tombstones. Most of them I’ve seen a hundred times before. Some of them I st ill can’t bring myself to read.
The inky-black night has settled itself over the graves , but instead of it seeming creepy or weird, it feels peaceful. Maybe that’s why I sneak out of my bedroom window most nights and come here. It’s not that I feel any closer to them or that I suddenly think I can hear them when I step into the cemetery. It’s just simple and peaceful, and I like that. Riley would go nuts if he knew I liked to hang out at the cemetery until the early hours.
I step away from the rows of graves and start to walk up th e grassy bank that leads to an oak tree that I like to sit under. When I’m halfway up the hill, I hear a ticking, sort of whirling noise. I instinctively crouch down into the grass, hoping I’m not seen. I can tell that the noise is coming from the gate on the east side. A few seconds later, a bicycle appears on the concrete path that streaks all the way through the cemetery. I watch the person that’s riding it and how their legs keep on turning over and over, forcing the pedals to whirl around and around. They’re going fast. Whoever it is that’s riding it is clearly on some sort of mission.
I freeze when they turn off the path and start to head up the bank towards me. I flatten myself out so I won’t be seen and hold my breath.
The bike and its rider whizz past me at a ridiculous speed. They must have really strong legs to get up this bank at that sort of speed. They carry on right up the hill until they get to my tree. My tree. They jump off their bike, unclick their helmet, and let it drop onto the floor with a thump and then throw themselves onto the ground.
I can hear my breaths as they push out of my nose and how they’re quick and panicky. What the hell is Roisin Williams doing in my cemetery , and why the hell is she lying on the damp grass crying her eyes out at ten at night?
It’s been an hour. Her cries have settled down to nothing more than sobs, but I’ve shamelessly sat here listening without attempting to go anywhere near her to see if she’s alright. If she’s here, then she clearly wants to be alone. I get that. I have to respect it.
I don’t move when she finally sits up and rubs at her face. I still don’t move when she climbs back onto her bike and pedals down the hill. I still don’t move even when she’s disappeared out of the east gate.
Chapter 5
Nola
How dare she? How dare she raise her hand to my daughter like that? Of all the things I’ve ever thought about Hallie, a child abuser was not one of them. Not until today anyway. I am fuming. I am delirious with rage. I haven’t stopped running up and down the stairs and through the house since it happened. I’ve never wished to be alive again so badly. I want to hit her in her face and show her how much it hurts. I want to punish her. I want to strike her over and over again and not just for what she’s done to Roisin’s face tonight, but for everything. I despise that woman. I can’t wait for the day I get to watch her being dragged kicking and screaming to hell.
I breeze into Roisin’s room and look at her sore eye and face as she sleeps. I can’t imagine the things that are going through her mind right now. She must be so confused and scared.
Roisin shouldn’t have to be frightened in her own house. Her life would be full of sunshine and laughter if I was still alive. I hate that I was taken from her and I hate God for letting it happen.
I listen to her breathing softly into her pill ow. She sleeps on her side in the fetal position, just like I used to do. I want to curl up behind her and soothe her. I want to whisper in her ear that everything will soon be alright. And it’s not because she doesn’t hear me that I don’t, it’s because I wouldn’t believe what I was saying. I’m not sure that it will be alright. Not yet anyway.
L ance seems to be oblivious to Hallie and
The inky-black night has settled itself over the graves , but instead of it seeming creepy or weird, it feels peaceful. Maybe that’s why I sneak out of my bedroom window most nights and come here. It’s not that I feel any closer to them or that I suddenly think I can hear them when I step into the cemetery. It’s just simple and peaceful, and I like that. Riley would go nuts if he knew I liked to hang out at the cemetery until the early hours.
I step away from the rows of graves and start to walk up th e grassy bank that leads to an oak tree that I like to sit under. When I’m halfway up the hill, I hear a ticking, sort of whirling noise. I instinctively crouch down into the grass, hoping I’m not seen. I can tell that the noise is coming from the gate on the east side. A few seconds later, a bicycle appears on the concrete path that streaks all the way through the cemetery. I watch the person that’s riding it and how their legs keep on turning over and over, forcing the pedals to whirl around and around. They’re going fast. Whoever it is that’s riding it is clearly on some sort of mission.
I freeze when they turn off the path and start to head up the bank towards me. I flatten myself out so I won’t be seen and hold my breath.
The bike and its rider whizz past me at a ridiculous speed. They must have really strong legs to get up this bank at that sort of speed. They carry on right up the hill until they get to my tree. My tree. They jump off their bike, unclick their helmet, and let it drop onto the floor with a thump and then throw themselves onto the ground.
I can hear my breaths as they push out of my nose and how they’re quick and panicky. What the hell is Roisin Williams doing in my cemetery , and why the hell is she lying on the damp grass crying her eyes out at ten at night?
It’s been an hour. Her cries have settled down to nothing more than sobs, but I’ve shamelessly sat here listening without attempting to go anywhere near her to see if she’s alright. If she’s here, then she clearly wants to be alone. I get that. I have to respect it.
I don’t move when she finally sits up and rubs at her face. I still don’t move when she climbs back onto her bike and pedals down the hill. I still don’t move even when she’s disappeared out of the east gate.
Chapter 5
Nola
How dare she? How dare she raise her hand to my daughter like that? Of all the things I’ve ever thought about Hallie, a child abuser was not one of them. Not until today anyway. I am fuming. I am delirious with rage. I haven’t stopped running up and down the stairs and through the house since it happened. I’ve never wished to be alive again so badly. I want to hit her in her face and show her how much it hurts. I want to punish her. I want to strike her over and over again and not just for what she’s done to Roisin’s face tonight, but for everything. I despise that woman. I can’t wait for the day I get to watch her being dragged kicking and screaming to hell.
I breeze into Roisin’s room and look at her sore eye and face as she sleeps. I can’t imagine the things that are going through her mind right now. She must be so confused and scared.
Roisin shouldn’t have to be frightened in her own house. Her life would be full of sunshine and laughter if I was still alive. I hate that I was taken from her and I hate God for letting it happen.
I listen to her breathing softly into her pill ow. She sleeps on her side in the fetal position, just like I used to do. I want to curl up behind her and soothe her. I want to whisper in her ear that everything will soon be alright. And it’s not because she doesn’t hear me that I don’t, it’s because I wouldn’t believe what I was saying. I’m not sure that it will be alright. Not yet anyway.
L ance seems to be oblivious to Hallie and
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