Page 60 of Unbound

Sybil laughs, the sound filling my bathroom. It’s foreign and almost strange. I don’t know that anyone has ever laughed in this room. Hell, I don’t know that anyone has ever laughed in the entirety of my house.

My mother would hate that. She was always laughing. Always smiling and happy. She’d be disappointed in me if she knew how little of that I’ve allowed into my life.

“Here.” Sybil reaches for the rack, pulling another towel free before lifting it to dab at my shoulders and chest. “Maybe you should go do something fun today. There’s no reason for you to sit around here and stare at the walls while I give myself eyeball strain and make my flat ass even flatter sitting in a chair all day.” She works the towel over my arms and then wraps it around my waist. “I’m sure one of your cousins would love to hang out and annoy the shit out of you.”

She’s not wrong. But there’s no reason for me to go somewhere else. Not on any account.

“You love to annoy the shit out of me too, so I might as well just stay here.” Sybil scoffs, but before she can protest, I grab the front of her towel and pull her closer. “And there’s something we need to do before you get back on the computer again.”

Normally, just the thought of what I’m about to show her overwhelms me. Has me shutting down and shutting off, abandoning the idea completely. But today, I won’t be doing it alone. I’ll have someone with me who understands what I’m feeling better than anyone. And somehow that makes it easier. Makes it possible to keep moving air in and out of my lungs as we get dressed and go downstairs.

The squeeze in my chest when I open the basement door isn’t as tight as it usually is. This time, it’s more of an ache than a fist trying to close off my airway.

Sybil follows me down the stairs. She’s been quiet for a very long time, and I wonder if maybe she can read me even better than I feared. If she knows answering any of her questions would be too much for me right now.

Even once I stop in front of the boxes filled with my past, she doesn’t ask anything. Her blue eyes simply come to my face, holding my gaze as she takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

I clear my throat, hoping my voice sounds at least a little normal when I say, “This is everything that belonged to my mother.” My eyes lift to the ceiling. “Almost everything. I’ve put a few things upstairs over the years.”

And each one of them felt like a battle I waged with myself. Wanting so desperately to remember her, but hating having to remember her, created a war within me. More than once, I had to put whatever item I moved back down here, leaving it until I felt like I could try again.

“I thought maybe you would want to look through it. See if there’s anything useful.”

I know I should have done this before now, but I was hoping there would be another way. A way that wouldn’t involve forcing me to face reminders of what I had. Of all I lost.

And that might have been possible if the police had just done their fucking jobs. Titus and Heidi could have put the pieces together for me. It still likely would’ve been fucking devastating to hear, but I’ve reached a point where it’s devastating not to know.

Because after all this time, I feel like I’m letting her down. Like it seems as if she didn’t matter enough to warrant finding the truth. When in reality, she mattered so much the truth was irrelevant. It wouldn’t bring her back, and if I couldn’t have that, I didn’t want anything.

At least for a while.

Sybil’s blue eyes drift over the neatly stacked boxes and plastic wrapped furniture. “You’re going to let me go through this?”

I jerk my chin down in a nod, the tightness in my chest beginning to intensify. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Turning away, I all but run back up the stairs, breathing a little easier with every step I put between me and the remnants of the worst day of my life.

But I don’t stop when I reach the main floor. I keep moving, rushing down the hall and out into the garage, falling behind the wheel of my UTV. I need more space. More room.

And like I always do when I’m struggling, I end up at the small structure I built a decade ago. It’s nothing fancy. Just wood walls and a metal roof. But I’ve spent countless hours here, hoping for peace.

I haven’t found it before. And I’m not going to find it today either.

But I do find something else. Someone else.

“Hey.” I approach my aunt as she sits on the bench we each occupy on a regular basis. “What are you doing here?”

Aunt DeeDee gives me a wry smile. “Bitching.” She scoots to one end of the seat, patting the spot next to her. “What about you?”

I shrug as I take my spot at her side. “Just thought I’d come see what all needs repaired this year.”

I have an easier time being here at the memorial I built for my mom than I do facing her belongings. This place doesn’t make me think of the before. I don’t have to stare down reminders of what was. How things used to be. This place represents only what is.

My aunt pats my knee. “You’re a good boy.” Her hand stays as she looks me over. “How’s your houseguest?”

“A handful.” I shake my head. “The woman is her own worst enemy. There’s no telling what would’ve happened to her if we’d let her leave that night the way she wanted to.”

I’ve got a pretty good guess though, and just thinking about it makes my stomach turn.