I closed my eyes, listening to the roar of the wind as the engine fired up into the night. No, not pathetic, not desperate. I was broken by betrayal and seeking validation that I was worthy of love. There were some A-grade therapy sessions right there:“Lie on the couch, Amy. Here’s a tissue box. Now let’s talk about your fucked-up head.”
I sighed, watching as he drove off, the orange glow of his taillights fading as the rumble of his car was drowned out by the howl of the incoming storm.
Chapter 24
The Storm
Aloud crack of thunder filled the air as I opened the door, hurrying inside to close and lock it behind me. My head began to throb. I wasn’t sure if it was caused by the sound of the wind that had escalated to high-pitched screams, the numerous glasses of champagne, or the self-imposed torment. I grabbed a glass of water and shot down two Tylenol, then headed to my room, pulled on pajamas, and flicked on a round pink night-light I’d purchased in Two Peaks—with the tale that it was for my niece. I turned off the main light and crawled into bed, snuggling under the warm covers as the roof shuddered above me.
I took off my ring, placing it on the bedside table, and closed my eyes. Despite the wind, the alcohol had one positive effect—I fell asleep quickly.
“Amelia, where are you going?” My mother laughed, jogging behind me as I ran into the woods ahead of her. The sky was blue, the air warm. “Ammeeelllia,” she sang out, “where are you?”
I giggled, peeping my childishly round face out from the big green bush I hid behind. Not far away, something tap, tapped, tapped—like a woodpecker on a tree. My mom didn’tsee me; instead, she froze and was focused on something in the distance. The smile collapsed from her face, and she frowned.
“Amelia!” she called, looking around wildly. I looked up, and the sky had become dark. A black, shadowy cloud floated above, rolling and tumbling slowly, threateningly, down towards us. Pinpricks rose on the nape of my neck. Confusion racked my brain; it was unlike any cloud I’d seen before. Clouds didn’t roll downwards; clouds were not that black. I didn’t know what was in the cloud, but I knew if its dark, shadowy haze hit us, something bad, something terrible would happen. My throat tightened, and I tried to cry out for my mother, but all I could manage was a rasped breath.
“Amelia! Amelia, wake up!”
I dragged my eyelids open. The dim night-light leaked a pale glaze across the room, just enough so I could see. My heart arched in my chest. My breath caught in my throat.
In front of me was a figure. Not just any figure.
My mother—mydeadmother.
My whole body felt like it was carved of ice.
She was dressed in the blue dress we’d buried her in. Her hair was pulled into a neat ponytail. There was no sign of blood on her face, no smashed cheekbone. She looked just how I remembered her each morning when she would kiss my head as I ate breakfast before she headed out the door for work. Except now, incredulously, she hovered above my body, floating as if suspended by strings above my bed. But the wild look in her eyes struck like a blow to the chest, my heart flayed open, the threads of a distant, vaguely familiar memory scorching under my skin. She was afraid. Terribly afraid.
She wasn’t here, this wasn’t real. It was just a dream
Something tap, tap, tapped. The noise didn’t make sense, just like my vision of her didn’t make sense. I squeezed my eyes shut, and when I opened them again, she would be gone. It was just adream. I cracked my lids open, and inexplicably, my mother still hovered in front of my eyes.
“Amelia, get up,” she said, her voice so urgent, it sent shivers down my spine. “You have to get up.”
My chest tightened. The breath left my lungs.
“Mom,” I whispered. Instinctively, I reached out to touch her. Her image dissolved between my outstretched fingers into the darkness of the night. I blinked into the empty space. I should have expected that. My mother, my dead-and-buried mother, was never here, but the voice had sounded so real, and she had looked so real.
I closed my eyes, my chest hitching with a sob of emotion.
Tap, tap, tap.
The wind was roaring, the sound of it unlike anything I’d ever heard before. I turned my head. A raven was madly pecking on the glass pane like it wanted to get in. I was still dreaming; dead mothers didn’t appear, and ravens didn’t tap on windows. The wind seemed to be getting louder, as if a jet was coming closer and closer. Dread rolled down my spine. I was dreaming—that had to be it.
Tap, tap, tap.
Beady black eyes gleamed in.
The smell of smoke filled my nose and seeped into my lungs. Wait—you couldn’t smell when you dreamed. My lungs thickened, and I coughed, which jerked me from my hazy stupor.
Realization dawned on me with a shocking thud.
The cabin was on fire. A cloudy haze of smoke swirled all around the room, and it filled my lungs with its choking, acrid smell.
I jerked my forearm over my mouth, jumped from the bed, and bolted towards the safety of outside. I opened the front door and the noise was deafening. The air was jet black with thick,smoldering smoke, twisting and swirling with such ferocity I couldn’t see more than a foot in front of my face.
I stumbled down the stairs and ran in the direction of the lake, the wind-whipped air was scorching hot. The heat of the flames clawed at my back. My skin broke out in a sweat. My lungs screamed for fresh air.
