Her derisive snort was loud in my ear. “I never wanted to be a mother. But God had other plans for me. ‘I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.’ That’s Romans 8:18. You’d know that if you’d ever listened to a damned word I said.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, a familiar anger clawing at my gut. I made my decision. “Save your sanctimonious bullshit, Vivian. I’m just letting you know I’m leaving. Henry and I are moving to Savannah.”
“Well, guess you’d better get to packing,” she said flatly.
“Guess so.” I laughed in a short, humorless burst. “And don’t worry. You won’t be hearing from me again.”
Vivian started to say something, but whatever hateful comment she’d planned was cut off by another harsh cough.
I hung up.
Frowning, I replayed the conversation in my head, the familiar sting of rejection warring with resigned indifference.
I turned slowly, taking inventory of the contents of the tiny house. Not much to pack—Henry’s toys, some clothes, a few boxes of books, the thrift-store art on the wall…
Just as well. The sooner I got the hell out of there, the better.
Still, the idea of starting over—leaving behind everything I’d managed to build, the meager support I’d gathered, the few friends I’d made—sent a wave of anxiety crashing over me.
I rushed to the kitchen sink and leaned against it, squeezing my eyes shut to fight the sudden urge to throw up. I didn’t normally feel stress in my stomach. But it wasn’t like anything wasnormalat the moment, so why should my body’s reaction to my world falling apart be any different?
When the nausea subsided, I took a few deep breaths and opened my eyes. Through the tiny window, night settled over my little world like a shroud, the darkness pressing close, heavy with silence. The kind of silence that felt…ominous.
My mouth suddenly dry, I exhaled a shaky breath and grabbed a glass from the cabinet.
When I turned back toward the window, the glass slipped from my hand and shattered in the sink, shards skittering like tiny bones across the porcelain.
For a heartbeat, I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I could only stare as two glowing silver eyes glared back at me through the reflection: a woman’s face, pale and blurred at the edges, like an old photo negative. And those eyes locked on mine. Furious. Vengeful.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream, jaw unhinging wider than it should, and she rushed toward me, her fingers curled into claws.
Instinct snapped me free of my paralysis. I spun, bracing for her to be just inches behind me, to grab me, tear into me.
But the kitchen was empty.
No movement. No sound except for the hammering of my heart.
The window air conditioner clicked on, wheezing from its efforts to combat the spring heat, the suddenness of it shattering the silence and spurring me into action.
I lurched to the window, yanking the blinds down with shaking hands, the slats clattering into place, then stumbled across the room, checking other windows, locks, anything that could keep something out—even though I knew nothingtrulycould.
I flipped every light switch within reach. Warm light banished the darkness but still didn’t seem bright enough when I pressed into a corner so I could see every inch of the room. Shaking, I slid to the floor and pulled my knees to my chest, arms wrapped tight, watching.
When nothing else appeared after several minutes, I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my forehead to my knees.
The intruders.
They’d found me again.
They’d haunted me since childhood, no matter where my mother had dragged me. I called themintrudersbecause they forced themselves into my awareness, butI didn’t know if they were ghosts, portends, or something else entirely. Vivian had called them demons and punished me whenever I mentioned them, convinced that it was my wickedness that drew them.
So many hungry nights, my grumbling stomach keeping me awake because Vivian believed fasting would “starve out” the demons. So many ice baths that left me gasping and crying because she insisted that making my little body inhospitable would send the demons away. So many prayer circles and “healings” from religious charlatans that were supposed to cleanse my soul…
So, I had closed myself to the intruders, forced them away, ignored the whispers, the messages, the shadows in the corner of my eye—until they no longer came.
Until now.
God. Damn. It.
