Chapter 17. Holly
Holly
It was clear this young lady was as easy to redirect as an ocean liner. And now Conrad Carmichael was casting himself as Jean Valjean from Les Misérables—the redeemed hero? Please. Holly knew better.
She went upstairs, took three Advil, and lay on the bed.
She’d had migraines on and off since Anna’s death, but she’d never experienced an aura before.
That was likely what her strange experience had been when she was talking to Ethan.
She would have to look it up on WebMD, though she always regretted going there—it was full of worst-case scenarios. For now, she needed rest.
In her room, she cracked open the window, closed the curtains, and lifted Chester onto the bed.
Resting her head on the pillow and pulling the blanket over her shoulders felt incredible.
But as she closed her eyes, the pain only intensified.
Flashes of something like the aura struck her again, but these were different.
Even with her eyes shut, she felt blinded by a bright orange light.
No, not light—it was … flames. She could feel the heat scorching her skin.
Holly’s mind conjured the smell of burning wood and the chaos of police and fire crews shouting orders. People rushed around, trying to help. Sirens blared. Holly pressed a pillow to her ears, hoping to block out the noise, trying to escape it.
A familiar figure emerged from this netherworld, engulfed in flames. She bolted upright.
No, she told herself. Enough.
Rubbing her eyes, the images finally cleared, but her anxiety did not.
Thankfully, the medication was beginning to work, although her heart kept racing. She had hoped the comforting surroundings of her mother’s bedroom would calm her. Instead, her gaze fell to her old manuscript on the bureau: Beach Thriller—where it all began.
She couldn’t help herself. It was masochistic, but maybe it was exactly what she needed to do: face her past. She picked up the pages and continued to read from where she’d left off.