Chapter 2

The small urn felt cold in my hands.

Chloe's ashes.

Our small living room was dim. Mom had set up a little table with Chloe's high school graduation photo. She was beaming, a cap perched jauntily on her bright hair.

I placed the urn beside it.

The front door burst open, slamming against the wall.

Mark strode in, Jessica clinging to his arm like a designer leech. Her face was a mask of smug concern.

"Well, well," Jessica drawled, her eyes flicking to the urn. "If it isn't the dearly departed's sister. And what's this? Did Chloe finally succeed in faking her own death for sympathy?"

Mark's gaze landed on the urn, a flicker of something – confusion? – in his eyes.

Then he saw me. Really saw me.

His expression hardened into contempt. "Emily. I should have known. Your family will stoop to anything, won't you? What is this, some sick play to get money?"

Jessica giggled, a high, sharp sound. "Oh, Mark, don't be fooled. She probably scooped up some dirt from the yard. Trying to guilt trip you into another lavish funeral, perhaps?"

Her hand, nails painted a blood red, reached for the urn.

I moved, just a fraction, and her hand swiped empty air. She stumbled, catching herself on Mark's arm.

"Emily!" Mark's voice was a whip crack. "Have you learned nothing? You dare to act out, even now?"

Mom stepped in front of me, her small frame trembling but resolute. "Get out!" she screamed, her voice raw. "Get out of my house! You killed my daughter!"

Mark's face contorted with rage. "Killed her? She was a menace! That farm was supposed to help her! If she couldn't handle a little discipline, that's on her!"

He grabbed my wrist. "You're coming with me. You're clearly as unhinged as she was. A few weeks at the farm will teach you some respect. Maybe you'll learn what happens to liars and manipulators."

My eyes were empty. I didn't resist.

"Fine," I said.

Mark blinked, surprised by my quick agreement.

I gently took the urn from the table, cradling it. I looked at Chloe's smiling face in the photo.

She always shared her candy with me, the cheap kind Mom bought from the convenience store where she worked.

*"Is it good, Em?" she'd whisper, her eyes sparkling.*

*I'd nod, the sweetness a small, bright spot in my gray world.*

Twelve years old.

A group of older boys from the high school cornered Chloe on her way home from middle school. The sheriff's son was among them.

I'd been following, silent as always.

Chloe ran home, sobbing, her clothes torn. She never saw me emerge from the alley, my hands and shirt stained a sticky, dark red.

That night, the sheriff's house burned down. They found the family inside.

The papers called it a tragic accident. Faulty wiring.

The police found me by the river, washing my hands, a small, satisfied smile on my face.

They said I was a danger. Intermittent Explosive Disorder. PTSD from a childhood I never spoke of.

They locked me away.

Chloe visited every week.

*"The cherry blossoms are out, Em," she'd say, her breath fogging the thick visiting room glass. "So pretty."*

Her last visit.

*"I'm getting married, Em! Mark is wonderful. We'll have a small thing in the backyard. Mom will stream it for you!"*

Now, her ashes were in my hands.

Mom gripped my arm. "Emily... no." Her eyes pleaded.

I patted her hand.

She let out a shuddering sigh and stepped back. "Go then."

I nodded once and walked out with Mark, Jessica smirking beside him.