Jesse laughs. A startlingly rich sound. Momentarily dumbfounded, I realize I’ve never heard Jesse laugh before. Not a real laugh, anyway. It seems to surprise him, too, and he schools his features quickly.
“Since my personal life is keeping you up at night …” He braces his hips, and I lift my arms just in time to block his swing. “My dad needs a lot of help around the mortuary. Between the small matter of being soulless and the dead bodies, I don’t have a whole ton of time for fun.” He lifts a shoulder, as though he didn’t just utter one of the saddest sentences I’ve ever heard.
The setting sun spears through the clouds. Gold glints off the landscape of metal around us. A gust of air hits the train with a mournful rattle.
A shadow moves behind one of the train’s windows, and my heart leaps into my throat. I watch for a face to form behind the glass or bloody fingers to press to the cracked pane. But the clouds converge again, casting the train in gray.
“Did they ever catch them?” I murmur, unable to tear my attention from the window.
“Who?”
“The people who did it. The murderers.”
Jesse glances at the train. “Two of them. Nabbed them trying to pawn some of the stolen jewelry. But the leader was never found.”
A horrible thought claws forward, born from the abyss in the human brain that collects the ugliest and scariest parts of reality. The crater where our fears leak out at night, conjuring killers in every creak and demons in the dark.
“What if they’re still in there?”
Jesse drifts closer to me. Worry tightens his mouth. “Hey, are you alright?”
“What if their souls are trapped, Jesse?” I stare at the window until my eyes burn. “What if the passengers never left?”
And then they come, a battalion of terrors marching into truth, pulling me under.What if my mother never left the house, what if I never left the house, what if I’m still there and it’s toying with me, letting me die slowly behind that door in a room of crawling walls while my reality rots into dreams, and it’s feeding on me as I die, savoring me like a meal it’s been denied for too long—
My entire body jerks. The door. The door, the door,the door—
Cold hands frame my face, easing my gaze away from the train. I become aware of Jesse’s thumbs sliding over my cheeks, catching stray tears.
“Hey, look at me.” Dark eyes bore into mine. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the icy burn. I focus on the feel of Jesse’s hands, firm and unyielding. A frost has invaded deep behind my ribs, consuming every molecule of warmth inside me.
Jesse’s breath brushes my ear, drifting against the crook of my neck. “Think of something good.”
Nothing is good. Nothing has been good in so long. Except …
“My dad … he tried to make me French toast this morning,” I whisper.
“Tell me about it.”
“I do most of the cooking at our house. Even before my mom died, I was the one who made sure he was eating and taking his blood pressure meds. But then I stopped nagging him a few weeks ago, and I think he’s convinced himself that I got fed up with him for being so absent. So scattered.” The fugue of dread lifts from me, inch by inch. “I came downstairs after he left for work today, and the smoke alarm was in the sink. Breadcrumbs and milkeverywhere.But there on the counter was a perfect plate of French toast and a bottle of sugar-free maple syrup. He always uses black molasses honey, so I knew the syrup was for me. After I ate, I went to clean up and throw away the napkin. I found ten piecesof burned toast in the trash.” My voice hitches. “He emptied our bread drawer trying to make me French toast.”
Jesse tips my chin up. “This isn’t forever, Sour Patch. We’re going to crack this. Your dad will still be there when we do.”
When my breath stabilizes, he pulls away, raking his hair against the breeze. My cheeks warm. Another Mina Mansour breakdown, served farm fresh and ready.
Jesse clears his throat and resumes his fighting stance. “Have you given any more thought to getting in contact with your aunt?” He gestures for me to put my fists back up.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why do you turn green every time I ask about your aunt? What happened at the end of your trip? When you got to the villa.” Jesse blocks my weak blow, shoving a finger into my shoulder. “Point.”
I kick at him, only for him to hook his foot under my knee and yank. I fall onto my side, landing on a pile of pebbles. “Hey!”
Jesse looms over me, a dark silhouette against the tumultuous sky. “A toddler could lay you out. Hit me like you mean it. I can take it.” A private smile plays at the corner of his lips. “And answer my question.”
Pushing back to my feet, I snap, “You sure are making a lot of demands.” My punch manages to graze his arm.
