Jo shifted the car into park and killed the engine, but didn't make an immediate move to exit. She lingered in the front seat as her conviction wavered. The evening sun was gradually setting, bathing the dilapidated building ahead of them in an amber glow. She swore to herself she'd never come back here, but many self-made promises were broken by this point. What difference would a few more make?

Tim sat patiently in the passenger's seat, appraising her hesitantly. Whatever it was she had decided to reveal to him, he'd at least extend the common courtesy of allowing her to do it in her own time, on her own terms.

Her breathing was measured as her mind traveled back to remembrances she'd rather leave untrodden, but that wasn't the purpose of this particular exercise. She had brought them here to take a tour through her past. Inspecting each of the broken pieces like they were on display in a museum dedicated to her nightmares.

"What is this place?" Tim finally asked, his careful words shaking Jo from her reverie. She blinked several times, returning her mind to the present. Her sweaty palms gripped the steering wheel, trying to clasp to some semblance of reality. She entertained the impulse to back out. Contemplated announcing that she'd changed her mind, and committing to the lie that there was nothing to see here. They'd come too far, though. Had waved goodbye to the possibility of retreat as they'd driven right on past its turn-off point.

Jo had willingly swum into open waters, and there was no life raft available to save her from the tide threatening to pull her under. "This is where I grew up," she admitted grimly, then swung the car door open, stepping out onto the overgrown grass.

Her former home would be considered ramshackle at best by any casual observer. The majority of its exterior paint had been chipped away by the elements. Windows were shattered, and shutters hung loosely from its frame. She couldn't say it looked much more inhabitable when she'd lived there, but time had whittled away at the structure in its years spent neglected.

Jo's feet dragged her towards the entrance, though her mind screamed at them to halt in their traitorous motions. When they stalled on the threshold, her hand extended towards the doorknob. Fingers barely brushing the handle, before she retracted the extremity quickly, as if burned by the metal.

"Once you know something, you can't unknow it. You sure you're willing to live with that?" She questioned Tim, though her eyes never strayed from the offending barrier before her. Truth lay on the other side, certainly, but it wasn't a good truth. More a burden of knowledge, really.

"I think I can handle it," he promised. His certitude wasn't earned, however. Tim had no concept of what he was voluntarily walking into, nor the far-reaching repercussions of such comprehension. It required a great leap of faith on both their parts. Jo, in trusting that he could handle the revelations she was finally willing to dole out. Tim, in believing that she would once and for all allow him a glimpse into her elusive mind.

Extending her hand again, she turned the knob and eased the entry open. The door creaked loudly when pushed forward; the hinges rusted and rigid from disuse. Despite the endless prospects Tim's mind had run rampant with, nothing exceptional lay on the other side. The interior was covered with a layer of filth, broken bits of furniture and trash were scattered about, but, otherwise, it simply looked like any other abandoned home.

The surprise shone on his face, and Jo found herself chuckling. "Wasn't exactly the horrors you were expecting, huh?" She teased, although the humor didn't quite reach her eyes. "Only dark memories still reside here, nothing material," she mused, beginning to wander about the deserted room.

"My father was a drunk and a criminal, but you already knew that. He used to beat my momma senseless. I never could figure why she stayed, but I suppose that's what happens when you convince yourself you've got no other options," she relayed without any sort of inflection. She'd long ago isolated the part of her brain that felt any sort of way about her childhood. Locked those resentments up in a box and buried them so deep that even she couldn't remember where they'd been hidden.

She stalled near the far wall, picturing the moth-bitten plaid sofa that once settled there, but had eventually been hauled away—leaving only an empty spot in its wake. "Here's where I found her," Jo gestured to the vacant area, the indents from the couch legs still grooved into the shabby carpet. "I came home from school, and the smell hit me the moment I opened the door." There's no mistaking the stench of death; it's an odor unlike any other. Sour, and it assaults the sense entirely. Burns the nostrils and lingers there for ages.

"The flies were already swarming her body by the time I got there. She'd overdosed on Oxy, choked on her own vomit. At least, that's what they said." The image of her mother, lying in her own sick, was one Jo couldn't dispel from her mind no matter how hard she tried to repress it. The sight of her mother's skin, ghastly white and sunken, when she shook her. Trying frivolously to wake the lifeless corpse. She could still feel the waxy skin beneath her fingertips if she tried hard enough to remember.

"I'm sorry you had to experience that," Tim tried to sympathize, but she rebuffed his apology with a wave of the hand. There was nothing for him to be sorry about.

"She wanted a way out, and she found it," Jo reasoned before heading further into the residence. It was a callous perspective to hold, but she knew her mother's soul had died well before her body had. Some outcomes were merely inevitable.

She led them down the hall to another room, stopping in the open doorway. The four walls constructed a small area, which had once been her bedroom. It had been just enough space for a lumpy mattress and dresser. The dresser was absent, but the stained mattress still sat on the floor. No doubt, teenagers had broken into the home and used the empty place to their advantage. Jo leaned on the doorframe but didn't enter. "It only gets worse from here. Sure you're not ready to pull back?" She challenged Tim's certainty a second time, giving them both the opportunity to withdraw without shame.

"I'll listen to whatever you're willing to tell," he reassured, though she doubted he'd be able to maintain that level of confidence as the minutes dragged on.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the room. "Be careful what you wish for," Jo grumbled as she passed.

These quarters had never provided her a safe haven, not for a moment when she was forcibly confined to them in her youth. This bedroom was her own personal prison, and it still tormented her when allotted even a passing thought. She had long since mastered the art of hiding such damage, but there's no escape when your demons are staring you right in the face. "After my momma died, my father disappeared for a few days, no doubt on a bender. When he returned, well, I was the only one left to beat on. And that's all it was for a while, beatings," Jo's voice drifted off. Her eyes continued bouncing around the trashed room, seeing something other than what was presently there.

She could picture everything but felt nothing. It was like retelling a story that didn't belong to her. Jo wasn't that scared little girl anymore, and she'd disassociated from every part of her previous life until it felt like someone else's entirely. Only in her subconscious was the darkness allowed to creep back in. During sleep, when it wasn't caged and locked away, was it afforded the opportunity to run rampant. She'd see this room in her night terrors, the dingy walls closing in around her, sucking all the air from her lungs. "Then, one night, he burst through that door, broke the lock clear off. He was all manner of drugged and drunk," she explained, her eyes settling on the splintered wooden frame that remained.

Jo could still smell the bitter alcohol on his breath, the heat from it hitting her face, his clothes reeking of smoke. "And he..." her voice teetered off into nothingness, allowing Tim to fill in the details she left unspoken. She refused to give life to such recollections, rejected the possibility of speaking the actions into reality.

His back stiffened, his spine becoming ramrod straight. "You never told anyone?" He questioned, though he could already guess at the answer. He watched her with the same intensity he'd watch a target, no movement, no blinking, he hardly even breathed once the words fell from his lips.

Jo laughed sardonically at the notion. "That horror-stricken and pitying look you're carrying right now. Yeah, I wasn't interested in seeing that on everyone's faces for the rest of my life. Besides, that's not how we handle things here in Harlan," she relayed hauntingly. The intonation was a warning, a none too subtle hint that her tale hadn't reached its climax. The music was still building, increasing steadily to its crushing crescendo.

She strode past him, out of the offending room and back into the open living space. Her calm demeanor was equal parts imposing and harrowing. Jo was bitter, having to relive everything for a captivated audience, but she wasn't downtrodden or dejected. Tim supposed that was a practiced calm she'd perfected in the decade displaced from their current surroundings. "The next day, I went up to Mag Bennett's place. Stole away with one of the tainted mason jars we all knew she kept at the ready. When he demanded I make him a drink that night, I did. Then, I watched as the poison ate away at his insides, sat in that shitty old recliner."

Jo's eyes hovered over the spot where she'd watched her father sputter and groan as the life was sucked away from him. She felt just as deadened now as she had then. She figured, some people just don't deserve kindness, nor an easy passing. She didn't lift her eyes to engage Tim's, she could guess the look of shock and alarm that certainly marred his handsome features. "Once he stopped twitching, I dragged his body to the car. Drove up to one of the abandoned mineshafts that litter this county, and pushed what was left of him way down into the darkness."

She licked her lips, dried from too much talking, and the effort taken to maintain an even temperament. "You said you thought you were in love with me, but that's because you didn't know all the parts that make me unloveable. Now you do," Jo stated simply. There it was, all her burdens had been laid bare. Exposed, to be picked over and inspected like some fascinating mementos of a life gone horribly wrong.

When had the air encasing them become so stifling? She could feel the surrounding dust collecting in her lungs, threatening to suffocate her. She closed her eyes and willed her erratic heart to ease its treacherous thumping.

"You were just a kid, you did what you had to do to protect yourself," Tim tried to reason, but that was a justification she'd dispelled ages ago.

Her eyes snapped open, and she bit her lip harshly, shaking her head wistfully. "I've considered that, but then I remember how apathetic I was, watching him choke on his own tongue, and I know I'd do it again. Over and over again if I had to. There's no rationalization for my absence of remorse or guilt. I suppose that's just who I am, really. Harlan through and through."

Her statement was final. There was nothing left to see here. So, Jo trudged back outside the house, returning to the safety of the diminishing dusk. The air was lighter in the yard, and she could see the stars beginning to appear in the descending dark. She also could feel Tim's presence heavy behind her, but she didn't turn towards him. "I know you've got to do what you've got to do with what you know now. But understand, they ain't never gonna find his body. Even if they did, there's no evidence left. I can promise you that," she warned, her voice low and dangerous.

Pivoting back towards the ruins of her childhood home, Jo considered the wreckage one last time. "You know, I've often thought about setting fire to it, but this place doesn't deserve a quick demise. Better to let it decay into nothingness," she pondered aloud, before opening the driver side door and climbing into Tim's SUV.

She'd never return, not for the rest of her days. Some dead things should have the decency to remain as such.