The universe might not care about Cassian’s good deeds, but it sure as hell seems to care about mine.
(I decide to ignore the fact it was probably my own subconscious that redirected my power. Not divine fate. Just me, thinking that haunting Mark was better than crawling through the Candy Maker’s house a second longer.)
Still.
If the universe dumped me here with my powers rebooted, it wants something.
And I don’t waste gifts.
Even messy ones.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” I mutter.
The grave looks the same.
Fresh-cut grass. Surgical dirt marks where Nathaniel played corpse surgeon. No headstone. No name. No trace of me, just silence.
I glance toward the house.
White shutters. That stupid porch swing Jessica added last year. Sunflower cushion and all. I remember. She posted it on Facebook.
"A fresh start, in full bloom."
I wonder if she knew she was ten feet from my rotting corpse when she typed that.
Of course she didn’t.
My lips twitch.
I take a step toward the edge of the willow’s shade.
The porch light is on.
Which means someone’s home.
And… fuck. The idea of marching up and knocking like some muddy ghost-Girl Scout suddenly tempts me more than it should. God, I’d love to walk up there, caked in dirt, freshly resurrected, and watch his face crack wide open when he sees who’s standing on his spotless welcome mat. Jessica wouldn’t recognize me. She doesn’t know who I am.
But him?
Oh, he’d break.
I know it.
The only question ishow.
Would he choke out my name? Freeze up? Start hyperventilating like he used to during those nightmares, thinking I’ve come to expose him, to tie him to Duvall’s murder and shatter the little life he’s stitched together?
Or worse, would he convince himself I’m not real? Just some hallucination, a side effect of the sleeping pills he hoards like an insurance policy against guilt?
Hard to say.
Then again, Mark’s myliteralfucking murderer. What are the odds he freezes on the spot… versus the odds he lunges, wraps those disgusting hands around my throatagain?
Even with Jessica there, there’s no guarantee he won’t snap. If he decides he’s hallucinating, who’s to say he won’t go full-blown psycho? And I don’t trust my powers nearly enough to keep me from dying a second time.
No.
As tempting as it is to show up and ruin his night right now, revenge has to be careful. Controlled.
