Grim Reaper 01 - Embrace the Grim Reaper

know, sweetheart.” Lillian squatted, knees popping, and laid an arm over Casey’s shoulders. “We’ll see you again. And whatever your trespasses, my dear, whatever it is you’re running from, we hope you’re soon running back.”
    Casey swiped the tears from her eyes with a thumb and forefinger, and they came away, wet with tears and blood. She wiped them on her pants. “Tell Rosemary…”
    “I’ll tell her, darling.”
    Lillian stood and helped Casey back to her feet.
    “The bike is there,” Lillian said, pointing to the side of the house. “It’s yours now, if you can…” She gestured at Casey’s arm.
    “I can’t take your bike—”
    “You can. You will . Go.”
    A light flickered in the back room, and Casey jumped further into the shadows. Lillian waited quietly, but nothing else moved.
    “Go, sweetheart,” she finally said.
    “I never paid you.”
    Lillian laughed quietly. “My dear, you’ve paid us in more ways than one. Now go .”
    Casey hitched her bag onto her back, wincing as the strap scraped her shoulder, and stumbled to the bike. She swung her leg over the seat and rode quickly away from the house, not looking back, her right arm cradled against her stomach. She didn’t reach up again to wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Chapter Forty
    It was dark in Eric’s back yard. Dark and quiet. A neighbor’s garage stood open to the night, the car cold. She rolled her bike into the dark space, where it would sit, camouflaged among the family’s bikes, one a tiny pink two-wheeler with training wheels, streamers dangling from the handlebars. No one would notice the old Schwinn before she had a chance to take it.
    Hunkered down in the garage, she gingerly pulled her shirt over her head, wincing as the material came away from her sliced shoulder. The blood had begun to clot, and the wound started bleeding again as she tore the fabric from her arm. Ripping the shirt with her teeth, she awkwardly tied a strip around her arm to staunch the bleeding.
    She unzipped her bag, pulled out a dark, long-sleeved shirt, and eased it over her head. A rake hung on the wall just above her, and the nail was long enough to accommodate her pack, as well. She hefted it up, snagging the nail. The bag was inconspicuous there. Just one more thing, amidst the tools and sports equipment.
    Casey looked at her bag. At her bike. She should just go. Just leave. Take off into the night. But even if she did, even if she somehow avoided the cops in Clymer, could she live with that? Could she live with letting Ellen’s death be branded a suicide? Could she let Eric wonder forever what had happened—either with Ellen or Bone and Taffy?
    Besides, there was no guarantee she could avoid the cops, traveling on a bicycle.
    Casey stepped carefully from the garage. There was no good hiding place for her in there. She considered Eric’s yard, with its shrubbery, but knew it would be a foolhardy spot to wait for him to come home. His house was the same. Even if she could find a way in, she would be discovered when someone—whoever it was—came to hunt her down.
    But what if she didn’t find a way in .
    The houses on either side were dark, and Casey could see no tell-tale signs of activity. No dogs had as yet noticed her presence, and she was hopeful none would.
    She eyed the trees around Eric’s house. Not huge. But large enough. Sticking to the shadows, she made her way to the side of the house, where a mid-sized maple grew only feet from the building. With a leap, she grabbed onto a lower branch and walked her feet up the trunk until she could swing herself up to straddle the branch. She lay against the tree limb, gasping, focusing past the pain in her arms and back. She had to move. She grabbed a close branch and eased herself upward, climbing until she was level with the roof.
    The branches here weren’t thick, but were at least as round as her legs. Leaning forward onto her stomach, she shimmied toward the roof of the house, the wood bending under her weight. The branch cracked with a loud pop, and dropped several inches. She froze, waiting to plummet to the ground, but the branch stopped, whether by its own strength or the support of another. When she was sure it was done moving she inched forward again, the branch bending until she was within reaching distance of the roof.
    The limb cracked again, and with a lunge she grabbed onto the edge of the roof and scrabbled upward. The branch flicked back up, as