“He has a video of what happened?”
I nod, squeezing my fists tight.
“Are you kidding me?” Anger strangles his words. I look over at him, never having seen him this irate before. He’s usually keeping me from losing it. “We have to get it.”
“We will,” I tell him, fury snaking through my body, tightening my muscles.
No matter what happens to me or anyone else involved, I won’t allow Allie and her family to continue to suffer. Vic will pay for this. I’ll make sure of it.
Because if your words were true, then I broke my own heart. And shattered yours.
It hasn’t even been two months since I last rode down this street, the street I spent my entire life on. But it’s already foreign, like I’m returning to a different world after being away for years. The usual chaos that passed by me like white noise now rakes against my nerves, like it’s blaring through loudspeakers. The people walking along the sidewalks or hanging out on their dilapidated porches appear even more weary and defeated. Everything is broken and cracked, as it always has been. But now, I notice.
I hated being sent off to Blackwood, more because it was forced upon me than for any other reason. But now, I wish to be back there, surrounded by the trees. I appreciate it more than I ever thought I could. It’s the opportunity to escape all of this—a cyclical life without possibilities. I never wanted to be another of its tragic endings, but I also had no idea how to escape it.
Now … I have a chance for more—whatever that ends up being. I do know I won’t find it here.
“Have you eaten?” Joey asks when the Jeep bounces along the pocked dirt driveway.
“No,” I say, recognizing for the first time that I’m hungry.
“I can pick up some breakfast sandwiches while you get what you need. I should be back before Parker arrives. Don’t talk to him without me though. I want to hear what he has to say for himself.”
“Sure. Do you know where to go?” I ask, a little concerned that he’ll end up in a worse neighborhood.
“Yeah. Lincoln used to take me to this place not far from here,” he says as I unbuckle my seat belt. “I won’t be long.”
“Okay.” I climb out of the Jeep.
Joey pulls out as I pause on the front steps. My attention is drawn to the darkened windows of the first floor. No one’s moved in since Morgan’s mother moved out, right after he was killed. I didn’t know that at the time though. The Wolfe family owns the house. According to my mother, there’s always been some family member living downstairs since she moved in as a girl. I’ve never wondered why it’s remained vacant—until now.
When I reach my door at the top of the stairs, I press my forehead against the splintered crack running down its center. I didn’t think this through, apparently. First, I left the hospital room without a ride or bus fare. Now, I don’t have the key to get inside. But I do have … I pull out my Blackwood student ID. Angling it, I carefully ease it into the space between the frame and the dead bolt, twisting the doorknob open when I feel it give. Some skills are hard to forget.
The apartment is the same. A blanket is bundled up at the end of the couch, and several pairs of shoes create a trail from the front door to my mother’s bedroom. I follow the shoes to her room and am struck by the floral, fragrant incense infused with the air. I think the room will forever smell like this.
I search the nightstand for the medicine, but it’s not there. I find an empty bottle in the drawer from an old prescription but not the new one. I scan the room, trying to think where it could be, wondering if maybe she had it with her last night. Something I didn’t take into consideration, like everything else, when I left the hospital.
I text Nick, asking if he could check her things because I haven’t come across it yet.
Before he responds, I notice the wooden box that she always keeps locked under her bed. It’s open with its contents strewn across the dresser. I’ve never seen the box open before, although I tried prying the lock many times when I was younger. Whoever made it knew what they were doing. The key is an old skeleton key that my mother wears on the long gold chain around her neck and never takes off unless she’s sleeping or in the shower. Even then, she hides it. So to see its secrets haphazardly on display is more alarming than if the front door had been busted open.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, like the air behind me moved.
I whirl around. But no one’s there.
I hesitate before approaching the box, feeling guilty for just thinking about looking in it. These are her secrets. I’d be violating her trust by setting eyes upon its contents.
I guess it’s a good thing I’m not Joey or Grant. Thinking that makes me feel even more guilty because now I can sense their judgment. With a resigned sigh, I decide I won’t look. I’ll just pick everything up and put it back in the box. Because I doubt Mom would want anyone accidentally discovering what was meant to be locked away.
I scoop up the loose papers and photos, shuffling them into a pile. A photo slips to the floor. I reach for it but freeze when I see the bold red lettering.
I pick up the picture by a corner and turn it over. It’s the same image I found in Brendan’s room—the one of him, his mother and Kaden. I flip the picture back over. Beneath the bold message is another, handwritten in black ink.
Another picture stares up at me from atop the stack. It’s of Maggie and who I assume to be my mother at the beach. But her face is cut out. I recoil. What is it with defiling faces that crosses the line from creepy to psychotic? Another note is written on the back in messy red marker.
I drop the photos. The messages I’ve been receiving … they’re not for me. They were written to my mother, years ago, from Brendan’s mother. And someone at Blackwood knew. Someone who has seen the contents of this box.
“How’s your mother?” I practically jump to the ceiling at the sound of his voice. The voice that won’t stop haunting me.
Vic.
I spin around. He sneers at me, his broad frame nearly filling up the door, wearing a black hoodie pulled up over his head. My teeth clench at the sight of him. In a sudden burst of rage, I rush at him, my shoulder tucked, determined to knock him to the ground. But he sidesteps before I make contact. I stumble and fall onto the threadbare carpet in the living room. I roll over just as he thrusts his boot into my stomach, knocking the air out of me. I gasp and pant for breath, curled in a ball.
“Heard she’s in the hospital. That’s too bad about her heart. But then again, she’s always been weak.” He crouches beside me, admiring the pain etched on my face with a lopsided smirk. “Isn’t that girl there too? Amazing they’re both still alive.”
I glower at him through teary eyes, still clutching my gut.
“Know that I can get to you or anyone you know. No one is out of my reach. So you’d better keep your mouth shut if you don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
I throw a left-handed jab between his legs. He stumbles back with a cursing moan but catches himself before falling over. His face floods with color. I press up to my hands and knees. Grunting, he slams his boot down as if to stomp on my back. I flatten and roll, barely avoiding the heel that thumps against the floor. His other foot careens into my left kidney. I cry out as white-hot electric pain shoots up my back, instantly incapacitating me.