Chapter 16
“ONCE UPON A DREAM” – FROM MALEFICENT/POP VERSION BY LANA DEL REY
Sebastian Dawson was working late, as usual. He was gone, and his precious daughter was alone in her house with nothing but some dog to keep her company, to keep her safe.
The anticipation was nearly unbearable as I waited for hours into the early morning for her to go to sleep, each moment feeling like an eternity.
I had to do this before I lost my nerve.
The thought of waiting until Valentine’s Day to end her filled me with bone-chilling dread, as if a shadow loomed over my every move.
Estelle and Erica would be on the line, and that alone filled me with dread.
Quinntessa desperately clung to the music, its energy a lifeline in the face of my overwhelming despair. The faint, unsettling melody that had drifted through my cracked windows echoed in my ears with a chilling intensity, a soundtrack to my mounting dread.
She was listening to something in her bedroom. Her light was one of the last lights on in the house, faint music sneaking through the cracks in the long panes. Some songs, I could make out familiar beats, but nothing distinct.
I didn’t need to know what the lyrics were when she danced close enough to the windows that I could see her. I’d been crouched in the bushes as I thought through how I wanted to try navigating such a large house with a dog somewhere inside.
Each time she danced past the windows, nothing mattered to me.
I sat back and took my punishment. I deserved to sit here with a heaviness to my heart as I watched her laugh with her dog and dance in her oversized hoodie and adorable, plush pink headband.
It had a bow just big enough for me to see from here, holding back her lengthy loose curls still wet from the shower she must have taken earlier.
I was not sure if she’s religious. I wished I knew. Then, I would know if praying for her was something that comforted her. I hoped she at least believed in heaven so there was something within her imagination waiting for her.
She loved books. I was sure there was a fantasy world with pink bubbles and red hearts all over the walls of her new bedroom.
Maybe she missed a family member or an old pet, and they waited there for her.
It didn’t matter to me what she dreamed of, just as long as it was pleasantly waiting for her on the other side.
May the beautiful girl with thighs sculpted from gold and eyes as sweet as honey find peace in the football fields waiting for her on the other side, where she could dance with every musician she’d ever loved and read each book in a grand, never-ending library.
She deserved more than an idiot father and cunt dog could give her. All I could hope for her was minimal pain, the afterlife coming quick.
Quinntessa turned off her lights and left the music on when she went to sleep an hour ago. I waited patiently to make sure she was sleeping, watching for any signs of movement or life within the home before approaching the back door.
Rillie was a goddess. The sparkly red key I kept tied to my ankle this past week worked perfectly. Its crimson glitter glimmered under my phone’s flashlight before we entered the dark kitchen, where I once watched Quinntessa’s father hold a gun to her head.
I paused inside, exactly where she had stood, her presence still lingering in the air. The hallway behind me was shrouded in darkness, leading from the pitch-black kitchen. My eyes drifted through the room until I stared down the door Sebastian had come through that night I was in their garage.
Slowly, I slipped my hand out of my jacket pocket and raised the pistol in my hands square to where he stood. My eyes closed, picturing Sebastian Dawson’s face in front of me.
I was saving her from him. This was a mercy kill. She deserved more than the life he was giving her. Where was he now? Knowing we were out there in the darkness of the night, waiting for his sweet daughter to make one wrong step.
My eyes opened, and I rocked the gun back with my wrist. Air blew from my lips like a popping noise, shooting the gun mentally and preparing myself for the quick shot through the head that would put Quinntessa out of her misery.
She’d be happier. This was for the best.
The narrow stairs made me nervous as I approached them.
I knew this would be the fastest way up to her room, but if these stairs were anything like Duke’s dad’s old staircase, then they would creak through the entire house.
I was better off searching for the main staircase and carefully taking my time finding which door belonged to which family member.
My head drifted back to Quinntessa as I stepped across the old floors with wise precision. I wondered if she liked living here, in this big house, alone. Her father was gone most nights and sometimes during the mornings, that white pickup still missing from Coven’s small selection of streets.
I watched up through the banister for any sign of the police dog as I inched, step by step, to the second floor. My gun was angled in every direction I searched, ready to fire at any moment.
My boots stopped at the top of the stairs when I came face-to-face with a short hallway and a faded green door. It was a few strides away, and I could already see the curls of Quinntessa’s head laying on her pillow in the moonlight from the window.
Faint music met my hears as I took another step forward to face my fears. I released the safety of my gun and took careful breaths.
A low growl chased behind me. I whipped around and stumbled out of the doorway, swinging my gun from side to side as I searched for the culprit.
There was a large, bright pink metal box in the second floor’s walkway on the far side of the open entrance. I watched it for a moment, gun raised to the metal with a curious step forward.
Another low, warning growl traveled to my ears. I adjusted my grip on the gun and sighed in relief.
The dog was locked up in a bombproof kennel. It was a weird, hurricane shelter-looking box, but it was locked up.
When the dog growled again, this time louder as it frantically sniffed and clawed at the door, I turned and used the noise to cover my quick steps into Quinntessa’s bedroom.
The door shut behind me with a soft click. I was grateful for the music playing through the bedroom. It covered up the whining and growls of protest coming from across the second floor, where the police dog was trying to investigate my lingering scent.
It felt like an eternity before I gained the strength to move again. My heavy boot lifted from the floor and eased toward her bed, my gun at my side. I repeated the same slow step again, then a third and fourth, until my knees brushed her comforter.
The curtains were thin and caught open against the side of her bed.
It allowed the moonlight to fall into her bedroom and illuminate most of the space.
Its light softly caressed her face, curls thrown around messily over her pillow.
There was a silky-looking red bonnet over the headboard that could have contained her curls, but she must have decided against it.
She laid on her right side, facing away from me. Her arms were tightly bound around a Tow Mater pillow pet, her blanket tangled below her waist in her legs, giving me a glimpse of the skin her hoodie let free.
Her breathing was choppy. I didn’t pay it much mind. The bedroom was cold, and she was shivering from losing her blanket. I simply raised my hand and aimed directly at her brain.
If I angled it right, she wouldn’t feel a thing. Quinntessa would die in her sleep and never know what it felt like to have a bullet cradled within her skull. She wouldn’t face the torture of bleeding out as her body paralyzed her from screaming for help.
I’d shoot her and wait. It was the best thing I could do for her—wait by her side to ensure her heart stopped before taking my pocketknife and slicing off the freckled earlobe in front of me, taking the rose gold stud with it.
Papa could have what he wanted, and I could take my time laying her to rest with her pillow pet.
She could rest easy listening to her Disney record.
My hand shook violently as I rubbed my finger on the trigger. It didn’t rest comfortably. I had to force it into position as I stared at the moonlight caressing her soft-looking skin.
I inhaled, adding pressure to the trigger.
Do it.
My throat burned as bile rose from my stomach.
Shoot her. Do it.
The sound of “Once Upon A Dream” created an eerie tingling through my body. It was the Maleficent version, sung by Lana Del Ray. It floated around the room and suffocated me as I struggled to squeeze my finger just a little more. All I needed was a tiny bit more pressure.
Kill her. Save Estelle. Save Erica.
Save yourself.
I closed my eyes and heard the loud fire echoing through the room.
A bullet breaking through flesh and bone at close range.
My ears rang painfully, hands trembling, tears falling down my face.
When I opened my eyes, her brain would be scattered all over the bed and window, maybe on me.
She’d take her last breath, and it would all be over.
“N-No.” A whimper pulled me out of the memory of Jamison’s blue eyes draining of life.
I never pulled the trigger. I still stood here, waiting for the strength to enter me.
It never did. Not yet.
I could already feel the regret I’d have later building in the dark end of my sobbing brain. She wouldn’t put me out of my misery this easily. I needed to pull that damn trigger.
My eyes opened to see Quinntessa twitching in her sleep. I watched her through blurry vision as her fingers threaded the fur of her pillow pet.
“Stop,” she murmured so quietly, I almost didn’t hear. “St . . . Car.”
My heart pounded in my chest. I could see tears falling down her face now, glitter magnifying the moonlight refracted within each tear rolling down her sweet face.
Oh, that sweet face, still flushed and alive.
I narrowed my eyes when one of her hands reached her face, nails digging at her cheek, then at her throat, where her necklace laid tangled in her hair. No one must have taught her to take off her jewelry before bed.
She whimpered again, leaving red lines behind as she scratched weakly at her face.
Quinntessa was having a nightmare, and it broke my heart more than the thought of shooting her in the head.
End her pain. Do it.
“Mo . . . Mom! Stop!” she cried, her eyes squeezing tight.
You pussy, pull the fucking trigger!
Against everything within me, I lowered the gun and let the weight on my shoulders fall.
I stumbled back a step, then another. A dawning realization hit me full force.
What was I doing? Killing her? She had so much to live for—to do in life.
And shit, she was haunted already. She was dying inside, and no one would know any different seeing her honey eyes and sweet, dimpled smile.
I knew I saw it. I knew the storms in her eyes weren’t for nothing. I saw it in the mirror every morning.
My insides twisted, seeing her in so much pain. I didn’t take the chance to think through my actions and placed the gun down on the side table, sinking into the mattress.
“Shh,” I whispered, rubbing her back with a careful touch. I didn’t want her to wake up. I only wanted her to settle enough so I might think through my next steps. “You’re okay, Mustang. You’re safe.”
Was she? The words tasted like rotten milk on my tongue. The urge to lean over and throw up grew with each small circle I rolled across her hoodie. Flashes of the barrel pointed at Quinntessa’s head filled my head, making me dizzy and queasier at the idea of comforting her.
“No! No.” Her face was so warm. Each sob made my cold heart boil. “Don’t le-leave.”
The swell of Quinntessa's chest heaved up and down, her painful whimpers making my head spin. I hated them. I hated how she sounded so weak, so fearful of the ghosts haunting her head. I couldn’t imagine how many worlds she chased in her books to escape the terror of her reality.
The reality she couldn’t escape at night, when her eyes were closed and heart open to the trespassers of her memories.
Why was I playing God? Why was I allowing him to make me do this?
I could run. I could face being a wanted woman.
I could leave and never look back. Estelle was barely three.
If I changed her name now, I could get away with her never knowing.
We’d need new everything, and I had connections. I could leave.
We could leave. I could run and never turn back. I could never think about her again, and she’d be safe.
I could save her. I didn’t have to be this hurricane of destruction. I could save her. I needed to—look at her.
Her sweetheart-shaped face covered in tears under the stars of the open window, scared beyond her mind of something invisible. Something that wasn’t me. She deserved a better life than the one I would give her in the afterlife.
“You’re safe,” I repeated in a gentle whisper. The quiver in my voice made my head spin. “I’ll keep you safe. I’m sorry.”
My fingers hesitantly reached out for her hair. I tucked a curl behind her ear and exhaled, eyes falling to her wet lashes and the way her face became less distressed the longer I sat here with her. I traced a small star over a faint scar on her cheek, connecting five of those adorable freckles.
Quietly, much as I would have done for Olivia, the last few lines flowing from her record player slipped from my lips.
“ . . . once upon a dream.”