Chapter 72 #2
My adoptive parents were detectives, so they were used to being pulled out of bed at all hours. Two teenage daughters ensured the tradition continued even when work gave them reprieve. Especially when one was Nerida, who was extra fond of parties.
My mother didn’t look like she’d just gotten up. She was dressed in slacks and a rollneck jumper, and her hair was neat. Maybe she hadn’t been to bed yet? That’s the other thing she was used to, sitting up, poring over files. Sitting up waiting for us to come home.
“Everything alright?” she asked. I could feel her eyes burning into the back of my head.
How do you tell your mother a boy wanted to kiss you but you didn’t want to be kissed?
How do you tell her when you refused, he reached out and groped your breasts?
Honestly, I didn’t know why he bothered.
I’d seen pancakes with more filling. But to return the favor, I planted a knee between his legs. Now he had pancakes too.
I turned to look at her. “Fine, I’m just tired.”
Maybe we spoke some more, maybe we didn’t—
The flare of light out of the dark, tires squealing. The sound of thunder as the pickup truck slammed into our car. The world whirled wildly as the car flipped over.
My head hurt. My ears rang. Darkness crowded the edge of my vision, but in the center swelled strips of light and syrupy red. Cold air brushed against my cheeks. The stench of gas burned my nose.
I sucked in a breath and turned my aching head to look at my mother.
I went to a theater once. It had giant red velvet curtains, and a fan blew across the stage, making the black ties swish in front of it. That’s what I could see now.
It took me another moment to realize that it was my mother’s hair swaying in front of her bloody face.
It took me another long moment to register we were hanging upside down.
“Mom,” I cried.
She moaned as her eyes blinked open.
“Uhn,” she coughed, blood spluttering from the corner of her mouth.
“Mom.” Hot tears streamed down my face. “Mom.”
My hand shook wildly as I reached down and pressed the buckle. I turned my head to the side so I didn’t break my neck as I crashed onto the roof.
Glass bit into my arm, my shoulder. I scrambled to my knees as I crawled to my mother.
My mother blinked sluggishly at me. My thumb stabbed into her seatbelt buckle. I jerked my other hand up to catch her fall, but she hovered, suspended. The buckle didn’t open. I stabbed it again and again.
My mind whirled. My father always made sure we had a pocketknife in the console. I ripped it open. Everything tumbled out onto the roof.
“Uhn,” my mother croaked, her hand shaking wildly as she reached behind her, searching for her gun. She must be delirious. We didn’t need a gun, we needed the knife to cut the seatbelt and get out.
“It’s going to be alright. You don’t need your gun.” The scent of gas seared my throat as I snagged the pocketknife in my hand and sawed at the seatbelt. “It’s going to be alright. I’m going to get you out.”
Smoke clogged my throat. Oh God, the car was on fire.
Tears streamed from her eyes, landing on glass shards covered in blood like tiny garnet crystals. It was weird that such devastation could look so beautiful.
“Amelia,” my mother rasped. “I love you, run.”
Footsteps crunching on the glass.
“Help!” I screamed. “Help!”
From out of the shadow leer of night, a pair of polished black shoes swelled into view, followed by black pants from the shin down. Relief shuddered from my lips. Someone had come to save us.
“Run,” my mother cried desperately. “You have to run.”
There was a deafening explosion.
It was so loud it hurt my eardrums, and they rang so loudly it was hard to think. I saw the leg stagger back. I whipped my head to my mother. She held a gun in a trembling hand; she’d shot at the man coming to save us.
“Mom,” I cried, “stop.”
A hand reached through the broken windscreen, snatched my leather jacket, and dragged me out. Shards scratched on the roof like nails down a chalkboard, shudders tearing over my skin.
My mother, covered in blood, panic on her face, stretched away from me.
“My mom, get my mom!” I beat at the hand, but he didn’t let go. Flames licked at the side of twisted metal.
“My mother, my mother, help her!” I cried as he hauled me to my feet. Pain shot through my head and spine as he slammed me against a tree. My vision swam black, my body freezing with fear as his hand wrapped around my neck. And squeezed.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see his face; I couldn’t make out anything but his black shadow.
Blindly, I stabbed him with the knife still grasped in my sweaty hand.
I heard him gasp as the blade sank in, once, twice, three times.
His grip loosened and he fell back. I sucked at air.
Wheezed to drag it in. My horrified eyes flew to my mother trapped in the burning car.
Orange flames reached over the smashed-in hood like clawed hands.
My legs felt like rubber as I sprinted to my mother, her clawing desperately at the buckle of her belt, trying to free herself.
The man blocked my path, and I slammed into his chest so hard I staggered back. I raised eyes wild with panic and fear. The shadows fell away.
Staring at me was a face filled with shock.
Staring at me was a face I recognized.
Staring at me was Karson.