Glum, I grabbed a leg and bit down hard.

6 Molly

My phone notifications remained depressingly silent all-day Monday, and his lack of contact continued into the rest of the week.

Daryl never called.

He was also a no-show at school.

By the following Friday afternoon, I was starting to panic. Maybe Daryl wasn’t avoiding me after all. Maybe he was genuinely sick. He had a game tonight. Never in the past two years had I known him to miss school on game day. It simply wasn't done around here. When I mustered the courage to ask Rourke if he was okay, he'd grunted something about not being his damn babysitter before stalking off to talk with his coach.

Beyond concerned and unable to take another second of not knowing, I walked to Daryl's house after school. Facing my old street wasn't something I relished doing, I'd only mustered the courage to do it once in the past two years, but I was too worried about him to let my PTSD control me.

Concentrating on anything other than the house across the street, I pushed the gate open and walked up the familiar garden path. The sound of angry voices rose with every step I took closer to the house. Nothing new there. My breath was coming in loud, audible puffs now, my anxiety rising to epic proportions, but I refused to turn and run away.

Braving my fears and the prospect of rejection, I climbed the remaining porch steps and pressed my finger to the shiny brass doorbell.

The screaming match that had been taking place inside the house momentarily ceased, followed a few moments later by the sound of heavy footfall.

When the door finally swung open, I was faced with the very last member of this family that I wanted to see.

Wretched.

"Sheriff Chambers," I acknowledged the police officer towering in the doorway.

The big, imposing man glowered down at me, his brain clearly going into overdrive as he fought to put a name to a familiar face.

"Well I'd be goddamned," he finally said, his beefy hand moving to stroke his whiskery mustache. "If it ain't little Molly Peterson all grown up."

I nodded and forced a tight smile, feeling nothing but repulsion for the man standing in front of me. His paunchy gut bulged against the fabric of the faded wife beater he was wearing and I had to repress a shudder when my eyes caught a glimpse of his hairy beer belly hanging over the waistband of his jeans. "I was hoping to speak with Daryl please."

"Well, ain't you just the mirror image of your mama when she was your age," he stated with whistle, ignoring my request to speak with his stepson. "Pretty as a Georgia peach." His traced his tongue over his bottom lip. "It's a damn shame about the rest of your body, sweetheart. Would've been a real looker if that fire hadn't torched the good parts –"

"I really need to speak with Daryl, sir," I cut in, balling my hands into fists at my sides. "It's real important."