Текст книги "Alice in Zombieland"

Автор книги: Gena Showalter

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

No way would I mention any of this to Nana and Pops. They’d freak—not that they’d ever show me. For me, they would smile and pretend all was well, never realizing I’d once caught them whispering in their bedroom.

Poor thing. Therapy isn’t working. Will she ever recover, do you think?

Not sure. All I know is that I hate that she’s hurting so badly, but there’s nothing I can do. She won’t let me.

I know. I’ve never felt so helpless.

They’d tried to get me to go to the movies, ice-skating and shopping, things kids my age supposedly liked to do, but my answer was always the same: no. Each time, they had kissed me on the forehead and said, “Maybe next time.”

Refusing to worry them further, I’d swallowed back the words Maybe never. I spent most of my time in my room, and that’s the way I liked it.

I had a routine. I spent my mornings reading The Iron Fey series. I spent my evenings listening to the mix tapes my dad had made for my mother. (I was staying in her old room and had found her old cassette player.) I spent my nights searching for monsters. On weekdays I left the house for school and on weekends I left for church. That was it.

The bell rang, shattering my thoughts like a fist through a mirror, and I bolted upright. Ms. Meyers was stacking books on her desk. Kids were already filing out of the classroom. I gathered my stuff and rose to do the same.

“Alice Bell,” Ms. Meyers called before I could leave.

Our gazes met, locked. “I prefer Ali.”

She nodded and offered me a warm smile. “I looked over your transcript from Carver Academy and liked what I saw. With straight A’s, I’m guessing you didn’t sleep in class.”

Ouch. “I wasn’t sleeping, I promise.”

Her smile grew, letting me know that she wasn’t offended. “I know reading and writing aren’t everyone’s favorite thing, but give me a chance tomorrow, okay? If you don’t like what I’m saying, if I fail to engage you, fine. Sleep or daydream or whatever you want to call it.”

Fair enough. “You have my word.”

“Good.” She motioned to the door with a tilt of her chin. “Go on. You’ve got places to be, I’m sure.”

I stepped into the hall—and prayed the world would suddenly end. Frosty and one of his more feral friends were waiting for me. Clearly. Their gazes zeroed in on me—arrow, meet bull’s-eye—and they leaped into motion, closing the distance between us. I bet they were here to warn me away from Cole.

How humiliating! I kept walking, and they kept pace beside me, flanking me. Testosterone walled me in, neatly shutting out the rest of the world.

“S’up. I’m Frosty,” the rough-looking blond said. Up close, I saw that his eyes were not completely brown but a pretty blueberry with flecks of chocolate.

My stomach growled. Okay, so I was hungry, and that was probably why his eyes reminded me of delicious food. So what. An appetite was a good thing, and I’d been without one all summer.

“This here’s my boy Bronx,” he added when I failed to respond.

“I’m Ali.” Either I hadn’t noticed Bronx earlier—so not likely—or he’d been running late. “Bronx, huh? Is that where you’re from?”

“Nope,” Frosty answered for him.

Bronx said nothing, but oh, did he stare. For a guy with barbells in both of his eyebrows and hair dyed an electric blue, that stare bypassed demon-dark and went straight to devil-damned.

“Okay,” I said. What else was I supposed to say?

A group of jocks passed us. To my surprise, they practically flattened themselves against the row of lockers to get out of the way of my giant, muscled bookends. I could even smell their fear, an acrid scent coating the air between us, stinging my nostrils.

So weird.

At my old school, jocks had ruled, their word law, and the only thing they’d worried about was the next game. Different schools, different worlds, I guess.

“Boys,” I heard Dr. Wright say. I picked up the clack clack of her heels before I spotted her at the end of the hall. “You’re not manhandling Miss Bell, correct?” She spoke as she walked toward us. Her gaze remained locked on Frosty. “I’d hate to have to ruin the rest of your day with detention.”

“No reason to ruin, Dr. Wright,” he said with military precision at the same time I said, “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t satisfied. “What do you want with her?”

Frosty smiled, all innocence. “Just to talk, what else?”

“Why?”

Were all principals this nosy?

“Because she’s cute?” Frosty replied, a question rather than a statement.

In that moment, I could have fallen flat on my face and experienced less embarrassment.

Dr. Wright’s suspicions were not assuaged, judging by the narrowing of her eyes, but she briskly passed us without trying to stop us. “Just make sure you watch your mouths or I’ll have to call your guardians,” she threw over her shoulder.

Frosty shuddered. Bronx saluted with mock respect.

“So how do you know Kat?” Frosty asked me, jumping back to the conversation. As determined as he looked, he was done with distractions.

I relaxed. They weren’t here for Cole, and they weren’t here because I might be—or might not be—moderately attractive. “We ran into each other during summer break.” Hopefully that was the right thing to say. I wasn’t sure about proper etiquette when dealing with a friend’s ex.

“Where at?” he asked, pretending an ease those M&M eyes failed to project.

“Well, uh…hmm.” How could I answer that without spilling info about myself?

The two boys “guided” me around a corner by pressing their shoulders into mine and steering me. I’d wanted to go the other way, to my locker. Whatever. I could deal. I might not want anything to do with violence, but I could handle myself, even with bruisers like these. My dad had made sure of that.

In fact, I’d taken my dad down a time or twelve, flipping him over, popping his eye and once even breaking his nose. Every time I’d bested him, he’d smiled, so wonderfully proud of me.

A burning in my eyes…a tremor in my chin. Dang it, I needed to concentrate on the here and now.

What had Frosty asked me? Oh, yeah. “If you want to know where I met Kat, you’ll have to ask Kat.” There. An answer without being an answer. Meanwhile, I’d be pulling her aside the next time I saw her and asking her to mentally torch the details.

Frosty acted as if he’d just been stabbed in the gut. “Cruel, Ali, so cruel. At least give me a hint. Pretty please with cherries on top of me.”

Charming. But I couldn’t forget that he’d cheated on Kat. Thinking fast, I said, “Okay, here’s a hint. A lot of people were there. There was some screaming, definitely some writhing. A looot of touching.” Doctors were very hands-on.

In the next instant, I was given a deeper glimpse of the criminal-in-the-making Frosty was. That mask of affability fell away, revealing hard, dark eyes and lips compressed with rage. “Did she touch anyone? Did anyone touch her?”

Dude. You left her for the entire summer. “It’s been nice talking to you and everything, but I really need to—”

We rounded another corner and I slammed into something solid, losing my concentration as I stumbled backward.

Bronx caught me, righted me and then let go of me as if I’d just given him third-degree burns.

“I’m sorry,” I began, focusing on the person I’d hit.

A girl, shorter than me by several inches. Silky dark hair curled to the middle of her back and framed a face God might have used to design his favorite angels. Her makeup was perfect. Her skin was slightly sunburned but still perfect. Her clothes were expensive and sexy, yet still elegant—and perfect. She wore a pink cashmere sweater and a flirty white skirt. She was the only diamond in a sea of glass.

I wasn’t into girls, but…wow. This one could probably turn anyone. Not even Kat and her catalog friends could compare.

“Is this your newest slice of tail?” she asked Frosty, all kinds of you’re beneath me in her tone. A tone clearly directed at me.

Maybe she wouldn’t be able to turn me. I wasn’t into nasty.

“Back off, Mackenzie,” Frosty said.

Mackenzie. As in, Mackenzie Love. This was Cole Holland’s ex?

Of course she is, I thought next, wanting to laugh without a bit of humor. Beautiful boys dated beautiful girls. That’s how the world worked. And yes, by those rules, I was destined to be with a lanky loner with a tragic past. Wonderful.

“Cole wants you,” she snapped at the boys, “so your little missionary trip will have to wait.”

Cue my exit. I’d already said my goodbye, so I pushed my way past Mackenzie and entered—the cafeteria. So that’s where they’d been taking me. Time for lunch, then. No wonder my stomach had been growling. The smell of food paired with a thousand other appetites could have turned a mannequin into a savage.

Already lines snaked from every direction. I had no idea what was what, so I scanned the area until I spotted a familiar face in the far corner.

Kat waved me over. Behind me, Frosty yelled for my attention while Mackenzie called him an idiot. Ignoring them, I tromped forward. The deeper I entered the room, the more I noticed the grease that coated the air. I also caught hints of sugar, perfume and cologne, everything combining to form a cloying musk. Goodbye appetite.

“What were you doing with Frosty?” Kat asked the moment I plopped down beside her.

No rage. Good. “He and that other boy, Bronx, were waiting for me after class. Frosty asked me how the two of us had met.”

The roses drained from her cheeks. “What did you tell him?”

I bullet pointed my response, praying I’d gotten it right.

Relief wafted from her, her color returning. “Rock on! You did almost as awesome a job as I would have done.”

I so needed that kind of confidence. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t tell anyone where we really met, okay?” she said, her gaze pleading at me.

No problem there. But why didn’t she want anyone to know?

Before I could question her, the rest of her troop arrived. I greeted each with a half smile, since that’s all that I was currently capable of.

As the girls launched into details about everything they’d learned about people I didn’t know, I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck rise. I endured the sensation for several minutes before caving and twisting in my seat, searching for the source of my discomfort.

Cole and his gang sat a few tables away. Cole was…staring at me. Staring—such a mild word for the slitted gaze leveled on me, piercing me. If eyes could throw daggers, I’d have a few embedded in my chest. (Not that that’s where he was looking, mind you.)

I gathered my courage and maintained contact, waiting, expectant. Except, there was no vision this time. No mental unfolding of us kissing. This morning must have been a one-time thing. A fluke.

I was relieved about that. I wasn’t disappointed. Besides, things were better this way. Proof: the angelic Mackenzie was perched next to him, her arm draped around his shoulders, staking her claim, warning me away. She, too, glared at me as she whispered something in his ear. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know she’d just plotted my social death.

Whatever. Popularity wasn’t a concern for me.

What? I mouthed at her, and it was a legitimate question. What had I done to her? Nothing, that’s what.

She ran her tongue over her teeth just before growling something that sounded like, “Let me teach her,” to Cole. “Just a little lesson. Please.”

I didn’t hear his reply.

Kat patted my hand. “Are you listening to me? Because these nuggets I’m throwing out are golden! Namely, if you want to be in power, you have to knock the current queen off her pedestal. Kicking works, as does punching.”

“I wasn’t listening, I’m sorry,” I responded, my cheeks heating as I faced her. “So who’s the current queen?”

“The ex of the guy you were just stripping in your mind,” Reeve said. “To think, I had a front-row seat to the day the war ignited between Mackenzie Love and Ali…something.”

“Bell,” I said as Kat said, “Ali will totally win, but she’ll want me to have the throne, I’m positive.”

I shuddered at the thought of anyone thinking I was a person to emulate. “I don’t want the throne.”

Kat’s chin lifted in delight. “See?”

“Cole must think you give good eye, because he was making out with you right back. Still is,” Wren said, glancing between us. “Mackenzie will probably try to kill you before the week ends, but honestly? He’s not worth the hassle. He’ll only drag you down, ruin your life.”

Poppy twirled a strand of that beautiful red hair around her finger. “The last girl to receive that kind of look from him spent a year in a full body cast.”

“What girl?” I found myself asking.

“There was no girl,” Kat said with a frown. “I would have remembered something like that.”

Wren sighed with sadness. “She’s right. There wasn’t a girl. We were just testing you to see your reaction. You failed.” She turned to Kat. “Have you told her about your association with Frosty? How he nearly got you kicked out of school?”

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. My gaze shot up, and I came face-to-face with the dark-haired boy from Butthole’s class. The one who’d made everyone laugh, drawing attention away from me.

My table went quiet.

“Don’t let Mackenzie scare you,” he said, which let me know that everyone in the cafeteria had noticed her silent vow to ruin me. “She’s great with her fists, but only if she’s standing. Get her on the ground, and you’ve already won.” With that, he straightened and walked off.

Shocked, I faced the girls. All four were gaping at me. Kat, Poppy and Reeve with awe. Wren with a sharpness that confused me.

I spread my arms. “What?”

A grinning Kat said, “Cole is sooo not gonna like the fact that he’s got competition. That was Justin Silverstone, and he never talks to anyone except his sister. You’re definitely not his sister.”

Poppy nodded with enthusiasm. “I honestly thought he was gay.”

Wren slapped her arm. “He’s not gay!”

Reeve anchored her elbows on the tabletop and leaned forward. “So how’d you do it, Ali?”

“Do what?” I asked, truly baffled.

“Get his attention,” Wren said, her tone as sharp as her caramel gaze. “He’s a straight-A student, never misses a day of school and already has his future mapped out. He’s going places. Not that you couldn’t normally get a guy like him, but he’s so reclusive.”

I shifted in my seat, saying, “I didn’t get his attention. The only boy I’ve even talked to is Frosty, and that’s because he ambushed me.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Kat muttered, all doubt and amusement. “Well, let’s see if Cole noticed your unexpected visitor.”

My eyes widened as I reached for her arm. “Don’t—”

But it was too late. She’d already twisted to look. A second later, her mouth fell open.

I couldn’t help myself. I looked, too. What I saw shook me to my soul. I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten a death glare today. Cole was watching Justin as if he meant to flay the skin from his bones, throw it down and play “Dance Dance Revolution” on it.

“That has nothing to do with me,” I managed to croak. It couldn’t.

But part of me kind of hoped that it did.

4
What Bloody Bloody Nonsense!

That night, I sat at my windowsill, peering out at the darkness. To my astonishment, Cole and Mackenzie had never sought me out, never spoken another word to me. Neither had the rest of their friends, and that Justin kid had never come back, either. And if anyone had said anything to anyone else about me, I hadn’t heard about it.

So, either Mackenzie had changed her mind about “teaching” me whatever she thought I needed to learn, or someone had stopped her. Cole? But that would mean she had listened to him, had cared about what he’d said—and that he’d told her to stay away from me. That couldn’t be right, though. I couldn’t think of a single reason for him to defend me.

Sighing, I rubbed my temples to ward off an oncoming ache. If I didn’t stop thinking about this stuff, I was going to give myself a brain bleed. Besides, I had more important things to worry about. I’d finished the day with Kat, gotten on the bus—again keeping my head down—and shut myself in my room. Nana and Pops had eventually summoned me, wanting to know how I’d liked my new school and if I’d made any friends. I’d answered with a vague “fine” on the first and “one or two, I guess” on the second. Utter silence had then taken hold, and they’d peered at me as if expecting diary-type details. Uncomfortable for the bazillionth time that day, I’d then made the mistake of telling them about my first-hour tardy and Mr. B’s lecture. (Honestly, I’d already forgotten his real name and didn’t want to admit to my grandparents that I’d dubbed him Butthole.)

Of course they’d next wanted to know whether or not they should call my school counselor to tell him how rough things were for me, and that I needed my teachers to give me a break. Kind of them, but please mark that down as a big fat never, ever, ever, never. I think I surprised them with my vehemence, but at least they capitulated. No way did I want to be known as Pinot Grigio. (That’s what my parents had called me anytime I’d gotten my whine on. They’d called Em Pinot Noir.)

Now, with dinner eaten and the dishes cleaned and put away, my grandparents were asleep in their room, and I was once again alone in mine. A golden half-moon graced the black velvet sky, no clouds in sight, allowing a blanket of stars to twinkle in every direction. A slight breeze danced twigs and leaves together, adding a sense of eerie to the loveliness.

As I had every night since moving in, I watched and I waited, tense as a rubber band about to pop, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bridezilla. So far, no luck.

I’d been here, oh, no more than a few hours and already I was yawning, exhaustion heavy on my shoulders, but I was more determined than ever to stay awake. I planned to prove, beyond any doubt, whether or not the monsters existed.

A few things I’d noticed during these too-late interludes: Bridezilla did not appear every night. She showed up about once every seven to fourteen days. I’d been keeping notes, thinking she must come out only during a certain phase of the moon, but no. The moon had no bearing on her manifestations. Nothing seemed to, but even when I didn’t see her, I still felt as if she—or someone—was watching me.

Paranoia on my part, surely. I wasn’t even one hundred percent positive Bridezilla was truly out there. But oh, one night, maybe even this one, I would be. As long as I stuck to the plan, I would figure this out.

Every morning after a sighting, I’d checked the forest behind my grandparents’ backyard and found several sets of human footprints. Most were big and wide, as if they’d come from a man wearing boots. A few were smaller, thinner, as if made by a woman in tennis shoes.

Those prints should have already proven my sanity, yet part of me feared I was seeing only what I wanted to see, that even the prints were a mirage. Or…what if the prints had been caused by a group of kids who liked to play hide-and-seek? How stupid would I look blaming monsters?

As stupid as I’d once considered my dad, I thought with an acrid laugh.

Another hour passed as I watched and waited.

More hours passed. Lord, give me strength, I prayed. If Bridezilla failed to appear tonight, I’d try again tomorrow—and the next night and the next, however long was necessary. I wouldn’t give up.

Okay, so close to 2:00 a.m. I considered giving up. Only a few times had Bridezilla arrived after two and now my eyelids were as heavy as boulders and my jaw ached from numerous yawns. I was disappointed, angry and—if I was being honest—a tiny bit relieved. No monsters meant there was no reason for a confrontation.

Yep. My plan involved getting up close and personal.

I stood, scanned the forest one last time. I’d lie down, read and– The barest hint of white fabric peeked from behind one of the trees. Breath caught in my throat, burning, as cold fingers of dread crawled down my spine. Okay, so there would be a confrontation, after all.

Adrenaline rode through my veins on a tide of urgency, and I knew there would be no talking myself into staying put.

I grabbed the baseball bat I’d borrowed from Pops.

I should have done this a long time ago, but I’d allowed fear and memories of what had happened after the crash to stop me. But I was smarter now, stronger. I’d survived my first day at a new school. I could brave the scary outdoors to discover what, exactly, haunted the forest.

“I’m sorry, but I have to break your rules, Dad,” I whispered.

The monsters hunger for your flesh, your organs, I heard him say, and for a moment, the past held me enthralled. If they see you, they will chase you. And if they catch you, they will devour you.

How do you know? I remembered asking him, not because I’d believed him but because I’d hoped to trip him up and force him to see how wrong he was. Have you ever been chased?

A few times, but they’ve never caught me.

Well, if they’ve never caught you, how do you know they wanted to devour you?

I could feel the evil of their intentions pulsing from their bodies.

Dad, you can’t—

You can, but more than that, a few years ago I found a book that tells all about them.

And you believe everything this book says? Undoubtedly a work of fiction.

He’d thought for a moment. Well, no. It says guns can’t hurt the monsters, but guns can hurt anything. And I’ve talked to others like me—

In chat rooms, I’d said drily. Where forty-year-old men liked to pretend to be seventeen-year-old girls. Awesome.

Yes, and they all say the same thing. The monsters want to eat us.

I forced the memory to the back of my mind, where guilt and sorrow and a million other things churned, and quietly stalked down the stairs. Out the back door I went, stepping onto the porch and stopping to give my eyes time to adjust to the dark. Warmth bathed the night, a cloying blanket I couldn’t shake. Crickets chirped, and locusts sang. Leaves rubbed together as the wind whistled.

In and out I breathed—and caught the most disgusting scent ever. My nose wrinkled, and I grimaced. Honestly, if you stuck your head inside a dead horse’s rectum, you wouldn’t smell anything close to this. (I haven’t, by the way. I was only guessing there.) It was like rotten eggs mixed with dog farts and doused with skunk spray.

My hand tightened on the bat as I scanned the yard. Grasshoppers jumped in different directions. Flaxen moonlight and writhing shadows tangoed as the trees swayed, but nothing jumped out at me.

Okay. All right, then. I could do this. One step, two, I approached the back of the stockade fence. I trembled violently, my limbs threatening to lock up, but I convinced myself to keep going.

Finally, I stood at the gate that led to the forest. Little beads of sweat slid down my spine, and all I wanted to do was race back into my room. Again I listened, breathing in more of that rancid decay. It was stronger now, thickening the air and actually burning the back of my throat. I gagged.

With a shaky hand, I reached out and unhooked the latch. As the gate creaked open, I lifted the bat and assumed the I will beat you to death—really, I mean it! position. A minute ticked by, surely an eternity, but nothing happened. No one attempted to accost me.

Come on, Bell. You can do this, remember? Inch by inch, I moved past the fence, past the line of bushes and into the core of the forest. My gaze scanned left and right. I’d seen that hint of wedding dress over…get ready…there.

Swing—

Nothing. I’d hit nothing.

I stilled, my arms quaking. The moon’s rays were hindered by the thick canopy of leaves that stretched above me, darkening the entire area, so I couldn’t see if there were prints on the ground or not. My heart began to thunder, then lightning followed, little electrical impulses razing the center of my chest.

Behind me, a twig snapped.

I whipped around, swung—and once again hit nothing. I gulped, swallowing the knot trying to lodge in my throat.

I’d never understood the stupid girl in every horror movie ever made, the one who heard a scary noise and went to investigate all by her lonesome…only to be knifed or tortured. I’d thought, if only she would have called the police, waited for help, something, anything, such a horrible fate would have been avoided.

Now, I so understood. Who could I tell about this? Everyone would think I was certifiable, like my dad. I could be locked away, medicated…forgotten.

I sucked it up, just like the stupid horror movie girls, and ventured deeper into the woods. Deeper still…

Another twig snapped behind me. Again I jerked around, my bat already swinging. Again nothing stood in my way—but this time, I saw something.

Reeling, I managed to gasp, “Emma?”

She hovered a few feet from me, her dark hair anchored in pigtails, a pink tutu fluffing around her waist. Her cheek, the one that had been injured in the accident, was unmarred. No scab, no scar. Just healthy, sun-kissed skin.

A frown pulled at her rosebud mouth. “You need to go inside,” she said, fear coating her voice. She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Now, Alice.”

The realness of her amazed me. I even caught the little-girl scent of her, so sweet it somehow overshadowed the odor of rot. Tripping over my own feet, I closed the distance between us, reached out.

“Alice,” she said, impatient with me.

My hand ghosted through her.

I wanted to scream in frustration. She was only a hallucination. Does that really matter? She was here and she was with me, and I’d missed her so much. So, yeah, if my mind wanted to toss out images of her, I wouldn’t fight it. She. Was. Here. “How are you, sis?”

“You have to go inside, Alice. It’s almost too late.”

“Too late for what?” I would have given anything to pull her into my arms, to hug her tight and never let go.

Amber eyes met mine, and they glimmered with tears. “Please!”

Whatever she wanted, I would give her—except parting from her. “Will you come with me?”

“Alice! Please, you have to…” Her image shimmered, fading in time with her voice…fading… “Please.”

“No!” I shouted. Catching a glimpse of my beloved sister only to lose her a split second later…was there anything crueler? “Don’t go.” I need you. Real or not. But she’d already disappeared, the sweetness in the air vanishing, too. Frantic, I spun in a circle, looking for any sign of her.

Crushing disappointment was followed by life-saving hope. Maybe she wasn’t gone for good. Maybe she had wanted me to go to my room for a reason. Like, maybe we could talk there.

I shot into motion, shutting the gate and rushing back inside the house. Up the stairs I pounded, uncaring whether or not my grandparents heard me. An eternity seemed to pass before I reached my bedroom and burst inside.

“Emma?”

Silence. I searched every corner, every nook and cranny, but…she wasn’t there.

I waited, five minutes, ten, but she never appeared.

She wasn’t going to, was she?

Hope died, the disappointment returning. “Emma,” I said, my chin trembling. My ceiling fan whirled overhead, creating a slight rustle, but there was no other discernible sound.

I’d left my curtains open, I realized distantly, and stalked over to close them.

The moment my fingers touched the fabric, I froze.

Bridezilla—and what could only be her groom—stood just behind the fence, a ray of moonlight spotlighting both of them. They were staring at me, their lips peeled back from their teeth—their very sharp teeth.

Her dress was ripped, dirty, her eyes sunken. Her skin was pitted, with patches of something black oozing from her pores. There wasn’t a veil on her head, but there was hardly any hair, either, just long stringy strands with leaves tangled throughout.

The man beside her wore an equally ripped and dirty tux. He possessed the same sunken eyes, pitted skin and thinning hair. That odd black ooze covered both his chin and dripped…dripped…

Bridezilla swiped out an arm, as if she was reaching for me.

I scrambled backward, tripped, landed on my butt. The impact rattled my brain and maybe even knocked some sense loose. Monsters would have attacked me while they’d had the chance, so this had to be a joke. The two were probably human and wearing costumes. Had probably applied grotesque makeup. But…who would play a joke like this? Who would go to such extremes, for such a long period of time? Who would know this was the perfect way to torment me?

No one, that’s who.

Guess my theory needed work. Drawing on every bit of my courage, I forced myself to stand and approach the window. Another peek outside revealed…the pair was gone. Gone.

I nearly shrieked with frustration.

What the heck was happening? What had I seen? And how had I spoken to my baby sister?

I sank to my knees and buried my head in my hands. I was worse than my dad. There was no denying it now. No hoping otherwise.

Oh, Daddy. I should have been nicer to him. I should have spent more time with him. Should have been more understanding of his psychosis, more sympathetic. I should have comforted him rather than complained about him.

Should—a word of anguish rather than consolation.