The Lawn Worker Heard Crying in My Basement and I Knew Something Was Wrong

a woman. Too thin, her brown hair long and tangled, her skin pale and translucent. But I knew her. God help me, I knew her.

“Felicia.”

She lowered her arm slowly, blinking against the light. Her eyes scanned the room, the officers, the strangers, until they found me.

“Dad,” she whispered.

I crossed the room and dropped to my knees beside the bed and wrapped continue reading …