Chapter 76 (Bonus): Let's Bring Her Home

Chapter 76 (Bonus): Let's Bring Her Home
Tyler's POV

I pushed open the front door again, checking the empty street for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. The porch light cast a small circle of yellow on the sidewalk, but beyond that was just darkness.

9:35 PM. Where the hell was she?

Behind me, the house still smelled like the feast Mom had prepared. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole. All of Sammie's favorites from when we were kids. The graduation decorations hung from the walls, bright and cheerful, but they felt wrong now. Like a party with no guest of honor.

She promised she'd come. This was my graduation day, one of the biggest days of my life. Sammie wouldn't just blow me off. Not today.

I checked my watch again. She'd never been this late, not when she'd given her word.

Headlights swept down the street and my heart jumped, but the car drove past without stopping. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and stepped back inside, leaving the door cracked just in case.

"Still waiting for that ungrateful little brat?" Mom's voice carried from the dining room. She was covering dishes with foil, her movements sharp and angry. "I told you she wouldn't show. Girl moved out years ago, probably doesn't give a damn about this family anymore."

"Mom, don't call her that. She promised me she'd be here."

Mom made a noise like she was choking back a laugh. "Promises? You actually believe anything that girl says?"

Dad sat in his recliner pretending to watch TV, but I could tell he was listening to every word.

I watched Mom work in the kitchen, getting more agitated by the minute. For all her harsh words, she'd spent the entire day cooking Sammie's favorite foods. And I could see tears gathering in her eyes, even if she was trying to hide them.

"Maybe we should wait a little longer? She might be stuck in traffic or something."

"Wait for what?" Mom's voice cracked. "It's already past nine-thirty! Look at this food, everything's stone cold!"

But she didn't throw any of it away. She just kept covering it carefully, like she was saving it for someone who might still come home.

The mantel clock chimed ten-fifteen, and something cold settled in my gut. This wasn't like Sammie at all.

"I'm going to look for her."

"This late? Where are you gonna look?"

"Her work. Her apartment. I don't know, somewhere."

Mom opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, but just stood there watching me grab my jacket.

"Let the boy go," Dad said quietly. "He won't settle down otherwise."

The convenience store was locked up tight, metal security grates pulled down over the windows. I pressed my face against the glass anyway, hoping to see some sign of life inside. Nothing. Just a stray cat digging through garbage in the empty parking lot.

Sammie's apartment building was a dump on the bad side of town. Flickering hallway lights, broken elevator, the whole place reeked of mildew and disappointment. I climbed three flights and pounded on her door until paint chips scattered on the floor.

"Sammie! You in there? It's Tyler!"

Nothing.

The landlord stuck his head out from across the hall, some old guy in a stained undershirt. "She left around eight tonight. Haven't seen her come back."

My stomach dropped. Eight o'clock meant she should have made it to our house with time to spare.

I decided to take the lake path home. Maybe I'd run into her, maybe her car had broken down and she was walking.

The lake looked peaceful under the moonlight, silver ripples across the dark water. Should have been beautiful, but all I felt was this growing dread in my chest.

Halfway around, I saw someone hunched over near the path, moving weird and jerky. Something about the guy made my skin crawl. There was a metallic smell in the air that didn't belong.

I gave him plenty of space and kept walking, calling out into the darkness.

"Sammie! Are you out here?"

My voice echoed across the water. Nothing answered back.

Her cell phone went straight to voicemail for the sixth time.

The police station smelled like stale coffee and broken dreams. The cop behind the desk looked like he'd rather be anywhere else at 11:30 on a Friday night.

"You said this girl's your what?"

"My cousin. We had plans tonight. She was supposed to come to my graduation party. She's never missed something this important."

The officer sighed and pulled out a form. "Young people go missing for lots of reasons, son. Usually they turn up on their own after a day or two. Maybe she just didn't want to deal with family drama?"

"No!" The word came out sharper than I meant. "You don't get it. Sammie's not like that. Something happened to her. I know it."

"Alright, alright. We'll file a report. But most adults show up within twenty-four hours. Go home and wait for our call."

When I walked through the front door at 12:45 AM, Mom was still on the couch, clutching a cold cup of tea. She looked up the second she heard my key.

"Well? Did you find her?"

I shook my head, throat tight. "Couldn't find her anywhere."

The cup slipped from Mom's hands and shattered on the floor, tea and ceramic spreading across the hardwood.

"What do you mean you couldn't find her?"

"Store was closed. She wasn't at her apartment. The landlord said she left around eight but never came back. Her phone's going straight to voicemail."

The words felt like swallowing glass. "Mom, I think something happened to Sammie."

Mom stared at me, then her face just crumpled. "No. That's not possible. She can't be... I haven't seen her in so long, she can't just..."

Dad came out from the bedroom in his robe, hair sticking up. "What's all the noise about?"

"I filed a police report," I said, dropping onto the couch. "They said they'll investigate, but we have to wait."

Those cheerful graduation decorations seemed to mock us from the walls. All that bright color and celebration felt obscene now.

Three days crawled by. Every car on our street made us look up. Every phone ring made us freeze.

Mom barely ate anything. Just sat by the telephone, staring at it like she could will it to bring good news.

When it finally rang Tuesday afternoon, we all jumped.

"I'll get it," I said, my hand shaking as I picked up.

"Is this Tyler Mitchell? This is Officer Johnson with city police. About that missing person report you filed for Samantha Thompson..."

Mom grabbed my arm, eyes wide and desperate. "What is it? Did they find her? Is she okay?"

The officer's voice stayed professional and careful. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but we found a body in the lake outside the city. Based on preliminary identification..."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. The phone nearly slipped from my numb fingers.

"What are you saying?"

"We'll need a family member to come identify the body. Can you come to the city morgue as soon as possible?"

I hung up and turned to face Mom's terrified expression. The words felt impossible to say.

"Mom. They found Sammie. She's dead."

The sound that came out of Mom wasn't human. Pure anguish, raw and animal. She collapsed back on the couch, hands over her mouth, shaking her head.

"No. No, that can't be right. She's only twenty-three. She's..."

Dad caught her before she fell, his own face gray with shock.

"They need us to identify the body," I said, hating every word. "At the morgue."

Mom looked up at me through tears, and for a moment I saw past all the anger and resentment to the woman who'd raised Sammie for ten years, who'd been the only mother she had left.

"Where?"

I gave her the address. She wiped her eyes and pulled herself together with visible effort.

"Come on then," she said, voice barely steady. "Let's go bring her home."

The morgue was exactly what you'd expect. White walls, disinfectant smell, institutional sadness hanging over everything. Officer Johnson waited for us, looking sympathetic but professional.

"Mr. Mitchell, you ready?"

I nodded, though my legs felt like water. Mom clung to Dad's arm, knuckles white.

When they pulled back the sheet, my heart broke all over again.

It was her. Even after days in the water, even changed by death, it was unmistakably Sammie. Her face looked peaceful, younger somehow, like she was just sleeping.

"Yes," I managed to choke out. "That's Samantha Thompson."

Mom pushed past me and threw herself beside the body, sobbing openly.

"Sammie! My baby girl! Mama's so sorry! I missed you so much!"

She stroked Sammie's cold forehead with trembling fingers. "I was gonna ask you to come home. I was gonna make things right. Why did this have to happen?"

I stood there frozen, watching my mother's grief, unable to cry. It still didn't feel real.

"How did she die?" I asked Officer Johnson.

"Preliminary exam suggests she was stabbed and thrown in the lake. We have some surveillance footage of the attack, but the perpetrator's face was hidden. We're still looking for witnesses and evidence."

I nodded numbly, looking down at Sammie's still form. Whatever it takes, I'll find out who did this to you.

A week later we stood in the cemetery under gray skies that threatened rain. Just the three of us. No friends, no coworkers, nobody else who'd known her. Sammie had lived such a quiet life, working and saving and trying not to be a burden on anyone. She'd made herself invisible, and now she was gone and hardly anyone would notice.

They'd placed her grave next to her parents, just like we'd asked. Finally she was with them again, though not the way any of us wanted.

Mom knelt by the fresh headstone for a long time, whispering things I couldn't hear. Apologizing, trying to make peace with years of coldness and harsh words.

"Sammie," she whispered, "Mama was wrong. So wrong. If you can hear me, please forgive me."

When we got home, the house felt different. Darker, like all the light had gone out. Mom tried to go back to normal routines, but I noticed her going upstairs more and more, staying for long periods and coming back with red eyes.

Two weeks after the funeral, I finally worked up courage to enter Sammie's room. The room Mom had prepared for her, filled with belongings we'd brought back from her tiny apartment.

I'd been avoiding it, unable to face the reality of her absence. But today, with Mom shopping and Dad at work, I found myself standing outside her door.

The room was beautiful in its simplicity. Mom had arranged everything carefully. Sammie's high school certificates on the walls, her mystery novels on the bookshelf, her favorite pen on the desk like she might come back to use it.

I sat on the bed and looked around at the sum total of her possessions. A few notebooks, simple clothes, odds and ends from her apartment. Twenty-three years of life, and this was all that remained.

That's when the tears finally came. I buried my face in one of her sweaters and sobbed for everything we'd lost, everything that would never be.

Through my tears, I saw a cardboard box in the corner labeled "Parents' Things." Inside was a family photo of baby Samantha cradled in her parents' arms, all three glowing with happiness and hope.

"Sammie," I whispered to the photo. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you."

As I started to put the box back, I noticed something odd about the bottom. A hidden compartment beneath the main section.

My hands shook as I pried it open and found an old manila folder that Sammie had never mentioned. From the look of it, it had been hidden there for years.

I opened it with trembling fingers, and a name I'd never heard stared back at me from the first document:

Parker Family Pharmaceuticals.