I finally see her, my mom, with Evelyn’s arm draped over her shoulder, assisting her to the emergency vehicle.“Mom!”I scream at the top of my lungs, but she doesn’t hear me. As I am about to yell again, my voice is overshadowed by a roll of thunder, yet another winter storm rolling in.
Damn winter storms.
“Mom!”I continue,“Mom!”
Since I am getting nowhere shouting at my mother, I try a different approach.“Evelyn!”And like those moments in old movies—the time slows, the storm muffles, and all that’s left in this world ismy sisterandme.
Watching for some sign that she heard me, I wait—tears on pause until it happens.
She looks up.
Our eyes meet.
My chest constricts.
We both start crying as she breaks away from our mother—we run for each other, her hand outstretched towards mine. I reach my hand out to her. We are so close. She is right there. Then, like the same end of magnets meeting, we are repelled away from one another—Oliver has me by the waist, and she is stopped in midair—hands flailing, feet kicking, with a mist coiling around her torso. We do our best to feel each other, touch one another. To embrace each other's warmth, so we pull against our restraints.
Suddenly, Oliver loosens his hold a little, and a surge of relief rushes through me. I see my hand is hovering over hers, and I give in to gravity… but my perception betrays me. My hand sinks straight through hers like she is a projection—a hologram. I watch in horror as the mist devours her—inch by inch. I am hauled backward, back into the dark halls of the manor. The door slams shut, and I drop to my knees after Oliver releases me.
What is happening to me? Was that even real? Am I—
even real?
Chapter 25
Christian
"Forgiveness is a gift you allow yourself to give, even whenothers don't deserve it."
“What don’t you understand, child?” Her voice is like razor blades to my ears. “I can’t help! My tonics aren’t working!”
My mind is reeling, and I am doing everything in my power not to bash this witch’s face in. I yank the folded envelope from my hoodie pocket. “Thenwhywas she sentthisletter?” I shove the parchment into her wrinkled hands. I run my tongue over my teeth as she tears back the paper, and I’m confused even more when the expression on her face shows disbelief at what she has just been handed.
“Where-” She stops reading to look up at me, and tears start to pool in her eyes. “Where did you get this?”
“Lady, did you not hear me?” I scoff. Pointing up to the little room at the end of the hall, gesturing towards Evelyn. “I found it in her nightstand at the rehab center, and I’m glad I took it before that ginger-headed crackpot of a doctor started dosin’ her.”
I watch as her eyes morph from sadness to relief, then full-on anger. “Red hair, you say?” Her voice changes, and I can’t place her accent anymore, but she kinda rolls her ‘R’s. If I had to guess, I would say German, but it was only in this moment. When I first met her, I swore she was from Jersey—I listened as she proceeded. “Pine green eyes and vacant expression?” She finishes asking her question, although it sounded more like a statement.
Cocking my head at how spot on her description of that dirtbag is, I am almost certain she knew him. “How did you know that, and why does it matter to you?” She sighed, and the words that left her mouth next… have me backtracking on my disrespectful attitude toward her in a heartbeat.
“Because he killed my husband… and my son…” Tears roll down her face. If one is educated enough in micro-expressions, they would know that her lackadaisical approach to the situation at hand may not be because she doesn’t care. No, from what she has just told me, she was hurt too much in an abbreviated length of time, in ways it appears she will never be able to overcome.
Her voice shakes a little as she speaks. “And I will be the devil's daughter if I allow him to take the lives of my grandchildren.” All her Jersey was subdued, overtaken her angry German side at this point.
Spinning away from me, she heads over to the register counter. The phone is in her hand, and to her ear in a matter of seconds. “I need an ambulance to my address immediately.” Her German accent isgone again, as she finishes the conversation and hangs up. A heaviness falls on my shoulders as I watch her stare at the receiver. Her hands are shaking, her breathing unsteady… she swallows hard, then picks it up and dials another number.
Leaving her to take the phone call, I saunter up the stairs to check on Evelyn, who has been going in and out of consciousness. I kneel at her bedside, placing the back of my hand to her forehead—no fever, but she is clammy to the touch, and sweat is beading on her skin like she was sprayed with a layer of Rain-X.
“She called for help, sugar.” I trace her hair line as I speak, “You’re going to be ok, hang in there, baby.”
I brush her cheek with my forefinger as footsteps approach me from behind. I try not to be startled—five years overseas makes you skittish.
“You’ve been here a bit,” The woman’s voice is soft. “Yet I don’t know your name.”
“Christian. Ma’am.” Still looking at Evelyn, I stand, slowly. “My name is Christian.”
“Very well, Christian. I am Niven. I have called for emergency transportation. Also, I… have also,” she clears her throat, “I have also called her mother.” Her hands clasp together as she straightens her back. “Now, if you will pardon me a moment, I must get work done before everyone gets here.”
