My older brother Isaac had a grave robbery last night in our dad's cemetary. He went to the same high school I did--Beacon Hills High School. He was one year older than me.
Our dad was standing with us, talking to Sheriff Stilinski about it.
"It's Lahey," Isaac answered him. "Isaac Lahey."
"You work for your father, Isaac?" Sheriff Stilinski asked.
"Yeah, so does my daughter," our dad said, and when Sheriff Stilinski looked at me, I just looked down. "When they're not in school. Which is where they need to be in 20 minutes."
"Yeah, I understand that. But I've got a missing teenage girl and our canine unit led us here. She's not wearing any clothes, and if she's out here tonight when the temperature really drops--"
"I'm sorry," Isaac cut him off. "I didn't see anything."
"Trust me," Dad said. "If he'd seen a naked girl outside a computer screen, he'd remember."
Isaac looked down like I was when he laughed, and Sheriff looked over to us. "How'd you get that black eye, Isaac?"
Couldn't say that he wasn't observant. But Isaac and I knew not to say anything.
"And, uh, you, uh . . .?" Sheriff trailed off, looking at me.
"Natalie," I answered.
"Where'd you get the cut on your cheek?"
I looked to Isaac to answer first. "School."
"Same here," I said.
"School fights?" he asked.
"Uh, track," I answered, half-truthfully. I was on the track team, but that wasn't where I had gotten it.
"Lacrosse," Isaac said.
"Lacrosse?" Sheriff repeated. "You play," he looked at me, "and run for Beacon Hills?" We both nodded. "My son plays for them team. Well, I mean, he's on the team, he doesn't technically play. Not yet, anyway."
Isaac was staring off, and Sheriff followed his gaze to the treeline of the woods.
Sheriff looked back at my brother. "Something wrong, Isaac?"
"Uh, no, sorry," Isaac answered. "I just remembered I actually have a morning practice to get to."
"Just one more question. You guys get any grave robberies here?"
I answered this time. This was Dad's place, after all, and I worked here too. "A few. Usually, they just take stuff, like, jewelry."
"What'd this one take?"
I looked up at him with a blank look, hiding distaste for what the person took. "Her liver."
Surprised, he looked down the grave we were standing next to, with the coffin broken into and the skeleton inside, no liver remaining.
Why would anyone want someone's liver?
Isaac was a sophmore. I was a freshman. Some time ago, our mother had died, and so had our brother, Camden.
Ever since, our father had turned into a monster, abusing, emotionally and physically.
He even went so far as to lock either of us in a deep freezer for punishment, why we both hated small spaces, screaming, clawing, hating our life.
But he hadn't used to.
That was the dad I missed. The one I cared about.
The sad thing was that I would never have that dad back.
