She did not belong here. Not anymore.
Yet, here she was. Forced back. Feeling foreign in her childhood bedroom, as if she’d been gone decades instead of days.
She couldn’t be here. Couldn’t stay. She had midterms to cram for before Thanksgiving break, and she needed to be around the buzz of her friends, fueled by the chaos of all-nighters to kick herself into gear; and she had to have access to campus Wi-Fi, not the sketchy DSL here in the boonies. Campus was nearly an hour drive, if the roads were good. With this damned fog, it could mean she missed exams; her GPA would plummet.
Her dad and Felix had countered each valid point with one argument: her safety was the priority. Forget grades. Forget everything else. Forget living her life. Her father had even proposed she put her studies on hold and take a break to some place sunny, like Florida, until the situation was cleared.
Florida? Seriously? And, the situation? How, exactly, was the situation supposed to be cleared? By divine intervention?
Preacher wasn’t going anywhere. Just how long was Rachel supposed to take a break someplace sunny or lock herself in her old bedroom, caged like one of Felix’s canaries?
And hadn’t her father tried to protect her throughout her childhood by not telling her the truth about her parents’ murders? How had that worked out? There was no way to guarantee her, or anyone’s, safety.
Rachel shut her bedroom door, cutting off the low yet urgent voices of Felix and her father in the kitchen, no doubt discussing the situation. As if it didn’t concern her, as if she needed to be protected by high walls and knights in armor, unable to fend or to know what was best for herself. She did not want to be here. Yet, here she was.
She sat on the edge of her old twin bed, seething.
The air of the room was as fusty as a summer camp after being shuttered for the winter.
What was she going to do? What could she do?
She fell back on the mattress, arms out as if to make a snow angel. A part of her wished she were still the little girl who made snow angels with her father, got swept up on his shoulders afterward as he tromped through the snow, her face buzzing with cold, back to the warm house to make hot chocolate.
But the part of her that longed for such days was a small part, smaller each day. The more the future tugged her forward, and the more exhilarated she became by the unknown life awaiting her, the sharper the stab of melancholy was for the girl she was leaving behind, as if she were mourning her own death. Her fingertips fiddled with the satin edge of her blanket. The cool slippery feel of the silky material gliding between her fingertips had always soothed her. Felix found it cute, and a tad disturbing, that she bought coats with satin-lined pockets so when she got uptight or nervous she could work the satin for solace; yet what was once relief was now more of a way to reconnect with that girl fading away within her.
She let go of the blanket and stared at the walls. She’d picked the color years ago when lilacs had been her favorite flower. Now it made her queasy. Pepto pink more than lilac; yet her father had gladly painted the room the exact color she’d wanted.
A pink prison now.
It was unjust. A sick, violent man could follow her, yet she was the one imprisoned. She radiated with hatred at the thought of what he’d done to her parents. Who was this man? This Ned Preacher?
Rachel had not wanted to know anything about him when that weirdo at Family Matters had told her of her parents’ murders. Now, she wanted to know everything. Had to know. About the murders. And the murderer. Had to know the orchestrator of her imprisonment.
She opened her laptop. She had a LexisNexis account, through the college. It would give her access to the old print articles about the murders.
The browser loaded with all the speed of a hibernating toad’s heartbeat. Finally, she brought up the LexisNexis interface and entered her password. Typed in Laura Pritchard, murder, Ned Preacher, Vermont. May 3, 1995. She rubbed a fingertip on the track pad, stared at the Search button.
She rose and opened her door a crack, peered out to see her dad at the kitchen stove, staring out the window.
She did not see Felix, but as she made to shut the door, she heard the shower going on in the bathroom next door.
Rachel could use a good shower too. After what she was about to research online, she was sure she’d need one.
She eased the door shut and sat at her childhood desk, her back to the door but ears keen for the sound of the shower.
She stared at laptop screen, took a deep breath, and clicked Search.