Blood Sisters by Vanessa Lillie

Author:Vanessa Lillie [Lillie, Vanessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2023-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

20

My shaking fingers hover above where my niece’s name was scratched in the dirt by my sister. My whole body starts to tremble, mostly from rage. The Dawesons are trying to take her away again.

Trying to wear my archeologist hat, I peer at the depth and shape of the markings. Best guess, the earth was wet when Emma Lou wrote these letters. It rained four days ago, so maybe around then. I trace the air above the letters GRACE and must curl my fingers to keep from shoving them into the earth. To pull out the truth about Sister and where she’s been taken. Or buried. Or lost to us all.

Wiping a few tears, I make myself stand up. The main house of the compound is about fifty feet ahead. I try to imagine any scenario where sneaking in would go well, and fail. I press my back against the tree. Breathing deeply, I work to return to this moment and press my fingers into the bark.

A minute and likely more pass before I’m able to step one foot in front of the other, and then again, to make it to the tree closest to the concrete.

I crawl over roots that have broken through the ground and created cracks at the edge of the pavement. I’m in the shadows, on the edges, but not invisible.

The big metal barn is now straight ahead. The security light creates a halo of brightness at the center, as if a UFO were shining down. My eyes adjust and I see there’s more scattered trash and boxes.

The light reveals suitcases, some open, some closed. The front door slams open and a woman hurries outside. I catch a flash of a long gray braid as she stops in the shadows farther along the barn.

Her gaze narrows in my direction and then back toward the barn. “Hey!” she yells.

Before I can run, a skinny man stumbles onto the concrete from the shadows a few feet from where I’m hunched down. He’s in sweatpants and no shirt and shuffles toward the light. “Lookie here, Manda.”

“Don’t got time for you, Doc,” she yells, and stomps forward. They meet in the light, and I confirm it’s Deandre’s mom, Manda.

“Look at this sweet thing,” he says, his bare back to me, but cradling something gently in his arms toward Manda.

“No,” I whisper, and my fists grow tight. “Not a baby.”

I consider intervening now or calling Sue. I squint to be sure I’m seeing what I think I see. But the shape in his arms is odd, large and almost more like a ball. I scoot to my right to get a better view.

In his wiry arms, he’s cradling something . . . but it’s not a baby. It’s a milk jug with a long tube running out the top.

I almost laugh—that hysterical kind with no joy in it—but bite down on my lip until I taste blood. There’s liquid in the jug, and I realize he’s carrying it not like a baby but like a bomb.

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