Chatoyant vases and pottery equipment were scattered on the floor, the same way it’d been in the attic. Scraps of old yellow wallpaper, once expressive and bright, were now muddied, stained, and shriveled.
Jennifer had obviously attempted to make this place look cheerful,
but the room reeked of death. Burnt decay was trapped between the walls, etched in the remains. Because the roof was missing and the ground was cluttered with scorched items, there wasn’t much room left to
move around in. I noticed the shoe prints were gone too, so I imagined them leading towards the
table where the pie had been . . . where Jennifer’s body had
deteriorated in my dream. From where I stood, I could see the edges of
the table tucked behind the living room sofa. Stumbling back, I
caught myself on the nearest wall.
“Are you alright?” Chris asked.
For a moment, I closed my eyes. The dream was real. There was no more blaming the pills for my hallucinations. These so-called coincidences had proven themselves valid: the crow statue, the key-locket, the scarf, and the mysterious letters were leading me closer and closer to her. Missy knew it. I knew it. And Chris knew it.
“I'm here for you,” he said.
I nodded, getting the chills across my arms. “This is where she died.”
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