Escalation - Tessa Teevan Page 0,63

of it, they’ve collected even more. The homeowners association must have a field day with those two. The familiarity of it is heartwarming, and I start to realize how much I miss this. How much I miss Chicago. And even more, how much I miss my parents.

And what I miss the most?

Myself.

I’m determined that this path, this journey will not only unlock hidden truths, but also allow me to find myself again.

I can do this.

Even more surprising, I want to do this. I have to.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Some things are easier said than done.

All ability to breathe ceases as we finally pull up to the two-story colonial-style home where I grew up. The sight of the beautiful brick with the familiar blue shutters causes my heart to drop—as well as my stomach. I have to look away and process the fact that I’m sitting outside 4620 Conrad Street for the first time in years.

I’m really, finally here.

Back to where it all ended.

Back to where it, and apparently this, all began.

A chill runs down my spine as I muster up the courage to peer up at my childhood home to give it a closer examination. Memories flash through my mind as I recall the last time I stepped foot in this house. Long after the police tape had been removed, I still refused to go inside. The blood had been cleaned, the carpet replaced. The walls had been freshly painted, and everything had been put back in its proper places—not that I knew for sure. The man who had done the crime had been locked behind bars without a chance to ever taste freedom again. And still, I couldn’t bring myself to go into that place. Until I had no choice.

The day finally came when my father’s lawyer informed me that my time was up. I was in no position to pay a mortgage or homeowner’s insurance, and the money left from the estate was running out. The house needed to be put up for sale, and I needed to get my things out. He was kind and understanding, and he even offered to help coordinate what to do with the rest of the belongings. All I had to do was walk inside and decide what to keep and what to let go of.

It was, without a doubt, one of the hardest days of my life.

Honestly, I don’t remember much of it. The only way I got through it was because of the bottle of tequila at my side the whole time. It was my old friend, loyal and faithful, that Jose. Always there to listen and make me feel better. For a while, at least. Then it did its job and made me numb. It made me forget.

I remember sitting on the porch, taking swig after swig as the liquid courage coursed through my veins. Eventually, Mrs. Schwartz drove by and I had one of two choices: let her pull into my drive and give the same sentiments and apologies I’d been hearing for months or go into the house, finally getting this over with. As she started to slow, I pushed up off the pavement and turned to the house. One more swig and I stepped inside.

My heart, which had already been broken, shattered the moment I entered the foyer, and it continued to do so for the duration of my time there. I stood there, waves of emotion hitting me at full forces. Images of better times flooded my brain, and I knew that my life would never be the same.

I’d never throw my keys on the table in the hall and allow the aroma of Mom’s mouthwatering meatloaf guide my way to her. I’d never roll my eyes as my parents snuggled up on the couch to watch the latest episode of Bones. My dad would never in turn roll his eyes when Mom signed and commented on how handsome David Boreanaz is. They’d never laugh, yell, cry, scream, or shout. I’d have given anything to have them do all of the above. But never again.

It was nearly enough to make me turn around and leave it all behind. But, in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do that, so I set about my work, trying to remain as numb as the tequila would allow. Eventually, however, even the tequila let me down.

At first, I took my time, walking through the house, packing up what I wanted to keep, and leaving