It takes a painful amount of time to navigate the stairs down, and when I finally make it to the bottom, a trail of blood greets me. A trail that ends against the back wall, where my father is lying flat, his shotgun next to him, blood seeping from under his head.
Poison Wood Therapeutic Academy for Girls
Kisatchie National Forest
November 29, 2002
Meadow
Dear Diary,
The police are here now. Something horrible has happened. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just wanted to leave. I had a plan. He was part of it. I mean, God, not forever. Like I would ever really be with him. Gross. But then it all just got out of control and then I found out I was, you know. And then I really needed the money.
And now she’s telling me to lie to protect her. For once, I want to tell the truth. But I won’t. The way she looked at me told me if I do I’ll be sorry.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Natchitoches, Louisiana
Monday, February 18, 2019
5:35 p.m. CST
“Dad!” I hurry to his side. Blood is pooling under him. “Oh my God, Dad.”
His eyes open.
Summer follows me to his side, chewing her fingernail and mumbling to herself.
Fading afternoon light fills the small windows at the top of the far wall. “It’s going to be okay, Dad,” I say, my eyes adjusting to the darkening room. “I’m going to get an ambulance.”
“What are those?” Summer’s voice sounds like a croak.
I follow her gaze to the filing cabinets and papers. “Things that shouldn’t be here.”
“Rita,” my father says in a weak voice.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” I drop my tote next to him and pull my sweater off so I’m just in my T-shirt and put it under his head.
“What kind of things?” Summer says.
“You need to help me,” I say to her. “Go upstairs and see if you can get a signal. Find Katrina. Call 911.”
I look at the small set of stairs that leads up to the cellar doors, wondering if there is any way I can get him up those and out of this basement. I run over to them and push on the doors. They don’t open. I push again and again. They don’t budge. “Damn it.” Chief Duplantis said they were working to secure the building the best they could. They must have started with these doors.
I race back to my father and press my sweater into the back of his head.
Summer is rocking on her feet and staring at the mess against the far wall. “You have to get out of here.”
“What?”
She looks at me. “Leave.” Her voice hardens as she looks up at the basement door. “Now.”
“I’m not leaving my father here.”
“She’ll think I’ll called you.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
