The book would be in the attic —that was where we stored all the painful memories, tucked away from sight.
I stood in the middle of the upstairs hallway, building up the courage to face it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I tugged on the string to release the ladder, wincing at the loud creak.Thankfully Emory wasn’t home yet, but I needed to hurry if I wanted to find what I was looking for before she returned. I yanked harder, praying the string wouldn’t snap until finally, the ladder lowered into place.
The wood groaned under my weight. I gripped the ladder tightly, slowly placing one foot in front of the other. Cobwebs and dust bunnies littered the abandoned space. No one had been up here in years.
I took a cautious step, careful to only step on the wooden planks so I didn’t create a Lyra-sized hole in the ceiling. I tore open the box closest to me, but all it contained were photographs. People I didn’t recognize smiled through the faded photos. The last image from the box made me stop. A much younger version of my mom and dad smiled brightly at one another. Mom looked beautiful, her radiant smile shining bright in the worn photo. But it was Dad who caught my attention. He stared at her with a look in his eyes I hadn’t seen since her death.
Old newspaper clippings were hidden under the photos. A lump formed in my throat as I read the headline:Suspicious Events Around a Believed Suicide Attempt Have Cops Searching for Answers.
I should have stopped reading, but I didn’t. Instead, I read the entire article, hyper fixating on every little detail about my mom’s death. Rumors had swirled around town in the months after she died. Some believed she had purposely driven off the bridge and others believed it was an accident because of the storm.
Subconsciously, I always feared the spirits had driven her mad, and I wondered if I, too, would meet the same fate.
Dad told us it was an accident. The rain had caused Mom to veer off the bridge and into the river below, where the officers found her body trapped in the car the following morning.
Our family was forever fractured that night. After Mom’s death, Dad threw himself into his work. Once Emory graduated from high school, he spent most of his time traveling for business. He was currently on a six-month assignment in Taiwan trying to close some big, important deal.
Emory and I had become numb to his absence. But the thing about grief was that it wasn’t linear, and everyone dealt with it in their own way. You never got over something like that. You just got used to it.
The sudden squeal of the garage door made me shove all the items back in the box.Shit.I wasn’t expecting Emory back so soon.
I scurried down the ladder and raced down the steps, throwing myself onto the couch. Netflix was stuck on theAre you still watching?Page, as if anyone found the feature useful. I hit the resume show button one too many times, trying to look as casual as possible.
Emory strolled into the living room with a wide grin plastered on her face. She stopped, narrowing her eyes into slits when she looked in my direction.
“You’re still in the same spot you were when I left,” she chided.
“How was lunch with Cal?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Good. Eli bailed at the last minute. He had to do something with his dad.”
“Oh, poor Eli. That’s like his worst nightmare.” That was putting it mildly. Eli would rather stab himself in the eye with a rusty spork than spend time with his father.
“Yeah, I texted Kenna, but she never got back to me. She was probably in worse shape than you this morning.”
“Rude.” But she didn’t hear my remark because she was already heading up the stairs.
“Oh, by the way, we’re all going to the Dutchman tonight.” She hollered from her bedroom. “And the answer is yes, you do need to go.”
I rolled my eyes and groaned, sinking deeper into the couch.
CHAPTER 8
GREY
All the suppressed tension left an insatiable itch beneath my skin—a constant gnawing hunger begging to be set free. The urge to give in was overwhelming, bubbling just below the surface. I’d been deprived for too long.
I wrapped my hands tightly around the steering wheel, forcing myself to take a fucking breath and enjoy the moment of freedom, no matter how short-lived it might be.
The keys rattled and the Camaro rumbled to life.Damn, that had to be one of the sexiest fucking sounds in the world besides a woman coming. An image of the dark-haired witch popped into my mind, and I wondered what sounds she would make with me buried inside her.
The engine roared as I sped down the road. The tires kicked up the loose gravel, and I pressed down further on the gas pedal, accelerating down the desolate street. The sparsely spaced houses became more densely packed the closer I got to town.
An old, run-down gas station came into view through my cracked windshield. Not a single car was in the parking lot. I pulled in, avoiding a huge pothole, and parked next to one of the three gas pumps.
The silver bell above the door chimed on my way in, and the attendant scowled like my being there was somehow an inconvenience for him. Not like this was his fucking job or anything. He crossed his arms, his frown deepening as I approached the counter.
“I’ll take a pack of Marlboro Lights.” I pointed at the wall littered with different brands of cigarettes and tossed a lighter onto the counter too.
