Lacy

1 ~ dead and gone

LACY

I know death is nothing to be happy about. 

Yet, I can't seem to stop the happy feeling in me. If someone were to look at me now, they'd think I've gone mad. They'd send me to the nearest asylum. 

My reaction is not something one would expect. They would expect a crying, screaming person. They would be prepared to console the inconsolable. 

No one needs to console me. I do not need anyone to say, "There, there, Lacy. Everything will be alright." I know everything will be alright because, beforehand, everything was wrong. 

Since I could toddle, I've known right from wrong. Backhanding a child so hard into the floor she bleeds? Wrong. Giving said child ice cream to make up for it? Right. Sort of. 

I can't decide if my feelings now are right. On the outside, they seem wrong. A girl's family is dead and she's happy? Very wrong. But what if that family didn't even like her?

A fist pounds against the outside of the bathroom door. I jump. "Dear? Are you alright in there?" My lively social worker, Miss Wilson, asks, concern and sympathy laced in her words. 

"Just a few more moments, please," I mumble. I turn on the faucet and splash freezing water onto my face to give the illusion that I'm upset over today's shocking news. 

Mum, Dad, Jackson, Stella— they're gone forever. They were transported to the morgue this morning. Their funeral is next Sunday at St. Mary's. 

Mum's mother, her only relative left alive, arranged everything. She's a wealthy widow living in London, unwilling to change her lifestyle— which includes taking in her granddaughter. 

I should have expected that. Lisa was never a fan of mine, but it still hurt. Instead, Lisa suggested they send me to a state school for troubled teens paid for by Parliament. 

Looking at my records, however, social services declined the request. At a glance, I'm a poster child— good grades, sweet Christian friends, a wide variety of school sports and clubs. 

Miss Wilson told me I will go to a transit home for the time being, at least until the funeral is over. Who knows where I'll go after? 

I take a deep breath, fuzzy warmness still in my chest, and exit the bathroom. Miss Wilson comes up to me as I exit, her seashell necklace clanking with each step she takes. 

"Lacy, how are you doing, dearest? Do you need anything? Tissues? This must be the worst birthday ever," She asks, her eyes filled of concern. 

I almost forgot. My 14th. I shake my head and frown. My fake act might be the worst performance ever, but at least I'm no longer smiling. "I miss them." 

"Oh, you poor girl! Well, don't worry. Your grandmother has organized everything. The transit home you've been put into is with the Johnsons. They seem sweet, don't fret." 

I nod slowly. Miss Wilson leads me out of the social service's office and to her small ocean blue buggy. The air smells salty and I hear the waves crashing in the distance. 

This tiny coastal town in Kent has been my home since I was four— maybe older, maybe younger. My life before living with the Clarks has been a blur. 

But no matter, I'm leaving today. I will never set foot in this town again. 

My suitcase containing all of my belongings is stowed in Miss Wilson's boot. Those items will be my only reminder of this life. I'm about to begin a new chapter. 

The drive to my next town isn't far. It's still along the same coast. The Johnsons live in a beautiful estate with a large green lawn and a front view of the ocean.