Don't Whistle Past the Graveyard

Ch. Seventy-Six

We had driven out of Tennessee, and into that little tail on the end of Missouri. I hadn't been back in my home state for nine, probably ten years. We weren't terribly close to where my family had lived, but still.

It was like my body recognized the state I'd been born in. It didn't really look different from Tennessee. The only reason I knew I was here was because we'd seen a sign welcoming us to the Show Me state.

The state's nickname had provoked a whispered joke from Shane that had earned him an elbow, but I'd mostly been preoccupied with the thought that I had finally come home.

Which was an extremely distressing thought.

It had hit me out of no where. A random spark of electricity between a couple neurons that had absolutely floored me.

The last two years I'd had myself totally convinced that Shane was my home. That Kyle and Viktoria, Sacha and Danielle, Cassidy, hell, even Aaron were my home.

That I'd long ago left this place and never looked back...

I was wrong.

Coming home is supposed to be a good feeling, right? Or does that just depend on the home?

Shane had noticed me becoming withdrawn and snappish in the two days since we'd crossed the state line, but he hadn't said anything. Not in front of the others at any rate.

Cassidy and Sacha had first watch and everyone else had dispersed, trying to find a good place to crash until their watch. I'd followed Shane downstairs to a room that was cooler than the rest of the house. There were no windows, which helped to keep out the warmth of the outside.

With a small groan, Shane dropped his bag, then put his guns on an ancient-looking vanity table. He fell face-down on the bed, letting out a long sigh before rolling onto his back. "Little help?" he asked, wiggling his feet at me.

I dropped my stuff next to his, and unlaced his boots, pulling them off and letting them drop to the fluffy, brown-speckled carpet with a muffled thump. Shane flexed his toes with a groan.

It's the little things, right?

Slowly, I set the revolver I was carrying on the bedside table and sat at the edge of the mattress, staring blankly at a painting of a seascape. Ships in the distance were tossed around like toys by slate-grey waves, and I could sympathize with the people on those ships.

I nearly wanted to laugh at myself for being so shaken by something that really didn't actually mean anything. With a quick shake of my head, I bent forward and unlaced my own boots, sighing a little when I slipped them off. 

"What's wrong?" he asked finally. "You've been playing functional mute since we crossed the state line."

Without saying anything, I lay down on my back, head sinking into the puffy pillow. Shane lay down next to me, and I could feel his eyes drilling into me, trying to pull the truth out whether I wanted to share it or not.

I let out a weighty sigh and turned my head to look at him. It was dark in the room, but it wasn't pitch black and I could see the worried divot between his eyebrows. I hadn't meant to make him or anyone else worry, and it annoyed me that I'd managed to do just that anyway.

Like I said, it really wasn't anything all that important. Just a bad feeling I couldn't shake. 

"I still think of this place as home."

Shane gave me a blank look, glancing around the room. All he did was raise an eyebrow once his gaze landing back on me.

"Missouri," I clarified, closing my eyes.