1. Homecoming

1

Homecoming

I try my best not to look at the wash of green streaming past my windows and focus on the road ahead. I grew up in these woods. You would think only five years away from them wouldn't make me forget their presence entirely, but I can't help it. Seeing so much greenery and nature holds a nostalgic feeling I cannot help but gawk at.

Someone honks from behind me, snapping me back to reality. I'm driving ten miles below the speed limit. They would have run me over in New York City by now, but I'm not in New York anymore. Nope. I'm at the city lines of Dayton, Washington—my hometown .

It's been too long since I've been home. I should have visited Granny more, but after graduating college and getting a job at the Times, there never was a break between stories. I've focused on accelerating my future, and revisiting my past was the least of my concerns. Granny has always understood. Although she constantly teased me about returning to visit her, she's always been my biggest supporter in following my dreams.

Granny's house sits only two minutes from the city limits, and before I know it, I'm pulling down her long driveway. The trees on either side of me connect overhead, making it seem like I'm driving through a tunnel. It worries me that she lives in such a desolate and hidden place. Obviously, it doesn't scare me enough to be a halfway decent granddaughter and visit her more often, but being busy enough can suck the decency right out of you.

When I reach the house, Granny jumps from her rocking chair on the porch, waving with a stained, toothy grin. Her white, puffy hair wobbles atop her head as she rushes toward me.

Everything looks the same as it did when I left five years ago. Ivy crawls up the stone walls. The foggy windows glow from the warm light inside, and the chimney spews a gray cloud of smoke from the burning hearth inside. Granny likes to keep the house warm, and with the constant wet and chill surrounding Washington, the fireplace always remains lit.

"Red," she squeals before wrapping me into a hug. For a woman so frail and tiny, her hugs are surprisingly intense. It's like the love inside of her is a superpower.

My name isn't actually Red, and no one besides the people from my hometown calls me that. In New York, everyone calls me by my middle name, Christine, but my birth certificate reads Mildred. And, of course, that's a horrible name, so I'll take Red any day of the week.

"Granny, I missed you." I try to match her hug but avoid squeezing too hard and hurting her.

"Let me take a look at you," she says as she puts me at arm's length. "Red, you're skin and bones. Are you even eating in New York?"

I shake my head. "I eat when I can. I've just been so busy with the new job."

"Ah, yes. The big reporter job at The New York Times. I can't wait to hear all about it. Come inside, and I'll make you some chicken and dumplings."

My mouth waters. Nothing tastes better than Granny's chicken and dumplings. It's basically better than sex, at least, as far as I remember sex. I haven't had time for anything for the past six months, not even a late-night booty call. God, why am I thinking about sex at my little old grandma's house? I shake my head and follow her inside her cottage.

As soon as I walk through the doorway, the familiar smells of my childhood hit me—cinnamon, sizzling onions, freshly cleaned laundry, and a slight hint of mothballs.

"Make yourself comfortable, and I'll finish up the food," Granny calls from the kitchen.

I carry my bags up to my bedroom. Everything looks the same as I left it. The quilted comforter lies on my twin-sized bed in the corner. My Hunger Games books have collected a line of dust on my bookshelf, but the pictures hanging on my wall look as clean as ever. I glance at the one of my parents and me at Disney World when I was four, my red hair looking unnatural compared to my faded surroundings. It was one of the last trips we took before they died. I sigh, still surprised that the thought of them stings. I've lived with Granny ever since then. She's the one who raised me and has loved me enough for two parents. The fact that their murder was so unnatural makes it all feel like an unhealed wound. That's probably why I've gotten into journalism and spend every waking second of my life trying to solve all the cases I can, like the one I'm here for.

"Red, food's ready!" Granny's voice knocks me out of my childhood trauma trance. I think that's the reason I hate coming back home. It's like seeing your childhood bedroom triggers my "I probably need to go to therapy" response, and I definitely don't have time for that.

I walk down the hall and into the kitchen, where Granny already has the pot of piping hot soup on top of her doily table center. I sit in my usual chair as she ladles the soup into the homemade ceramic bowl before me.

"So, how long are you staying for?" Granny asks as she takes her seat at the head of the table.

"Probably only a week. I just need to interview some law personnel and witnesses surrounding the attacks."

Granny shakes her head. "I reckon it will take longer than that. You know how everyone is in this town. People don't like to give out information to anyone. Especially when it doesn't put the town in a positive light."

I put my spoon down. "But I'm not just anyone. I grew up here. They'll talk to me."

Granny leans in and pinches my cheek. "You're not the same Red that ran away five years ago. I imagine people will scarcely recognize you besides your red hair and green eyes."

I shake my head. Although I lost some weight and have curves that betray my past self, I think Granny's being dramatic.

"Well, can you tell me anything about the attacks? "

"What's the hurry to find out so much? Enjoy your time while you're here." Granny picks up her bowl and heads to the sink.

"It's not that."

It is that.

"It's just that I have a deadline on this story. I only have two weeks to research and write the article. I need as much information as I can get."

Granny bustles around the table, tidying things up. "There's not much I can say. I just know those poor farmers were killed, and their bodies were found completely mangled in that strange circle. I know the same as everyone else." She stops what she's doing and pops up. "You know what! I think Jack was at the scene when they found the bodies. Maybe you should head to his hunting supply store tomorrow and ask him yourself."

My stomach drops. "Jack? As in Jack Lumberton?" He was my childhood best friend and also my childhood crush. The last time we saw each other, we didn't leave on the best terms. He's probably one of the reasons I haven't wanted to return. I do not want to talk to him tomorrow.

Granny gives me a knowing look. "I know there's a lot of history there, but maybe you can use that to your advantage. You two were always so close. He would probably be your best chance at giving you some good information. Besides, you're gonna want to see him. He grew up alright." Granny gives me a wink.

"Granny!" I squeal, unable to contain my laughter. She's always been a devilish flirt.

When my laughter subsides, I mentally weigh my options back and forth. I don't have any leads. All I have is that I grew up here, and I was so dreadfully shy that I doubt that would count for anything. Jack may be my only chance to get a start on this story. I shake my head. "Fine! I guess I'll see Jack before I head to the police station."

"Oh, goody!" Granny claps her hands like a young schoolgirl. I'll be sure to make you a hearty breakfast. I don't want you to faint once you run into him. I know I sure do almost every time I see him."

"Granny!" I squeal again, but my stomach drops. If what Granny is saying is true, maybe this isn't such a bright idea.