Whispering Minds by A.T. O'Connor Page A

sneaking out of the house with a duffel bag. The longest they’d disappeared was two weeks—p lease, God, not that much time .
    I scrubbed the grease from my hair and wondered how long it had been since I’d last washed it. Wondered where I’d been.
    My fingers found a lump the size of a golf ball on the side of my head. I pushed on it and electric pain scattered across my scalp.
    Collin.
    Simply thinking his name made me wince—and not just from the physical pain. I bit my tongue. Blood flooded the inside of my mouth. I spit it out. Red, turning pink at my feet.
    Saw maggots. A mass of them between my toes.
    Gagged, bent over to swipe them away and found rice, puffed up from the water.
    Rice in the shower. I convulsed with laughter and fell forward, smashing my head on the tile.
    I laid on the floor of the shower, massaging the goose egg on my head until long after the water turned cold and the bathroom fog dissipated, leaving a wet film over everything.
    It was time to leave.
    Once I made the decision, I embraced it. I’d stay at Granny’s and live off my paychecks. Between my nursing home pay and Granny’s car, I’d survive just fine. In five months I’d be eighteen and legally on my own.
    It would only be a problem if my parents reported me missing. And since they weren’t around, I couldn’t imagine them putting up a stink. At least not until they found out about the inheritance.
    The inheritance. Granny’s letter. More pieces slid into place. Maybe my parents already knew about the inheritance. Maybe that’s why they were gone, pillaging Granny’s house and stripping it of anything valuable.
    I needed to call Travis, even though the thought of talking to him filled me with dread.
    But first, I needed to prepare. After getting dressed, I emptied a few cardboard boxes of junk from the attic and used them to store my books. Next, I packed a suitcase with clothes I would need right away and shoved the others into plastic trash bags. That left my treasure boxes. They had always been sealed with brown packing tape. Trinkets of my past went in. Nothing ever came out. I gently nestled them in a plastic lawn bag with the homemade comforter from my bed.
    I peeked out my window into the dark outside. Not evening dark—it was only noon—so much as cloud heavy. It would snow again. And before that happened, I had a lot to do.
    One by one, I carted my boxes downstairs to the detached garage. The filthy windows let in just enough light to see through the shadows. A pile of junk Mom collected from flea markets nestled behind the bikes, the broken-down lawnmower and the wrecked Sunbird. I pushed aside the wrought-iron yard decorations and worn-out antiques that made up her resurrection pile.
    Under it all, I found an old toy box resting on its back. I pulled it upright, tugged open the lid and set my treasure boxes inside. I stuffed the quilt on top. My books wouldn’t fit, so I stacked them beside the toy chest and carefully covered them with accumulated junk.
    On my way back to the house, I swept my tracks, filling them in with snow to be more even with the drifts. I needed the forecasted fresh snow and gusty wind to hide all traces of my trip to the garage. I also needed a phone, which posed a new problem. My parents had never made peace with either set of farmers closest to us. Instead, they had kept to themselves and refused all social niceties. After assessing each farmer’s relationship with my parents, I decided on Old Man Parson. At least if he turned me down it’d be a shorter walk home, although there was nothing to come home to.
    As far as I knew, my parents hadn’t filled the propane tank since fall. If it gave out, I’d have to haul wood in from behind the barn just to keep from freezing. My battered body wouldn’t be able to handle the labor, and I worried what would happen if Travis refused my call.
    I followed the soft glow coming from Old Man Parson’s yard lights. Before I made it to the step of