herd of wild mustangs. “What are you doing home?”

“I think a better question is what are you doing home?”

“I just- I don’t know, Dad. I’ve had a really bad day.”

“Do you want to—“

I knew what he was going to say before he finished his sentence and I answered accordingly. “Can we just talk about it tomorrow?” When his stony expression didn’t soften, I added please for good measure, hoping that would seal the deal and he’d drop it.

His lips tightened disapprovingly, but then his expression finally softened into one of exasperation and he sighed. That was always a good sign.

“Alright, Carson, but you know you can’t make a habit out of this. School is still top priority,” he preached, as if I could’ve forgotten.

“I know, I know,” I said then moved to change the subject. Turns out it was a very effective subject change. “Do you know any other Greys?”

Myriad expressions crossed my father’s ruggedly handsome features. I could tell he was thinking of families with the last name Grey. When it went carefully blank, I knew he’d landed on the Grey that I was talking about. “Not that I can think of. Why?”

Without a word, I handed him the letter and the envelope. He took them from my fingers and sat next to me on the couch. I settled back to watch his face as he read.

He was white as a sheet under his tan by the time he finished the short note. It only confirmed what I suspected. There was something he wasn’t telling me.

I crossed my arms over my chest and turned on the couch to better face him. “So, is there anything you’d like to tell me? Something you’d like to talk about?” I loved to turn the tables and aim his parental questions and comments back at him; it was incredibly satisfying.

His eyes bored into mine for several seconds before he got up and walked to the window. He stared out in silence for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke. When he did, his voice was quiet. “They’re alive.”

His words hit me like a freight train. I didn’t even have to ask to whom he was referring. I knew. My mother and my sister were alive. I don’t know what I thought he might’ve been hiding, but that wasn’t it.

I felt lightheaded. The quiet buzzed in my ears like a thousand bees. A car passed on the road outside and it sounded miles away, like I was hearing it through a tunnel. My chest was heavy with an unfamiliar emotion that lay somewhere between fury and hope.

The air between us was thick with tension and my mouth was desert-dry when I spoke. “Why? Why would you keep this from me?”

I saw his big shoulders slump and his head tip forward. “I felt like it was the best way to keep you safe. You don’t know her. You just don’t know…”

“Know who?”

“Your mother.”

“Duh! You never gave me a chance to know her,” I spat, not even trying to contain my sarcasm. “Why? Why would you keep us apart?” My tumultuous feelings finally settled down, picking hurt as the emotional port of choice to dock in.

I felt the hot sting of bitter tears for the second time that day. The pain of betrayal ripped through me like a slug, piercing my heart and shattering it into a million tiny pieces.

Though I’d never known them, I’d mourned the loss of my family, especially as I’d gotten older. Not having a mother, not having any siblings, had taken its toll. And now, knowing that my whole life could’ve been different, I was devastated.

“Carson, you don’t know what happened, what I was trying to save you from. I did what I thought was right by getting as much distance as I could between you and your mother. You don’t know her,” he repeated, this time his tone conveying some of the bitterness he felt. He turned back to me, his expression pained yet steely. “You don’t know what she was capable of.”

“And what about my sister, Dad?” Grey’s gone, the note had said. What had become of her?

He bowed his head, but not before I could see the raw pain that flickered across his face. “She was already gone, Carson. She came back- she wasn’t- she-” he stammered. “She didn’t come back the same.”