Chapter 4 - THE GIRL FROM ASHLAND AVENUE
Brielle was discharged two days later.
Dominic arranged transportation.
She refused the private driver.
He accepted her decision.
Then asked Marcus to ensure the hospital's ordinary discharge procedures were followed.
Brielle took a taxi home.
Her apartment was on the third floor of an aging brick building.
The hallway smelled of laundry detergent and old cooking oil.
The elevator hadn't worked in six months.
She climbed the stairs slowly.
Every step hurt.
Inside, the apartment was small.
A narrow bed.
A secondhand sofa.
A kitchenette.
A photograph on the windowsill.
Two girls smiling in front of a Christmas tree.
Brielle at sixteen.
Her younger sister, Hannah, at twelve.
Brielle picked up the photograph.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
Eleven years earlier, their mother had been working a night shift.
Their father had disappeared years before.
Brielle had been responsible for Hannah.
That evening, a man had forced his way into their apartment.
He was looking for someone who owed him money.
He believed their father lived there.
Brielle had frozen.
Hannah had screamed.
The man had shoved the younger girl.
She fell against a table.
Hit her head.
Brielle remembered the blood.
The silence.
The ambulance.
Hannah died the next morning.
The man was never convicted.
And Brielle had spent eleven years believing that if she'd moved faster, screamed louder, or fought harder, her sister might still be alive.
Now, standing in her apartment, she looked at the photograph.
“I moved this time,” she whispered.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I finally moved.”
A knock sounded.
Brielle froze.
Three sharp knocks.
She looked toward the door.
“Who is it?”
A familiar voice answered.
“Evelyn Moretti.”
Brielle opened the door cautiously.
Evelyn stood in the hallway carrying a basket.
Beside her was Lily.
The little girl wore a yellow cardigan.
And held a drawing.
“Miss Brielle!”
Lily ran forward.
Brielle knelt carefully.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Lily wrapped her arms around her neck.
Brielle closed her eyes.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
Evelyn smiled.
“We hope we're not intruding.”
Brielle shook her head.
“No.”
Lily held up the drawing.
It showed three stick figures.
A grandmother.
A little girl.
And a woman holding a giant chair leg.
Above them was a yellow sun.
Brielle laughed through tears.
“Is that me?”
Lily nodded proudly.
“You're the brave lady.”
Brielle looked at the picture.
Her chest tightened.
Evelyn watched her.
Then noticed the photograph on the windowsill.
Two girls.
One older.
One younger.
Her expression changed.
“Your sister?”
Brielle nodded.
“Hannah.”
Evelyn looked at her gently.
“She's beautiful.”
Brielle swallowed.
“She was.”
Lily climbed onto the sofa.
“Can you tell me about her?”
Brielle hesitated.
May you like
Then sat beside her.
And for the first time in eleven years, she spoke about Hannah without beginning with the night she died.
