Chapter 92. Bloody Bitch

Rae:

The breeze picks up.

I zip up my jacket and pull my hood low.

The gate hasn’t changed. Same rusted hinge on the right. Same loose bolt at the bottom. I crouch, fingers brushing old grooves, and slide it open just enough to slip through.

The metal moans.

I freeze.

No lights flick on. No footsteps.

I’m still invisible.

I tiptoe around the outer wall. The old window near the laundry line is still cracked. Sasha once threw a slipper at me through it. Missed. Broke the pane. We laughed until Mother stormed out with her belt. 'Was the one who got hit.

The camera on the porch rotates every ten seconds. I count.

One… two… ten.

Move.

I crouch low. Skirt the shadows. Duck under the fig tree where the leaves used to fall like confetti every autumn. I remember making piles. Jumping in. Then cleaning up for hours while Sasha got cocoa indoors.

The camera turns again.

I slip past it.

The kitchen window