Hell Without You

Chapter 1

She didn't slow down as she drove by the trailer park, but she stared.

The past seven years might as well have been a couple of decades – rust had spread over the dozen or so homes like a fungus, and aluminum siding hung askew everywhere she looked. The grass probably hadn't been mowed in months, but in truth, there was none – only weeds of every variety, thriving on neglect, growing tall in the shadows of deteriorating mobile homes.

The seemingly exaggerated passage of time weighed her heart down just as thoroughly as the sight of the dilapidated lots. Exerting pressure against the gas pedal, she sent the odometer needle creeping up to ten miles over the posted speed limit, so that when she passed the painted wooden sign reading Shady Side Mobile Home Court, it was only a blur, its faded letters unrecognizable.

Gold and orange, the foliage lining the road out of town was gorgeous and should've been enough to wipe the sight of Shady Side from her thoughts. Still, the memory of one trailer in particular – the ugliest one of all – stuck in her mind.

Years ago, it'd been a faded pink, but it was mostly rust-brown now. She'd recognized it anyway – third one back, on the left. She'd never been inside – she'd asked, but he'd always refused – but she could've sketched the exterior from memory.

How embarrassing was that? Her cheeks heating with secret shame, she sped a little more, hoping the road would remain empty and devoid of police. She was only a mile from her destination, and for some reason, she knew that laying eyes on it would erase thoughts of rusting trailers and weedy lots from her mind.

The brick house – two sprawling stories of Victorian architecture – loomed around a corner, tall and stately. It was as perfectly maintained as she remembered, from the close-clipped lawn to the whitewashed gingerbread trim. Coming to a rolling stop alongside the country road, she breathed a sigh.

Whoever had bought the place was obviously taking care of it. Thank God. She'd wondered and worried that her grandmother's pride and joy would be left to deteriorate after her death, but apparently, that wasn't the case.

Had the new owner moved in yet?

It didn't look like it. The driveway was empty, and the mailbox was gone from the edge of the yard. The weeping willow in the center of the front lawn looked beautiful but lonely. Everything appeared too perfect for an actual residence. Maybe whoever owned the house had other plans for it, like turning it into a bed and breakfast – it would make a beautiful one, though who would want to vacation in Willow Heights, Pennsylvania, she had no idea.

Buoyed by the thought, she turned into the driveway, tires creeping over gravel. Surely the owner wouldn't mind if she took a quick look around, especially not if they were going to turn it into something semi-public.

Stepping out of her car, she inhaled her first breath of Willow Heights air in four years. Considering that her last visit to the town had been brief and for a funeral, this occasion seemed markedly better, even if she still had her reservations about returning in the first place.

The air smelled like a storm. Unusually humid for fall and tinged with ozone, it warned her that her time was limited. Striding quickly, she approached the house, rounding the front porch, letting her fingertips trail over brick and wood as she went, determined to make a round of the building before rain started to fall.

The sky seemed to grow darker with each step, deepening to gunmetal grey, thick with clouds. A breeze brought cool air that permeated the weave of her cardigan, brisk after hours spent in the car. By the time she finished her circuit of the yard, she was on the verge of shivering. As she fastened her sweater's top button, an ominous sound came from the tree-lined road.