“Sleep, little bug.” I push a few fallen strands of hair behind her ear. Her emerald eyes are unfocused and dull. “I’ll be right here.” She flashes me half a smile and crawls onto the couch behind us. I reach to pull a knitted blanket from its crumbled resting spot to cover her, but she’s asleep before it reaches her shoulders. Her breaths become heavy and grow farther apart as she sinks further into the realm of short death. For humans, that’s all sleep really is—practice for death.
I pick up one folder from the floor, opening it on my lap. Inside are dozens of photos, all of them children or young women. Each one has a name and date scrawled onto the back. A small stack of newspaper clippings is behind the last photo. As I flip through them, I realize the names are the same ones from the photos. The heading on each clip is the same:
MISSING
A vile realization dawns on me as pieces of what I’m looking at come together. The cells of my body vibrate violently as I struggle against another shift. If Mattie’s father weren’t already dead, I would waste no time in tearing him apart, only to crudely put him back together and do it again, slower. Just when I think humans can’t get any more pathetic, they surprise me.
I sift through the rest of the loose papers and photos until one catches my eye. I stop and hold the photo in front of my face. My nostrils flare as I focus on the two men holding up the head of a deer by the antlers. A familiar face, frozen in time, stares back at me—the fucking sheriff. I want to shred the photo into millions of tiny pieces, as if it would somehow kill this pond scum of a man again. The man next to him shares Mattie’s eyes, so it’s not a far jump to assume it’s her father. Another photo of them solidifies their connection. This one shows them standing with several other men, all of them wearing dark robes marked with an unfamiliar symbol. On the back, a single word is written in thick black letters:
REVELATORS
Mattie abruptly stirs behind me. Her leg muscles twitch, as though she’s running in her dreams. She mumbles incoherent words, and I wish I could see inside her mind. My little angel of death really is ridding this Earth of the human filth that inhabits it. Based on the evidence before me, her father and the sheriff were more than deserving of their fate.
I look towards Mattie again, still restless in her slumber, and run the knuckle of one finger down her cheek. She mumbles softly then stills. Her shoulders are heavy with sins she knows nothing of. My little bug is not the only one in her family who’s full of secrets. I just hope this new information won’t be the final thread that unravels her.
CHAPTER THIRTY
mattie
The televisions in the bar provide a constant noise that allows my mind to tune out as I wipe down the bar top. My hand drags the towel in circles across the surface that never gets completely clean. Ripp was tight-lipped this morning. Unspoken words about whatever he discovered last night fill my stomach with dread as my mind goes through every horrible possibility.
“Darlin’, I think that spot is good,” Wiley says softly. “You don’t want to rub it away.” I startle, looking up at him. I hadn’t even noticed he’d come in.
“Sorry, Wiley. Just a lot on my mind, I guess.” I shrug my shoulders and move on to taking stock of the liquor bottles on the shelves behind me.
“Ah, sometimes we just gotta water the garden instead of pullin’ the weeds.” I wait for him to move on, but he stays in place, observing me. “You know, I remember when you first came in here. Eyes wider than a screech owl,” he laughs before leaning against the bar. “I could tell ya needed a place to belong. Most of us ‘round here come from nuthin’ and end with nuthin’.”
I pause my movements, unsure where he’s going with this speech. “Not much has changed,” I sigh. He taps his fingers on the bar top, and I shift uncomfortably.
“Don’t let those weeds distract you from everythin’ else you’re growin’.” He lets a few seconds pass and then heads through the door to the back. My heart sinks. If only he knew what all was festering inside me. I lean my head against a bare spot on the wall and let out a loud exhale. Customers will be coming in soon, Tally too, and I need to get my shit together.
I finish up the last few opening tasks just before Tally’s bubbly ass bursts through the back door. She’s already carrying on about something her husband did, or hasn’t done, in this case, but I don’t catch all the details. “You’re so lucky you’re seeing that sheriff,” she exclaims. My throat tightens. “A little old for ya, sure, but he’s a looker.” And dead. “Decent paycheck. Will keep ya safe.” And very dead. My face falls into a frown, and it cuts Tally’s words short. “Oh no, sugar. Y’all break up?”
Her face scrunches, afraid she’s just opened a wound. In a way, she has, I suppose. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, hoping she’ll drop it. She bounds across the few steps between us and rubs my arms.
“Oh Mattie, we’ll find you another one. He probably wasn’t even that great. Bad in bed?” She nods her head knowingly and gives me a mischievous grin.
“Something like that,” I laugh, looking around me for any way to escape this conversation before it gets any more awkward. “Can we just not mention that it was ever a thing? To anyone? Ever?” I can almost hear Ripp snarl in the recesses of my mind, but I push the feeling away.
“Sure thing, sugar,” Tally chirps and goes to her end of the bar. She hums to herself as she lays out all her glassware in the order she likes. I go to my end and do the same, but my throat remains tight as I try to swallow against the pressure.
The bell above the door rings, and my stomach almost plummets out of my ass as two sheriff’s deputies walk through the door. Fuck. They can’t be here just to enjoy a day off. Their uniforms are slightly disheveled, and the bottoms of their pants are crusted with mud. The expressions on their faces are grim but steel as their eyes lock on me. Double fuck.
They take two seats on my side of the bar, and I can feel Tally staring a hole through my back. I clear my throat and head to them, tucking the towel in my back pocket. “What can I get ya?” I force out. They both turn to each other before facing toward me again. The one on the left raises two fingers.
“We’ll take two drafts,” Lefty says then points back and forth between him and his partner. I force a smile, even though I’m rolling my eyes on the inside that he felt the need to clarify it was for the both of them. I sidestep to the taps, pouring the beer as slowly as possible before sliding them down to the deputies. I try to step away, but one of them calls to me.
“You Mattie Gibson?” Righty asks. I freeze but make sure my smile is still plastered on before turning back around.
“That depends on who’s asking.” I wink. Maybe that was overkill. Their faces remain stone. “Yeah, that’s me.” Their eyes light up, sending panic racing through my veins. I just need to breathe. They don’t know shit, and I need to keep it that way. “How can I help ya?”
“We just have a few questions,” Lefty says, his eyes roaming me. “You know Sheriff Danvers?” My eyes flick over to Tally, who’s trying hard to make it look like she’s busy but is obviously listening to every word.
I nod my head. “I do. He stops in from time to time. What about him?” Tally makes a noise but continues her dramatic preoccupation.
“He didn’t show up to work today,” Righty answers, his lips pulling together in a tight line. He shifts in his seat but takes a sip of his beer and swallows audibly. “Thought you might know sumthin’ about it.”
“Deputy, if I kept tabs on all my customers comin’ and goin’, I wouldn’t have time for much else,” I laugh, hoping like hell it sounds casual—and not guilty as fuck. Tally drops a glass behind me, which crashes to the floor, but luckily, it doesn’t break. I spin to make sure she’s okay, but she’s already picking the glass up and hurrying back to her customers.
