**This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.**
Chapter 11
Grace
Getting Emery off the gurney and onto the pyre I created was more difficult than I had anticipated. She was heavy by myself and I was emotional again, making it hard to see. I covered her body in leaves and underbrush, hiding her until tomorrow morning when I would set her alight, laying her to rest. I secretly hoped I wouldn't find any animals on her the next morning, but I knew it was a possibility.
I drove the van to a parking lot and left the keys after I wiped down the gurney and paint with a towel soaked in alcohol, including the keys and seats. As I walked back to the storage unit where I had stored my Toyota, I let myself cry, missing Emery, Dad, and Mom, but Serra left an open wound somewhere in my chest that seared in pain with every step I took. I was a mess by the time I got back to the car; sweaty and inconsolable.
Remarkably, I was able to get home unscathed and as I unlocked the front door to my house, my phone started to ring. I fumbled for it, thinking it might be Serra, but pulled it out to see Bobby Singer's number flash across the screen. Breathing deeply, I calmed my voice as much as I could to answer, knowing that if I didn't, he would just call back later.
"Hello?" I asked, letting the door close behind me.
"You done good, girl," he greeted, smiling. "APB was put out earlier on a missing van from Greendale. It was recovered this afternoon, nothing missing, no questions asked. Cops called it joyriding."
I nodded, trying to feel relief, but unable to feel much of anything. "That's good, Bobby. Thanks."
"I didn't do much, honey. You handled it on your own. Your Daddy would be proud."
"No, he wouldn't," I answered, tossing my purse down on the table. "He would have asked why I didn't empty the entire safe."
Bobby chuckled. "A missed opportunity," he said, sighing. "Well, then," he continued, "I'm proud of you. You're a pro at twenty."
From the other end of the phone, I could hear a male voice. "Hey, Bobby," he said, "Novella starts in cinco! You're gonna miss it."
"Keep your panties on," Bobby replied, fake anger seeping into his voice. "Besides, Daddy Dearest said he was coming in a bit—you've got a job to do."
"But the novella!"
Bobby laughed again and turned his attention back to me. "I swear, these boys. Setting up camp in my living room like they own the joint."
I tried to smile. The sound of the voices was comforting and another pang for my sister wound its way up my chest. "Thanks for everything, Bobby," I whispered. "I'm probably going to lay low for the next few months, so if you don't hear from me, don't worry."
"I get it, honey. You take it easy."
"Thanks." I flipped my phone closed and sat on the floor in the middle of the carpet of the living room, feeling the fibers between my fingertips. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me, forgetting about the pain for just a little while.
