I pause, halting all movement, not even breathing. The whisper comes from the other side of the door.
“No, I don’t want to do that. Not yet.” The voice is hissing and firm, and it can’t be real. There’s no way. I’m frozen as it envelopes me, as reality slithers further away.
“We have to. She wouldn’t want this.”
Confused, I stare at the wooden planes of the door, at the grain.
Is this really happening?
Or is my mind playing tricks on me?
I gulp and draw in a shaky breath.
“Anything could send her back over the edge,” the familiar voice cautions.
“That’s why we have to handle her carefully.”
Handle me?
The door opens and I look up to find three shadows looming over me.
My father.
My mother.
And someone I can’t see, a faceless, nameless figure lurking in the shadows. I peer closely, trying to see if it’s him, even while knowing in my heart that it can’t be Finn.
It’s impossible.
I scoot backward until my spine is against my brother’s bed. I’m a skittish fawn, and they’re my hunters. I’m prey because I’m in danger, and I don’t know why.
But they do.
“Calla,” my dad says, kindly and soothingly. “You’re ok. You’re ok. But I need you to trust me right now.”
His face is grave and pale. The air in this room is charged now, dangerous, and I find that I can scarcely breathe.
I brace myself.
Because deep in the pit of my stomach I feel like I can’t trust anyone.
When I open my eyes, the room is empty.
They’d given up.
Whatever they wanted to tell me, I’m safe from it now.
Because I’m alone.
With shaky steps, I climb to my feet and walk to Finn’s nightstand. I pick up his St. Michael’s medallion and fasten it around my neck. If he’d been wearing it at school, he’d be here right now. He’d be fine, he’d be safe.
Holding it in my fingers, I whisper the prayer, each word quick and stiff on my lips.
St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray and do thou O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.
I say the prayer three times in a row, just to make sure.
I’m protected.
I’m protected.
I’m protected.
I’m safe now. I’m wearing Finn’s medallion. I’m safe.
I’m just drawing a shaky breath of relief when the door creaks open again and I’m faced once again with my insanity.
My startled eyes flash upward, finding the impossible.
Finn.
My dead brother.
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom.
He walks in just like normal, and there is no blood, no fear, no crazy look in his eye. His hair is brown, his eyes are blue, like always.
He sits next to my bed, his face pale as he takes my hand and his hand is real, and he’s alive, and he’s here. He’s breathing and he’s warm and he’s here.
I exhale.
“The doctor says you’re crazy, Cal,” he tells me seriously. “You have to take your medicine, and everything will be ok.”
I’m crazy, and everything will be ok.
Will it?
But I nod because Finn is here, and I’ll agree to anything because he’s not dead.
He’s here.
And I’m here.
And I don’t care if I’m crazy.
Finn squeezes my hand, and I breathe and breathe and breathe.
“Our cousin is here,” he tells me finally. “He’s going to stay for a while. He’s nice and you’ll like him.”
I nod but I don’t really care. All I care about is that Finn is here and I had a nightmare and it wasn’t real.
My mom comes in and flutters about, and my dad speaks in a quiet voice, and they make me stay in bed. Later, my step-cousin comes in.
His voice is low as he introduces himself. He’s three years older and his name is Dare.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say politely, and I’m still tired. I look up at his face and I suck in my breath.
His eyes are black.
Chapter Three