No balloons, no Ambrose.
Rain splashes his face, creating tears through his white paint. His glove appears dirtier, and the red patch on his fingertip is bigger than before.
I squint my eyes for a better look.
“Dollancie,” he shouts, his arm waving faster and higher in the sky. “Quick, I need your help!”
“Where’s Ambrose?”
Rain covers my cheeks, blending with my tears and causing my hair to hang limply at my shoulders.
“He couldn’t walk as well as we thought, and he fell down the steps in the basement. He’s hurt his leg. Can you come and help me get him up?”
“I don’t know.” Something, maybe fear, keeps me rooted. “I’m not very strong. We could call Daddy. He could help.”
“But Ambrose needs help now, and you’re the only one here. Please. For Ambrose?”
My head bobs slowly, and I blink the rain from my eyes.
For Ambrose, I take a step towards Chuckles, and for some reason, I’m trembling as I ask again if Ambrose is okay. And I ask if Chuckles has a phone to call Daddy because he’ll know what to do.
“Daddy’s number is in both of our backpacks, but they are still in your car.” Still on the back seat where I’d left them in my rush to get out.
“Yes, I will call him as soon as we see to your brother.”
Chuckles guides me into the house, his hand on my back, sinking lower and lower until I get uncomfortable and hurry in quicker.
The shack doesn’t look like a house. The whining noise sounds again as he pushes the door.
There’s nothing here.
Chuckles has no television, not much furniture, and no phone to call Daddy.
All that’s here is me, Chuckles, and Ambrose, who isn’t moving and has his eyes closed. Something dirty hangs out of his mouth, and it has blood on it. Two teeth sit in front of his face, pressed to the stone tiles. One is a baby one, like mine. The other, I’m not sure.
He’s not in the basement? He’s bound and gagged, and hurt on the floor.
My gaze trails up to Chuckles’ mouth because he’s laughing. His bloody glove flies toward my face, and I jump out of the way to avoid what could have been a punch to my nose.
There’s no time to run because he catches hold of my hair and pulls until my body is flying across the room. I try to scream before the wall gets closer and closer to my face, but it’s cut off.
“Ambro—”
And then everything goes black.
CHAPTER 10
Ambrose—present day
Stale air greets me as I open the door, successfully closing it behind me on the first try. I ignore the urge to do it twice more by focusing on the rancid stench that has been here since my return home all those weeks ago. No matter how many windows I open during the day, the smell is still here the next day, along with new scribbles on my walls.
The local fuckwits need better hobbies than writing lies between patches of black mold and peeling paint.
I’d have painted over it all by now if I didn’t think more words would be there tomorrow. It’s happened twice already.
God, my mother would be wallowing in devastation right now if she weren’t six feet under and could see this place.
I can almost hear her voice, each word wavering and becoming higher pitched like it always did when something upset her.
