Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“Come on, guys,” I call to the dog, who comes running up from the barn. Riley has a mouthful of horse poop that falls from her jaw as she runs. “Gross.” I wrinkle my nose and shake my head at her, waiting by the door so I can brush her off before she goes inside.
The house is still quiet, and the coffee is untouched since I poured myself a mug.
“Aunt Kim?” I call softly and cross through the house. Her bedroom door is still shut, making me frown. She wanted to sleep in, but I for sure thought she’d be up by now. A fat tabby cat paws at the screened in porch door. It’s Tinkerbell, a barn cat who comes and goes. She’s up to date on her shots and is allowed inside. I let her in from the rain, knowing Mr. Meowster is going to lose his shit. Not wanting to deal with it right now, I go into the kitchen to get her a can of cat food, which really just opens up a can of worms.
Both the dog and the two cats are loudly begging and, after a bit of a scuffle, I get all three inside animals fed in separate rooms. I make myself avocado toast and put on water for a cup of tea to bring to Aunt Kim once she’s up.
But she’s not when I’m done with breakfast, or when I wash my dishes and put them away. My phone vibrates with a text from Heather, saying the girls are slow-going this morning but they’ll be over shortly.
“Aunt Kim?” I ask again, a little louder. “Are you feeling okay?”
I get no response, so I make a cup of peppermint tea to set on her nightstand. A bad feeling starts to bubble up inside of me, one I can’t shake. I don’t consider myself religious, but spiritual. Energy flow is a real thing and, right now, it’s off.
Really off.
“I hope you’re in the mood for peppermint in the morning,” I say a little louder. “It was either that or chamomile and that’s a nighttime tea, I know.” Tinkerbell winds around my feet as I walk through the kitchen, going to Aunt Kim’s room.
“Aunt Kim?” I knock on the door and wait. “Aunt Kim?” I knock again and the bad feeling gets stronger. A voice in the back of my head starts talking loudly, telling me how wrong this is. Aunt Kim doesn’t sleep in. She would have gotten up anyway and sat on the porch, watching me take care of the horses—her babies.
She wouldn’t stay in bed like this.
My hand starts to tremble, making the teacup clank against its matching saucer. I take in a breath and reach forward, wrapping my fingers around the doorknob. I twist it, thankful it’s not locked, and slowly push. The door swings open, softly bumping against the wall. And then my heart falls out of my chest.
“Aunt Kim?”
I peer through the room, dark from the curtains being drawn, and know where the bad feeling is coming from. The teacup clatters to the floor, spattering hot tea over my legs and shattering into a million tiny pieces. I want to run to her. To throw the blankets back and start CPR. Because this can’t be it. She can’t be gone.
She can’t leave me.
But I know it is. Her skin is blue, and her lips have blackened. I want to scream and throw up at the same time, but all I can do is stand there, rooted to the spot, staring at her. Finally, I shake myself and everything unfolds before me as if I’m in some surreal, cruel reality.
Her skin is cold. It’s getting stiff. Her eyes are void of emotion—and life. Blood pools in her fingertips since her hands are resting peacefully at her sides. And there’s a distant smell of death coming from her body.
Oh my god.
Her body.
Something…something needs to be done with…with the body.
“A-aunt Kim?” My voice is barely a whisper and I can’t take my eyes off of her. Tinkerbell meows and stretches up, pawing at me. It’s enough to shake me back to reality, and I turn, hurrying into the kitchen, stepping on broken pieces of the teacup but the pain doesn’t register. My hands shake as I pick up my cell phone from the counter and call 911.
“911, please state the exact location of your emergency,” the operator says, voice flat.
“I…I…I don’t know.” I blink, unable to think of Aunt Kim’s address.
“It’s okay,” the operator says, tone changing from bored to soothing. “What is your emergency?”
“My aunt…she’s…she’s dead. I found her.”
“Okay. Are you on a cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Go ahead and put me on speaker and then look up your location.”
I nod and do that. “Three-oh-five, Silver Woods Road.”
“Kim Walker’s place?” the operator asks. Right. This is a small town.