CHAPTER TEN
Mackenzie made her way slowly through the house she grew up in. Her mother was asleep on the couch. She stopped and looked at her. It was her mother as she preferred to remember her, back when she still had some of her looks and probably even clung to a few of the dreams for her life that would ultimately never come true.
She ran a hand softly over her mother’s face. She left a thin trail of wet blood.
She made her way through the small living room, down the hallway and toward her parents’ bedroom. She slowly opened the door and saw her father. He was sleeping, one leg kicked out from under the covers. He did not stir as she entered the room. He was deeply asleep.
She lifted her hand and saw that she was carrying a gun—a basic pistol of some kind, the make and model of whic
