THE GAMES OF POWER

THE GAMES OF POWER: Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4:

“Oh my God, Mom,” I breathed, skidding down to the floor next to her. Glass dug into my knees and I looked around to see sharp, glittering pieces everywhere, but I bit back the pain and took my mother’s face in my hands. “Mom, are you okay? What happened?”

She looked up at me and took my hands away from her face. “I’m fine,” she said, emotion still thick in her voice. “I just got a little clumsy and broke this picture frame.”

She swept away pieces of broken glass from the frame, and brought it to her lap. Four people stared up at her, their smiles bright and happy.

Then it all made sense to me.

It was a family picture, one I remember Mom getting done at the mall. Professional work. I could see me smiling like a goofball with my crooked grin full of snaggleteeth. I was about seven. Dad was behind me, his arm around Mom’s waist, and his other resting on my shoulder. Beside me, with her long, dark hair covering her damaged ears, was Embry. My little sister.

Today was the day she went missing. Nearly ten years ago.

“C’mon Mom,” I said softly, helping my mother off of the glass strewn floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Honestly, I’m not some jerk who’s too busy to remember it’s the tenth anniversary of his little sister’s disappearance. Or maybe I am a jerk, but not for those reasons. I still feel it. The hurt. The aching pang of sadness of losing my little sister. I can feel it deep inside the pit of my stomach, swirling around like an angry sea wanting to get out. But I keep it at bay. I keep it hulled up inside me because I can’t afford to let it out.

I’ve tried my best to forget this day, or not so much as forget it but let it pass by, taking most of the hurt with it. I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the last few years. It was hard at first, but I was only eight. But I had to stay strong. For Mom. I couldn’t lose it and leave Mom helpless with no one to turn to. I had a responsibility. I was the man of the house now. Because the same day Em went missing, so did my father.

Well technically he wasn’t missing. He was MIA for thirty-six hours until the police found him dead inside his car. He’d hit a tree full front on collision, and by time the police got there the car was on fire. The medical examiners said from the looks of it they didn’t suspect foul play. Just a normal, everyday killer car crash. Maybe dozed off behind the wheel, or answering a text message from work. Everyday stuff. Normal. They said from first glance he was unidentifiable, but thankfully they’d found his wallet mostly intact with an ID.

Mom was devastated. I was too much in shock to even register emotion. I remember feeling like I’d went from snot-nosed little kid to adult in a matter of two seconds. I knew then and there I was all Mom had left.

I still remember it. The day everything started. I can still see it vividly behind my eyelids when I go to sleep sometimes, like it’s playing in high-def and I have no choice but to watch.

We were back in Goose Creek, a small town in South Carolina about the size of Cape Hatteras, while still in the vicinity of a beach. I was coming home from school, the big yellow school bus pulling up to our tiny sky-blue home with squealing breaks. Billy Strouse had given me a black eye on the playground—not on purpose, but that’s not the story I was planning on selling to my parents. I wanted to show them how tough I was standing up for myself, saying: “You should see the other guy.”

In a cough of smoke, the bus pulled away from my house and left me as I made my way up to the door. I plodded down the stone path, making sure I stepped in every puddle. It had rained most of the day, and I wasn’t about to pass up any of the little golden opportunities. What can I say? I was eight.