Chapter 33 #2
She looks up at me, and in that one look, I know.
She shakes her head once.
Dead.
Behind her, Naomi is pressed into the corner, one hand locked over her mouth, her shoulders trembling, her eyes wide with something between disbelief and terror.
The stench of alcohol is everywhere, thick enough to choke on. I can’t move. My hand is still on the doorframe, nails digging in.
My body moves before my brain does. One second I’m frozen in the doorway, the next I’m stumbling across the room, knees hitting the carpet, reaching for her—anything, everything.
“Mum,” I choke out, hands pressing against her shoulder, her arm. “Mum, please—”
But then—hands. Strong hands. They catch me around the waist, hauling me back.
Will.
“No!” My voice cracks, breaking like glass. I thrash against the hold, clawing at the air, fighting to get to her. “Let me go! I can help her—I can—”
“Shhh.” The voice is low, steady, close to my ear. I can feel the words against my skin. “There’s nothing you can do for her now.”
It’s only then I realize my cheeks are wet. I don’t remember when the tears started, only that they’re there, blurring everything until the room dissolves.
I might have fallen, had Will not been holding me. I would have collapsed onto the filthy carpet at my mother’s side.
Instead, I sag against him, shaking, and the fight drains out of me in ragged bursts. I cry silently in his hold. Every now and then, Will shifts one hand, a rough thumb brushing clumsily at the tears streaking my face. It doesn’t help—more keep coming—but he does it anyway.
So I cry. I cry until my ribs ache, until my face feels raw, until I don’t know if there’s anything left inside me at all.
I cry for her. For the mother I wanted, for the mother I had, for the mother who died long before today.
And then—eventually—the tears slow. The sobs thin out into hiccups, then into shallow breaths.
So, Mother. You’ve finally gotten what you wanted.
You’re finally free.
***
I don’t know how long I’ve been outside. Just walking. One foot in front of the other, no direction, no thought, just movement. I don’t even notice how far I’d gone until I turn and realize I can’t see the house anymore. Can’t see any of it.
When I’d finally calmed down, when Will had loosened his grip and let me go, I’d told Kym I needed air. A breather. I don’t think she believed me, but she didn’t stop me either. I shoved my ruined shoes on and slipped out the door.
I don’t know why I took those battered Converse.
Naomi’s trainers were right there by the stairs.
Sam’s, too. Better ones. Whole. Ones that wouldn’t hurt the back of my heel as I walk or let in the cold through the worn soles.
But I laced mine up anyway. Maybe because they were mine.
Maybe because it was easier than pretending to deserve anything else.
I don’t even know why I’m still here at all.
There’s an old bench a little way down the street that looks like it’s peeling, but I sit on it anyway, feeling the wood press against my spine.
My father is gone. My brother is gone. And now, my mother, too.
Although, truthfully, I suppose I’d already grieved her years ago.
The day my father died, she died too. I know that.
But there’s no funeral for the version of a person that dies with someone else.
No service. No headstone. Not even when parts of who they are begin to disappear, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left.
So, I just sit there. On the bench. In silence.
It’s strange how silence can sound like someone. How the absence of a voice can still fill a space.
And now, it’s all I hear.
I pull my knees up onto the bench, chin resting on them, and slip a hand into my pocket for my headphones. But just as I’m about to plug them in, my phone buzzes.
I frown, drag it out, thumb swiping across the screen, but when I see who it’s from, I freeze.
Unknown Number: Such a pity about your mother.
My breath stalls.
Another buzz.
Unknown Number: Don’t hunch your shoulders like that. You’ll ruin your posture.
My blood runs cold. My shoulders are hunched.
My spine jerks straight like a string pulled taut, and I whip my head around, scanning the empty street, the dark windows, the rows of parked cars. My lungs feel tight, like I can’t drag in enough air.
I’m on my feet before I can think, shoes scraping against the pavement. My pulse is so loud I almost don’t hear the quiet click as my phone lights up again in my hand.
I start walking fast. Too fast. My eyes dart left, then right, then left again.
A sharp bark rips through the street. I jolt, whipping my head toward the sound. A dog, somewhere down the road. It flashes its teeth before it vanishes behind a fence. My own yelp echoes embarrassingly out of me, and my heart slams against my ribs.
I spin back around and keep going, faster this time, suddenly hyperaware of every sound. Every movement. The high, rusty creak of a swing set rocking in the empty playground across the street. The twitch of a curtain in the corner house.
And then…
A crunch.
Gravel. Behind me.
I turn so fast my vision blurs, my breath clawing out of my chest. Nothing. Just the long stretch of road. Just the sound of the wind.
Buzz.
Unknown Number: Wrong way.
My eyes go wide, my throat suddenly feeling raw. I don’t even have time to move before another message comes through.
Unknown Number: If you run now, I’ll give you five seconds.
The phone trembles in my grip. My fingers are ice.
And then, he steps out.
From behind the tree at the corner. A figure. Just standing there.
My legs move before my brain does. I spin and run.
As fast as my body will let me. Faster. My lungs claw for air, my chest burning, but I don’t stop. I sprint like my life depends on it. It most likely does.
I don’t have to look behind me to know he’s there. I can feel it. The weight of his presence, the rhythm of his steps syncing with mine, always just out of sight but never out of reach. He could catch me if he wanted to, I realize. He’s letting me get this far.
Toying with me.
The thought burns through me like gasoline, and I push harder. My legs scream, my throat tastes like blood, but I keep going. Faster, faster, faster.
And my shoes… my stupid, useless shoes.
The ruined Converse slip against the pavement, the fabric tearing at my heels. Every step comes close to wrenching them clean off, slowing me down, tripping me up. Panic spikes higher than it already is. I can’t afford to be slow. Not now. Not when he’s breathing down my neck.
I don’t think. I decide.
Mid-stride, I kick them off. One, then the other, gone. My feet hit the icy ground, skin slapping against the frozen earth, but I barely register the shock of it. I just run.
The cold tears at me, rocks slice into my soles, but I don’t care. Pain is nothing. Stopping is death.
So, I run. Barefoot. Wild.
I don’t know how long. Minutes. Hours. Time doesn’t exist anymore, only the pounding of my heart, and the sick certainty that he’s still behind me, always behind me.
And then, the world opens.
The trees give way to something white, endless and blinding under the streetlamps. A field, coated in frost and snow that crunches under my bare feet.
The field.
This is the one.
The one Kym warned me about.
And now I’m in it.
***
If I can just get past the field, just a little further, I might make it. Kai’s house isn’t far. If I run faster, if I scream loud enough, maybe he’ll hear. Maybe someone will.
So, I don’t stop.
My chest is on fire, every breath cutting like knives, but I keep going. My legs shake, my bare feet slip against the icy ground, but I force them forward, faster, faster, faster.
And still, it doesn’t matter.
He’s always there. His footsteps slam into the snow behind me, the crunch getting louder with every stride.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
The sound rips me apart, and the scream tears free from my throat before I can stop it. It’s raw, animal, desperate.
A scream for my life.
A hand slams into my hair, yanking me backward so hard my neck whips back. I cry out, stumbling, colliding with a solid chest.
I twist, claw, anything, but he’s already pulling me down. My knees smash against the frozen ground, pain bursting white-hot up my legs.
For a split second I see brown eyes through a ski mask. Familiar? Unfamiliar? My brain scrambles, searching, but I don’t get the chance to decide.
He jerks me sideways and slams me against the ground. The impact rips the air from my lungs, snow burning against my skin. His hand clamps over my mouth, rough and suffocating, pressing until I choke on the taste of leather.
I thrash, nails digging, legs kicking wild. He catches my wrist, twists hard. Pain flares up my arm, and I scream into his palm.
He hits me, a sharp crack against my cheek.
The shock is worse than the pain.
“Shut up,” he snarls, and it’s muffled through the mask.
But I can’t. Won’t.
I slam my head back, bone against bone. He grunts, loosens just enough, and I tear my mouth free. I bite down on his hand, hard, until I taste metal.
He shouts, but shoves me down harder, knee pressing into my stomach until I gag. The cold slices through my clothes, as I claw for anything: his mask, his face, his eyes.
My nails catch skin.
He swears, shoves me sideways, tries to pin me again.
Something primal takes over. My leg jerks up, knee connecting with his ribs. The groan that tears out of him is enough.
Just enough.
I scramble, writhing, dragging myself free inch by inch. My lungs burn, my vision blurs, but I claw at the frozen ground, shove, twist, until somehow, I’m up.
And then I’m running again.
Running barefoot, bloody, shaking, but running.
I don’t know if he’s still behind me. I can’t hear anything. No footsteps. No breathing. Nothing.
But that doesn’t mean he isn’t there.
And I sure as hell don’t stop. Not for anything. Not for the pain ripping up my legs, or the cold tearing at my bare feet, or the fire in my chest.