Redemption

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 1

For Lisa Holmes, this should have been a short visit. Earlier that day, her mother had called and asked her to come home, as well as reminding Lisa it had been several months since she’d last seen her daughter. Full of guilt, at that moment, she gives in against her better judgment. “I’ll be home in a few hours.”

The drive from upstate New York to New Rochelle is an easy one. Lisa doesn’t mind the hours on the road. It’s the visit itself she dreads—the inevitable interrogation from her father and the neediness of her mother. But today, she’s committed to coming, and there is no turning back.

Reluctantly, Lisa throws a change of clothes into her overnight bag and puts it into her blue Toyota Camry. She plops her laptop on the seat beside her, pulls back her long dark curls, and heads south. Her thoughts comfort her, It’s just for the weekend. I can manage that. Two nights and I’ll return to my apartment.

It’s just for the weekend. I can manage that. Two nights and I’ll return to my apartment.Lisa drives with the radio blaring and ignores her apprehension. When she reaches the tree-lined street and sees the uneven sidewalk, which leads to her family’s home, she smiles. Memories of her skateboard adventures ease some of her concerns. She chuckles over her many falls and imagines she must have set a record. When she arrives at their driveway, she braces herself and turns in.

The simple ranch-style residence appears odd on the street of two-story colonials. Modest by neighborhood standards, it has proven sufficient for their family needs. Once out of the car, Lisa does a 180-degree glance about and concludes nothing has changed. The yard still appears unkempt, the window shade still broken, and the screen door remains torn—all just as a year ago, two years ago, maybe even five years ago.

Apprehensive, she climbs the three steps to the front door, calls in her “hello,” and waits. Mom greets her first.

“Oh, Lisa dear, I’m so happy you’ve arrived safely. Come on in, come on in. Can I get you something? You must be hungry after the drive.”

Just as she starts to respond, her dad appears.

“Nice of you to visit. Traffic problems?”

Lisa shrugs off his insinuation of dawdling, takes a deep breath, and gives him a cursory hug.

“I’ll be right back. I need to get my clothes.”

Slump-shouldered, Lisa walks to her car, stepping more heavily than usual. After grabbing her suitcase, she slams the door shut. The hell has begun.

She retraces her steps back into the house and goes straight to her childhood bedroom. Just then, the doorbell rings and sends an eerie chill down Lisa’s spine. She drops her suitcase and shouts to her father, “Don’t answer the door, Dad. Something’s not right.”

He doesn’t follow her advice, and instead, goes to the door and pulls it open.

“Joe.” Her dad says, shifting backward slowly. “You’re not supposed to be here. We agreed.”

“You broke that agreement. Where is it?”

“I don’t have it.”

“You were warned.”

One minute.

Three shots.

And Lisa’s dad lies lifeless on the worn planked floor.

Her mother screams and runs to the fallen man. The guy in the doorway shoots her as well.

Before Lisa can reach her parents, the door slams shut. She checks her father but can feel no pulse. Frantic, Lisa drops to her knees at her mother’s side and finds signs of life, though blood pools beneath the frail woman’s shoulder. Short of breath and pulse racing, Lisa runs to the bedroom, grabs her phone, and calls 911. From the bathroom, she grabs a towel and wraps it around her mother’s shoulder wound. With tears pouring down her face, Lisa holds her mom and cries out, “Please God, please God, save my mother.”

An empty house is never truly vacant. Walls whisper and floors moan. It lives, even though others might not.

Lisa experiences this truth when she returns to her family home after being with her mother at the hospital. Her hand trembles as she turns the key in the front-door lock. She hesitates before entering, takes a deep, slow breath, walks inside, and turns on the light. Chills run down her spine, stiffening her limbs, numbing her heart. The ticking of the grandfather clock grows louder and louder in the silence. With her back against the entry door, she recoils when phantoms slip from one room to the other. She’s alone but not really.

With measured steps, Lisa wanders through the house, tackling one memory after another. She locks the doors to the master bedroom and the basement, to silence the imaginary threats, and goes to her bedroom.

Paused in the doorway of her former childhood retreat, she looks around the room as though for the first time. Sparsely decorated with a couple of high school keepsakes and a framed photograph of her brother and her at a beach, it feels abandoned by life. Priscilla, her Cabbage Patch doll, sits tucked into the corner of the room. Lisa picks it up and holds the comforting toy against her chest in a tight grip. Her knees buckle, and she collapses on the bed and weeps.