Page 276 of Sinister

Another ping comes from the other side of the door, followed by:

“I’m sorry, Petra,” Sin’s voice rings out.

I throw my phone to the ground, tears streaming down my face.

And still, I hold onto some belief that maybe I have it all wrong. That maybe it’s just my thinking that is skewed.

So I ask, “What did you do to her? Did you steal her phone? Where is she?

“What did you do to her?” I call out, my voice full of venom and vehemence.

Yet his answer is still the same.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I did it for you. For us.”

76

PETRA

“What did you do?” I ask, already thinking the worst. “What happened to Amelia? What did you do, Sin?” The last question comes out in a frustrated scream.

He exhales loudly. “I did not do anything to Amelia. There was never any Amelia in the first place.”

“W-what do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer.

“What do you mean she never existed, Sin?”

“I—” He takes a deep breath. “I promised myself I would wait for you; that I would wait until you were old enough. But the truth is, I missed you. Knowing you were out there, within reach . . . I have no excuse for what I did. I know that. But I needed a way to talk to you. Even if it meant . . .”

“Even if it meant pretending to be a teenage girl?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? She was my only friend! And now I realize she wasn’t even real?”

“Everything else was real, Petra. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Real? I told you my deepest thoughts and fears under false pretense. You . . . oh God . . .” I choke up as I realize the sly ways in which Amelia would probe about my love life; how she would encourage me to give Sin a chance and find excuses for him even when the situation did not make any sense.

“Petra, darling⁠—”

“Don’t you darling me! You have no right after what you’ve done. And it’s not even the worst of it, isn’t it? Since we’re putting the cards on the table, you might as well admit the truth—you’re not human.”

“I am not,” he answers quietly.

I blink, stunned by the sudden declaration. For some reason, I thought I would have to pry the admission out of him.

“What are you then?” I demand.

“I reckon you have already seen what happened in the past,” he starts.

“Don’t avoid my question, Sin.”

“I am not,” he sighs. “But tell me this, you saw what happened? How you . . .”

“How I died?”