The man’s smile falters, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Hey, are you okay?” he calls out.
I clutch the rock tightly. “Stay away from me! I know what you’re trying to do!”
He raises his hands defensively. “Whoa, I don’t want to hurt you. I mean no harm!”
But I don’t believe him. I know who I am, and I know who he is. I must protect myself. The rock in my hand feels heavy and cold, like a dead weight waiting to be unleashed.
“Please,” he pleads, his eyes wide with fear. “I’m not a threat, I swear!”
He ducks and stumbles backward. I lunge forward, the air whistling past my ears as I hurl the rock with all my strength. The world around me slows as the rock connects with his temple. A sickening crunch fills the air.
The man crumples to the ground, a torrent of crimson seeping from his head.
I go up to him, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He’s not breathing. Confusion and fear swell inside me, a gnawing ache twists my gut. His eyes are glassy.Should I give him CPR?I take his pulse. It’s too late. He’s gone.
My vision blurs with tears. I’m me again—Stella Jezequel, a sixteen-year-old high school student.What have I done?
I collapse to my knees next to the man’s body, my hands shaking. Time seems to stand still. It’s getting darker. Not sure how long I sit there, trembling, sobbing, unable to come to grips with the horror of what I just did.
Suddenly, I hear someone calling my name in the distance.
My parents’ voices grow closer. “Stella! Where are you?”
I bury my face in my hands.What do I do? How do I explain this to them?I killed this man, this perfect stranger, even though I didn’t mean to. Something came over me and made me do it.
When Mom and Dad burst onto the scene, they first grin with relief. Then they take in the sight of the young man’s body, the blood staining the earth. They look at me again, sitting there broken and lost. Their relief at finding me gives way to horror.
“Stella,” Mom whispers, rushing to my side. “Oh, baby!”
Dad sets a hand on my shoulder. “What happened? Did you find him like this? Or did he try to attack you? Was it self-defense?”
Through my tears, I manage to choke out the story, my voice barely a whisper. I tell them about my fear, my weird identity shift, and my certainty that he was a gangster out to kill me.
My parents listen, their faces pale, their eyes filled with sadness.
When I’m done, Mom and Dad pull me into their arms, and for a moment, we’re a huddled mass of grief and shock.
“We’ll help you,” Mom says, her voice firm. “You’re sick. You need help.”
“Am I going to prison?” I look from her to Dad and then back to her. “A mental institution?”
Dad shakes his head. “You’re not going anywhere! We’ll make this”—he points at the dead body—“go away like it never happened.”
“We’ll take care of you, Stella!” Mom adds, her eyes filled with determination.
My eyes refocus on the trekking poles in the corner. Mom and Dad kept their promise. They made the body go away and took care of me. They still do.
STELLA
The clock on the wall shows one in the morning, and the house is still as silent as it was at midnight. Every time I’ve been up reading or just unable to fall asleep at this hour, it’s to the accompaniment of my parents’ distant snores. But not now.Are they awake, too?
My eyes open wide with alarm. What if they’re down in the basement to perform another ritual on Darrel or to torture him for information about their ridiculous talisman? Why can’t they understand he knows nothing about it? Why haven’t they considered that his “mark” is just a tattoo he got while in the military, a cool symbol that has nothing to do with their Ever Mage or their cult? Why?
Because they’re not well in their heads, that’s why!Delusions are a constant in my family.
As quietly as I can, I climb out of my bed. Toggling my phone to Silent, I shove it into the pocket of my pajama pants. Then I put on my socks, but not my slippers, open the door, and tiptoe out of the room. I stop at my parents’ door, hunker down so that my head is near the handle, and press my ear to the smooth wooden surface.
