“I know. I haven’t told anyone and I don’t plan to. I told you, I’m leaving Redwood.”
“That also means that we have to carry on like normal for a while. Ya know, keep our distance like we usually do.”
“Ah, ok.” Makes sense now. He doesn’t want to be seen fraternizing with the pastor’s quiet stepdaughter. I push open the door with no hesitation. “Don’t worry, Lars. Your reputation is safe.” Then I slam it shut and walk briskly up the path to the house.
I don’t even turn around to look at him as my heart shatters into tiny pieces. What’s left of it, anyway. The other pieces are still lying in Tommy’s bed from the last time he broke it. Some are scattered around this house from the months of abuse I’ve had to swallow. Pretty sure Mom took a few chunks with her when she fled and left me here to endure the wrath of her monstrous husband. I’ve laid in bed often wondering how Mom couldn’t possibly know what goes on between the walls of this house. Maybe she just didn’t want to admit it because admission would mean guilt on her behalf. Doesn’t matter, anyway. All hearts break. I just have to smile through the pain, pretend like nothing is wrong, and bide my time until I can get as far away as possible.
Gulping down the lump in my throat, I close my eyes and say a silent prayer. Please, God. Please let him be asleep.
Holding my breath, I listen intently. It’s so quiet it’s eerie. Even my heartbeat sounds like thunder ripping through the room. Tip-toeing ever so gently, I startle myself by the creak of the old floorboards as I pass through the dining room. Pushing open my bedroom door, I step inside. Shutting the door, then locking it, I make sure the deadbolt is secure.
Rubbing my hand over my belly, I whisper, “Soon. This will all be over soon.”
I’m sound asleep when a gentle tapping noise startles me awake. It starts off like the tap of rain against the glass window, but quickly escalates into a repetitive pounding that has me up and on my feet quickly.
Stepping closer to the window, I watch for any type of movement behind the closed curtain. Taking the end into my hand, ready to pull it back hastily, I gasp when a dark shadow darts past the window. Ripping it open, I look left and right to try and catch a glimpse of the perpetrator, but whoever it is, is long gone. Was it just my imagination? I run my hands over my face and keep my eyes fixated on the lawn. Afraid to blink out of fear of missing something, or rather, someone. No. It wasn’t my imagination. Someone was definitely out there.
Pulling the curtain closed, I climb back into bed. With my back pressed against the cold metal bars, I keep my eyes wide open. Afraid to close them, worried that I’ll fall asleep and wake up to someone at the end of my bed.
Glancing over at the old clock on my nightstand, it reads two-twenty. I watch as the minutes tick by and the next thing I know, I’m waking up to the buzzing of my alarm. Slapping my hand to it a few times until it stops, I immediately get out of bed and walk back over to the window, pulling the curtain open.
Was it all a dream? Watching, waiting, looking for some sort of evidence that I didn’t imagine it, my eyes catch something on the glass of the window. A handprint—but it’s not just any handprint. It’s coated with chunks of dirt and debris and it looks like whoever did it, dipped their hand in mud before slapping it on my window. Chills slither down my spine as I try and wrap my head around who would have come here, and why. Though, it’s terrifying, it’s also reassuring that I’m not losing my mind.
8
Meeting up with Zed last night wasn’t a total waste of time. Even though his requests are irrational, we have a start. As of right now, the ball is in our court and we don’t have to worry about a body turning up—at least for the time being.
“Willa Mack?” Tommy says as he shakes his head in confusion. “Who the hell could he possibly be after that he can get to through Willa fucking Mack?”
“It’s Pastor Jeffries.” Talon chimes in from behind the couch where we sit. Tommy and I both turn around to look at him. His expression is bleak as he recants himself. “I mean, I assume it’s Pastor Jeffries. Who else would it be?”
Tommy chuckles. “Why in the world would Zed, or anyone for that matter, have beef with a damn pastor?”
“Ya know. The guy is a sort of douche. Last night—” My words trail off when I realize what I’m about to say. They can’t know that I was with Willa. They’ll start asking questions that I’m not ready to answer, because I don’t even know the answers myself. “Last night I saw him outside of the church and he was yelling at Willa. Looked pretty pissed.” It’s not all a lie. He did yell at Willa, but it wasn’t outside the church. It was in her living room while he had her arms pinned over her head and pressed against the wall.
Tommy kicks his feet off the coffee table in front of us and gets up. “Well, I’ve gotta get to school. You guys talk about the next phase of our plan—whatever our plan is—and we’ll catch up tonight.” He focuses his attention on me and smirks. “You going to your ballet class today?”
Grabbing a pillow sitting next to me, I chuck it at him. “Fuck off. It’s drama class. No one fucking dances.” Not exactly true. There’s actually a lot of dancing and singing and all-too chipper faces. I’m not sure how
