“That’s what you get for knocking me out, you A-grade piece of—”
His eyes shoot open before she can finish her sentence. She shrieks and jumps back. This time, Rachel takes point and kicks him upside the head with as much force as she can muster.
“I’m getting real tired of guys acting like they can get away with treating girls like dirt,” Rachel says through gritted teeth.
Greg goes limp and his eyelids shut a second time.
“We need to tie him up before he wakes again,” Rachel says.
“No,” Mercia says in a stern tone. “We need to get out of here now. We can go to my aunt’s house and—”
“I’m not stopping you from leaving, Mercia. If you want to go, then leave.”
Seventeen
Bad to the Bone
Rachel can’t leave her mom by herself. Even if Jenny’s current state scares the living daylights out of Rachel, she can’t just go. Regardless of all the drama, the growing chasm between them, their crumbling relationship, she refuses to leave her mom to deal with this alone. If this is the decision of a sentimental fool, then so be it. She simply can’t. Besides, if something dire happens to Jenny Cleary while she’s re-enacting a scene from some independent exorcism film, Rachel won’t ever be able to forgive herself.
Mercia calls her an idiot for making the decision, but leaves it at that.
Together, they tie Greg up—fixing his hands behind his back and his feet together—and half-drag, half-carry him into the destroyed living room.
“This isn’t Greg,” Rachel groans, straining as they lift him onto the sofa.
“I know,” Mercia grumbles. She drops his lower body onto the floor. “Jeez, he’s heavier than he looks.” She wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Use magic on him the way you did with Mrs. Crenshaw?”
“I’ve already used too much today. My well is drying up fast, and I’ll burn out if it empties out now. What I need is food and rest to replenish my reserves.” She bends down and grabs hold of Greg’s legs a second time and groans as she lifts him again. “Greg is probably going to think you tied him up so you could have your way with him.” Mercia giggles. “Naughty minx.”
Rachel grins, shakes her head. “I have no idea why he’s so obsessed. We never got past second base.”
“Some guys are into that.” Mercia sets down his legs on the sofa, his knees folding over the ripped armrest. “Always wanting what they can’t have. They’re like a dog with a bone, can’t stop themselves from wanting the fantasy they’ve built up in their head to spill into reality.”
“You sound like you know a lot about it.”
“I see how guys treat Holland.”
“Oh,” Rachel says.
They exit the living room together, and Rachel leads Mercia to the kitchen, where she scrounges up enough ingredients to make them each a couple of sandwiches. Rachel washes the meal down with coffee while Mercia sips on a glass of water. She watches as Mercia takes her goldmint pill and swallows it with the remainder of her drink.
A bang comes from upstairs and they both look up to the kitchen ceiling.
“I should probably go check on her,” Rachel says. “Feed her something decent, before she decides to eat another dead rat or squirrel.”
“Mind if I don’t come along?” Mercia asks. “Someone needs to keep an eye on your stalker.”
Rachel pulls the bread closer to make another couple of sandwiches for her mother.
“Your mom doesn’t love you,” Mercia says after a while. “She really wants to, but she doesn’t.”
“I figured as much,” Rachel says, not looking up.
“It doesn’t bother you or change anything?”
“I love her enough for the both of us,” she says, cutting off the crust, the way her mother prefers. “Also, she’s all I have left in this world.”
“That’s not true,” Mercia whispers.
Dishing up her mother’s meal on plastic would be better than providing her with anything breakable. She places the sandwiches on the plate, fills the cup with water, and walks out of the kitchen. Mercia’s words doesn’t bother her as much as they should—Rachel has suspected for years that her mother’s feelings toward her aren’t the typical motherly kind. It has driven a wedge between them even more, no doubt, but Rachel didn’t lie about how she feels about Jenny Cleary. She does love her enough for the both of them.
She makes her way upstairs, back to her mother’s bedroom, and knocks twice before opening the door.
Jenny is sitting in a corner, staring away from the door. Her hair is dirty, hanging in knotted strands over her slumping shoulders.
A tearing noise, like strips of paper being shredded, comes from her direction.
“Mom,” Rachel says. She hesitates at the door. “I brought you dinner.”
When her mother doesn’t move, Rachel steps inside. Another pause. Rachel evaluates the situation, before she walks across the carpeted floor and stops a few feet away from her mother.
“It’s not much, but—”
A croaking sound emits from her mother’s throat. The sound stretches on for an impossibly long time, before Jenny sucks air into her lungs, wheezing loudly. She repeats this process a few more times. Rachel places the plate and cup on the floor behind Jenny after a while, deciding not to bother her.
Rachel backs up to the door again. “Try to eat something on the plate.”
She closes the door and makes her way back downstairs, where she finds Mercia sitting on the armrest by Greg’s feet, inspecting her nails.
As Rachel nears, she notices Greg is fully awake, and there’s foam stuffed into his mouth to keep him quiet.
“What’s this about?” she asks.
“He called me something I’d rather not repeat,” Mercia says, holding her hand out to check her nails. “So he loses his talking privileges.”
Muffled words escape the makeshift gag. Rachel looks down at Greg and shrugs before making her way to the other end of the living room. She takes a seat on an armchair across from them.
“We’ll probably get in trouble for kidnapping
