When I come to, I can tell it’s later in the day. The sun is still shining through the tiny window, but it’s not as bright. It makes me worry about Noah. He’s still at school, and I pray somehow Mara or Mila realizes I’m missing and goes to get him.
Carefully, I pull my body to a sitting position, and wince when I feel the goose-egg swelling on the side of my head. For an old, evil woman, Bea sure hits hard. My vision is blurry, but I can make out that I’m still in the basement. The newspaper article Bea flung at me is on the floor within reach.
I pick it up and study the photo of the man and his family. I knew I took after my mom, but now that I see this photo, I question how much of me actually came from her. I got her eyes and nose, but looking at the face of the man who Bea claims is my real father, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe she isn’t lying.
The door opening catches my attention, and I watch Bea carefully trek down the stairs.
“Oh good. You’re awake. I was worried I might have got ya a bit too hard.” She laughs. “I let my temper get away from me.”
“I guess it’s a family trait then.” I know I shouldn’t, but I goad her. She doesn’t fall for it this time, though. Bea scowls at me from the base of the stairs.
“Here.” She tosses a prepackaged sandwich and a bottle of water at me. “I can’t have you dying just yet.”
“Why am I here, Bea?” Shoving them to the side, I glare at her. I haven’t been conscious long enough to have a full conversation with her. “I don’t get what your goal is here.”
“Well, I should think that would be obvious, dear.”
Seeing my confusion, she sits in the chair from earlier and tuts at me. “Noah.”
My spine immediately straightens. “What about Noah?”
“I’ll become his guardian?—”
“Like fucking hell you will,” I spit out.
Anger flashes across her face before she schools her expression. “I will. It’s a shame, really, about your upcoming ‘accident.’”
I can’t let her have Noah. “Why do you even want him? You’re old, Bea,” I point out the obvious. If she hits me again, so be it.
“When I become his guardian, he’ll be under my care. He’s the last piece I have of my Samuel, and I’ll raise him right.”
“Like a psychopath?”
“Like Samuel would have wanted. But, as you know, young boys can be expensive.”
That’s when her game plan dawns on me. “You don’t want Noah; you want the money. Jesus, Bea, fine. I’ll go to the bank and get it; you don’t have to go through all this.”
I don’t think I’ve ever truly hated my parents until this moment. Why couldn’t they just be normal, or just have a less shitty family?
“I don’t want the money, well, not all of it. We’re splitting it, you see.”
We? Who the hell is she talking about?“There is no one else, Bea. Sadly, you’re the only family we have left. You saw to that.”
“That’s what you think, Cora.” She laughs; the gaps in her smile only add to the darkness coming from her soul.
“That money came from my mother’s mom. You have no rightful claim to it,” I remind her. If Samuel really wasn’t my father, then she can’t claim it at all.
“Are you certain about that?”
The way she says it makes me wonder. I try to remember back when I was younger and come up empty. There were always people coming and going, and I had plenty of “aunts and uncles,” but I didn’t think any of them were really related.
Running my hands through my hair, I try not to show how much pain I’m in. My legs and arms are sore, likely from where I fell, and my head fucking hurts. Breathing alone sends a sharp pain through my skull, but I know I can’t let her have Noah.
I don’t care about the money—I can always make more, or sell our home and move somewhere smaller—but the idea of leaving him with her is unbearable.
Atlas’ face pops into my head, but I quickly push it out. He never wanted Noah, so all he has is me. I have to make it out of here.
“So, what’s your plan, Bea? Bore me to death?”
