Chapter 44

After ten years, the old neighborhood still looked the same, but worn down from time and seemingly too tired to care. The bungalow-style homes rested in neat rows, like little cookie-cutters, but the yards were overgrown, the paint peeling from their exteriors, and rotting garbage strewn the street.

Courtney's taxi pulled up to the curb of 258 Brackwood Lane and parked. She made no attempt to exit the car. All it took was one look at her old house to bring every painful slap, kick, and stitch from the recesses of her mind. Ten years couldn't erase pain that ran that deep.

"Miss?" the driver said in a thick Indian accent. "This is not so good area. You want me to stay?"

Courtney turned from the window to him. "Yes, please. I'll pay you extra. Keep the meter running."