Black - then white - then black again.
Night - then day - but mostly night.
And here I am.
Finally here. My home. It's right around the corner - I can practically smell it. My fingers tingle with excitement. I round the corner and glance at the paper again.
This is it. It's the right address.
Then why isn't there a home here?
Where's the yard and the wooden house with the sprinkler?
Why is there a grocery store where my house use to be?
"Excuse me!" I say as I step inside the AC air. The cashier looks up.
"Hi. Um this was supposed to be a house. Do you know where that house is?" I show him the slip of paper.
"Peacone Lane 4972?" He says looking up.
I nod eagerly.
"Um ma'am you're standin' in it." He gestures around with his arms.
"No no I think you're wrong. There was a house here. Not a grocery store." I wrinkle my nose.
"This has always been here. No house ever been built here." The cashier leans against the counter.
I notice his hair is super greasy and in need of a shower.
"When was this store built?" I say, snatching the paper back.
"1932. It's on the sign." He points his thumb out the window and his eyes droop lazily.
1932? No. No. I wasn't 80. And this is where I lived. I think. This is the only address I remember.
It's one of the few things I actually remember.
And so I stomp out into the heat and sit on a bench. And I decide whether I'm living on the streets or on the roofs because there is no way I'm leaving without finding that house.
YOU ARE READING
Home
Mystery / Thriller"This was it: Peacone Lane, 4972. But what stood there was not a house. Not a house at all, but a grocery store." Evelyn has been taken from her home once she was very little. She grew up about half her life in that prison but now, when she finds he...
