Layla
“Uh, is this the address?”
I look up, blinking to clear my blurry vision, and see that we’re idling at the rusted front gate to the Gregory Estate.
“Yeah, this is it.”
“I gotta be honest with you, ma’am. I don’t think my car is going to get down the driveway.” My driver’s not wrong. His sedan practically scrapes the ground as he pulls forward. The decaying concrete juts up in places, forced skyward by the relentless roots cutting through the cement.
“It’s fine. I can walk.”
“You sure? I could walk you down–”
“Don’t worry about it,” I mumble, letting myself out of the car and shutting the door behind me. I take off my heels and rest my bare feet on the cool, solid ground. It feels good. The air is heavy with humidity, but a slight, chilled breeze clears my head enough for my
