It felt obscene
and, at the same time, somehow biblical in a very not-okay way. Reece still
hadn’t appeared, but a cry came from the kitchen, followed by a loud bang.
“That’s a gun,”
Sal said, jumping.
A gun?
Roxanne shoved her
fear aside and raced to the swinging door, calling out her brother’s name as
she ran. She burst into the kitchen, aware of Santo a few steps behind.
What she saw
brought her to a skidding stop. Santo took her hand and tried to pull her back,
but when she refused to budge, he gave up and angled his body in front of hers.
Even a man his size couldn’t block out the horror, though.
The oily tide
coated the ceiling and lapped against the walls in the kitchen, stark against
the stainless steel and new paint.
The back door
stood wide open to the October night. The same back door that Reece and their
older brother, Ryan, fought about constantly. Ryan insisted that it remain
locked after five. Reece complained that Ryan was a control freak who needed to
get a life. “What the fuck does he care if the back door is open? For Christ sake,
let the slaves have some fresh air.”
The shelving that
held pots and pans had been knocked over, its contents scattered all around it.
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