Chapter 26
"You grew up here, didn't ya?" Albert accuses, and I can't deny it.
"Yes," I admit. "I lived in Frosthaven Falls until I was three. My dad was a police officer here but was reassigned to Los Angeles."
"Knew it," he mutters, nodding slowly like it hurts. "Knew I seen that face before. You's a Calloway, aren't ya?"
His eyes won't focus—glassy, unfixed, like he's looking through me instead of at me.
But it's the knife I'm watching.
Albert is a drunken, dazed elderly man, moving like he's trapped in some dreamlike fugue state. The kind of unpredictable threat who could plunge that blade into me without hesitation, without even realizing he's done it.
"I don't even remember being here," I continue, even though I'm not sure why I'm explaining myself to someone this far gone. "Why does it matter?"
He grins, slow, crooked, and just a little too sad.
"'Cause you look jus' like yur mama."
Is that why he's been haunting the edges of every place we've been? He knew my mom when I was little?
"My mom has since passed away. My dad is retired–"
"Dawn… is dead?"
The broken look in his eyes takes me back to when he was chaining our tires. I thought he said "done" while looking at me like I was a ghost. He wasn't. He was saying "Dawn." This poor, deranged man.
"You knew my mom?" I tremble at the way he says her name, like they were friends. My hand's behind me now, feeling along the wall—blind, desperate—for a latch, a switch, something to defend myself with in case Albert turns violent.
Then I look down and see Albert is wearing my socks, one shoe missing.
He can't even dress himself, for fuck's sake. I'm starting to think I could take him…
"Dawn an' me… we had something real. She was the one who got away. I've known that gal since we was in kindie-garden."
I wonder if there's any validity to his ramblings, or if this is merely a long-lost memory that never even happened.
"I'm close with Robert down in records. One o' the last folks round here don't treat me like trash. He said a Calloway came sniffin' 'round, askin' for documents, and I thought, hell… could it be that Calloway? Brought back a flood o' memories 'bout your mama. Lord, I miss her somethin' fierce."
He blinks, drifting somewhere I can't follow.
"What files did you take?"
"Stuff yous was lookin' into."
"About Romee Anderson?"
He nods, fast and eager, like I'm finally catching up.
"Does your son know what you've been up to?"
"That boy don't know a damn thing!" he shouts.
I flinch, my muscles seizing up again, bracing for the knife to pierce my skin.
But then, it's like a curtain drops behind his eyes, and whatever he was clinging to vanishes.
The knife falls between us with a dull clatter.
"Dawn, you came back for me?"
Oh, God, he thinks I'm my mother.
But pity won't save me now. The weapon lies useless at our feet.
I have to move. I sidestep him, shoving him as I go—harder than I mean to. And instantly, I know it's a mistake.
"Dawn, why you runnin'? Please, stay… with me!"
His voice is both pleading and possessive, crawling under my skin. He's already coming, too fast, closing the space between us in an instant.
The room is too damn small.
I slam myself against the locked door, hammering my fists into it, screaming—a raw, feral sound I don't even recognize as my own.
I'm not yelling for help. I'm howling like prey that already felt the teeth of its predator.
Albert's hands clamp around my biceps, his words frantic. "Dawn, I won't let you go again! I won't let you go!"
"My name is Mara!" I scream.
He's strong for an older man. I don't want to hurt him, not exactly, but I need him to let me go.
Then his cracked, dry lips smash into mine, and I snap.
"Stop!" My scream splits the air in two as I drive both hands into his shoulders, throwing everything I have into it—panic, disgust, fear.
He stumbles backward, off-balance. It's like watching a tree fall in slow motion.
His head strikes the fireplace hearth with a sickening crack.
The sound doesn't echo, and he doesn't so much as move or react to it.
Oh my God, I think I killed him.