Echoes by Erin Quinn

the stuffed animals neatly arranged. The sight of it reminded her of when she and Tori were kids and shared a room. Tess's side was always precisely kept—just like Caitlin's. The Colonel could find no fault in her tightly pulled bedspread and organized drawers. Tori's side was always piled with books, magazines, shoes, hair ties, fingernail polish and a million other things she'd gathered along the way. She didn't believe in hanging up clothes she'd only be taking down to wear again or putting away an item she'd finished with. What was the point when sooner or later she would need it once more?
    Last night after the sheriff and his well-behaved deputy left, she'd toured Tori's small house and discovered that some things never changed. Tori's bedroom still looked as if it had been ripped by a tornado. She'd been too tired to face it then, but now she crossed the hall and waded into the chaos.
    Small towers of taped up boxes skulked in the corners and a mass of disarray littered the dresser top. The matching mirror leaned against the wall, propped between the dresser and the floor. It cut off her reflection at the neck. A shiver slid down her spine as she stared at it. Quickly, she faced the other way.
    Tori was acting strangely this last week. Is paranoia normal for your sister?
    "No."
    She hadn't meant to say the word out loud, but there it was. Denial at its finest.
    Could Tori have crossed over the edge? Raced into the night to escape her own personal demons? Before her mother was committed, she too had vanished. A week passed before they found her, naked and starved, living in a broken down shack off old Highway 40. They'd put her away for good after that and then the Colonel had accepted an assignment overseas. The three of them had left Mom behind. She'd died within the year.
    Tori's closet door was open, but few of her clothes actually hung inside. Behind the door, a baseball bat leaned against the wall. She lifted it, knowing that Tori never used it to hit a home run. Did she sleep with it beside the bed now?
    A tiny bathroom opened off the bedroom and Tess stepped in. The countertops were an ancient beige with an ugly gold streak weaved in. A mirrored medicine cabinet cubbied into the wall by the door. She stared at herself for a moment. Her eyes were still blue, skin still fair, hair still short, but she wasn't a kid anymore and the apprehension showing on her face was all grown up.
    She opened the cabinet and her reflection slid off the glass. Inside were toothpaste and a toothbrush. Hair gel. She took out a prescription bottle and studied the label. Prozac, prescribed three years ago, still three quarters full. She lifted Tori's perfume, Obsession —what else?—and sniffed. Then a box on the top shelf caught her eye. She reached for it and something fell out as she brought it down.
    For a moment she stared at the small white wand-shaped object that had clattered into the sink. She knew what it was, but why would Tori have it?
    Duh, Tess. Why does anyone have a pregnancy test kit?
    Okay, stupid question. She picked it up and made realization number two.
    Tori had taken the test already. A bright blue plus sign showed in the little window. Tori was pregnant? When? And who? How old was the test? Days? Weeks? Like the Prozac, years?
    Tori, why does everything have to be so complicated where you are concerned?
    Frustrated by so many unanswered questions, she shoved the test back into the box and replaced it on the shelf. Back in the bedroom, she moved to the big window overlooking the yard and the pastures beyond the barbed fence. A ponderosa pine grew to the left of it, partially blocking the view, but also offering privacy from the frontage road. She stepped closer and peered out.
    Directly below was a man on horseback. He was looking right at her.
    She jumped back and her heart did a wild bump and grind in her chest. Who was that? How long had he been out there? Why was he staring at Tori's bedroom window? She