“How’s Neri?”
“Good, you know, good.” He sighed. “She’s working as a beautician.”
“That’s good.”
“No, it’s a shit career move, but you girls never fucking listen.”
Laughter huffed from my mouth. My heart started beating faster and clenched at the same time. I needed to tell him softly, gently, ease into it. “Dad, I, I don’t know, I?—”
“What is it?” He sounded concerned. “What’s happened?”
“The accident.”
He stopped breathing. There was nothing but silence. Nothing but doubt pressing down on my heart.
“I think Mom was murdered.” More silence. Just the sound of my heart booming in my ears. “I remember, at least I think I remember,” I rushed out, breathless. “I think it was real, she told me to run, Dad, she?—”
“Amy, stop.” He sucked in a heavy breath. “Just stop.” Now he sounded tired. Broken.
He thought I was making it up, like the visions of Shadow Man in my bedroom I’d wake screaming to, visions that were nothing more than nightmares filtering into the real world.
My father thought I was unhinged. Tears stung my eyes. “I’m not crazy.”
Crazy Amy.That’s what some kids called me at school once when a cheerleader wearing a bright-pink scarf thought she could bully me. I ended up using that scarf to choke her until someone pulled me off. I also ended up in the principal’s office, with a two-day suspension.
I waited for him to sayI know you’re not, Amy. I needed him to believe me, or at least ask some questions so I could tell if it was real.
More silence screamed through the phone.He thinks I’m crazy.My head was spinning wildly. Nothing made sense. But the hands clasping my wrists, spreading my arms, clasping my ankles, spreading my legs—they made sense.
The pain in my heart was like a fire burning.
“Am—”
Too late. My fingers trembled as I hung up the phone, cutting him off.
I tore from the house into the night. Blood pounding. Feet pounding. I ran into the forest, hurled myself through the maze of tree limbs and low-lying shrubs. Branches whipped at myface, tearing shreds from my arms. I kept running, mindless to the physical pain.
I leapt over a fallen log and skidded around a large gray boulder. The damp air enhanced the scent of earth and pine trees.
Like the hand.
I couldn’t draw enough breath. I sucked at the air, but my throat was a pinhole. The world began to blur, my foot scraped against something hard, and the earth rushed up to my face. The fall jolted my teeth, and I tasted blood where I bit my tongue. Rocks scrambled beneath my weight and ripped skin from my palms. I slid over the edge of a bank. I stopped fighting, I just let myself slide, tumble, crash. Then I lay on the cold earth, breathless and broken, pitiful sounds of distress wheezing from my mouth.
Finally, I pushed myself up onto my knees, clenching my teeth, biting down the urge to scream. The vision of his aged hand on my thigh landed in my mind and I lost the battle.
My scream shattered the forest, startling nearby resting birds. They took to the sky with loud, shrill squawks. A branch snapped as a terrified animal took flight, the gallop of deer hooves beating against the forest floor.
I was burning amongst the decaying tomb of children thrown to heinous underworlds. Burning amongst the betrayal of people who claimed to be my own, people that had left a child in the hands of a monster. My birthmother, my biological father, the witches. I didn’t remember lying down, but I was back on the ground, curled up in a ball, crying. Crying until there were no tears left. Then I just stayed there, my heart burning and burning and burning.
Time swallowed itself. I didn’t know how long I lay there. Could have been minutes, could have been hours. But I stayeduntil the cold sank into my bones, chattering my teeth, and I either had to move or freeze to death.
Drained, I sat up. My legs shook as I hauled myself to my feet. My blister-clad feet. These shoes were not made for running. I held out my palms, watching as blood trickled down, splattering to the floor. I curled my hands into fists, and I made a vow to God, to the universe, to whatever, or whoever, was listening.
When I found out who had hurt me, and if anyone had hurt my mother, there would be more blood on my hands.
Chapter 49
Don’t Fuck With Me
