“Corinne!” Upstairs, Lewis coughs, spits, and wheezes in rapid succession. “Corinne, please! Help!”
Taylor goes stiff, then yanks out of Mom’s arms.“Dad!”Her wide, furious eyes drill into mine.
Above us, he groans again, his ragged breaths leaking through the floorboards. Taylor bolts, shoving Mom aside and slipping past me before I can stop her.
She doesn’t know.
She doesn’t know that it might not be him.
“Taylor, wait!” I shout after her. My arms shoot out, fingers clawing for her ankle, but she kicks me away.
She climbs the stairs in seconds, with me just behind her. When we reach the cabin floor, she rushes ahead. I lunge to stop her, but I’m not quick enough.
In the living room, she freezes mid-step. I nearly crash into her as the terrible sight snaps into focus.
My blood runs cold. The edges of my vision turn black, as if being burned by a match.
Lewis lies motionless on the floor next to the fireplace. Unconscious or…worse. All around him, the floor is puddled with thick blood, creeping across the floorboards like a shadow, and slowly dripping into the cellar below.
“Dad! No!” Taylor runs to his side, dropping to her knees. Her hands tremble as her eyes dart desperately, searching for something—anything—to fix. Her voice breaks. “This is all my fault.”
Before anyone can respond, EJ steps out of the closet across the room, a smug grin tugging at his lips. He holds up his phone and taps the screen.
“Corinne, please! Help!” The message plays again, clear and chilling. And still in Lewis’s voice.
“Let them go,” Mom’s voice cuts through the air as she appears behind me. The muscles in my chest squeeze tighter. She winces, leaning heavily on her good foot. Her pain is hidden, but I can see it.
“No can do,” EJ says in a cheery, singsong voice.
“What do you want?” I grit out, jaw clenched.
“She hasn’t told you?” His surprise is fake, a performance unworthy of an Oscar.
“All this for money?” I glare at him. “Why?”
He chuckles darkly, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “Money? I mean, come on. We’re not talking about a five-spot, Rinnie Ren, but don’t insult me. I don’t need the money. Would it be nice? Sure. But I’m already successful. I certainly sell more than your little friend.”
He sneers, eyes gleaming with something vicious. Of course he had to bring Greta into this. “No, this isn’t about money,” he says, his voice curdling. “It’s about justice.”
Mom steps in front of me. “Justice?” Her voice is sharp, uncertain. “What are you talking about?”
EJ’s smile twists into something darker. He looks down, then back up from behind his heavy brows. “I’m talking about my mom, Billie.” There’s a pause, cold and deliberate, and Foxglove seems to hold her breath right along with us. “Or did you think I was genuinely attracted to you?”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
BILLIE WILDE - 1980
The house is quieter than I’ve ever heard it. The wind chime sings in the wind, but there’s not a sound to be heard inside. It’s the kind of quiet that settles into your bones. Where every creak of the floorboards, every shift of the wind, feels like a whisper in church.
Even the dust is still.
Michael is at the door, adjusting his coat and holding one of my bags. I don’t remember even packing it. Last night was a blur.
The sun is barely up, the sky still strangely gray rather than pink. Like Foxglove knows it’s losing me today, like it’s saying goodbye.
I stand by the window, looking out at the meadow as a sort of sadness washes over me. I didn’t expect it. Yesterday, I was glad to be rid of this place. Today, it feels like someone has carved a hole deep in my chest.
Maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but I swear from here, I can almost make out the place where the grass once flattened in the meadow—where I used to lie beneath the sky and dream of someday.
