A howl of rage split the air. Her feet faltered as she threw a look over her shoulder. A shadow was racing through the darkness. Toward her. For the space of an instant, Whitney froze. No! A sob broke from her. Not when she’d come so close! She whirled, flying over the icy ground toward the trees where she could find cover. Where a fallen limb would give her a wea—
The tackle from behind took her down. Terror turned her into a flurry of motion. She rolled, her fists flying, feet kicking, teeth gnashing. The iciness beneath her seeped through her muscles. Settled in her bones. But all her senses were focused on the monster above. He had something over his face again. A mask. Goggles covered his eyes, giving him an alien appearance. She landed a punch against his jaw as he tried to pin her arms and screamed, a raw, jagged shriek fueled by fury and fear. She wouldn’t go back. She’d rather die, here and now. Whitney bucked beneath him and swung again. Missed. His hands grasped the sides of her head, slamming it again and again against the ground. “Ungrateful bitch! After all I’ve done for you!”
Shards of agony arrowed through her brain. A brilliant kaleidoscope of colors wheeled in front of her eyes. Whitney’s struggles grew weaker as she fought against receding consciousness. She felt herself being lifted, and the action ignited a primitive survival instinct.
“Nooo!”
The denial was ripped from her throat. Every stride he took was another step back toward her prison. Back to complete submission or death. Her arm rose, fingers scrabbling for the screw she’d hidden inside her bra. He pressed her more tightly against his chest to quell her movements, but there was a newfound strength flowing through her as she pulled out the screw and swung it toward his face. Encouraged by his howl of pain, she struck again, this time raking it down his cheek.
“Bitch!” She felt herself falling, landing hard on the frozen ground, the screw flying from her hand. He was on her before she could roll away on the slippery grass, his hands going to her throat, squeezing mercilessly. She couldn’t breathe. Her fingers went to his and tried to pry them away. Spots were dancing in front of her eyes.
“Ha . . . te you,” she croaked.
His hands tightened.
“I’ve given you so many chances. And always you disappoint me, Margaret.”
Chest burning from lack of oxygen, her fingers loosened. A sense of calm spread through her. The peace was another sort of freedom. Rational thought drifted away. She saw herself rise to float above the two figures struggling below. Felt a tinge of pity for the girl. Then a moment later, she felt nothing at all.
Janie Willard
November 18
9:34 a.m.
“Did I mention yesterday how much I like what you’ve done to this place since I was last here?”
Janie looked at Dr. Drake, who was straddling her desk chair in the center of the bedroom. He’d turned it around, resting his crossed arms on the back of it. She didn’t know who called him after she’d learned about Kelsey’s body being found. Probably her dad, since her mom was barely functioning. It was sort of a relief to have him here, an objective party that she didn’t have to tiptoe around while she tried to make sense of the unimaginable.
Kelsey was dead. Somehow being aware of the possibility hadn’t completely prepared her for the reality of it.
“Well, I was ten when you used to come here, so . . .” She recognized what he was doing. Lightening the moment. Making it seem less like a mental-health visit and more like . . . what? Two old friends discussing her sister’s murder? Not a fun subject, even for a therapist. So much easier to cushion it between a little small talk.
“I remember. You were on a huge butterfly kick. Had cutouts hanging from the ceiling. They were actually a little creepy.” His gaze was too steady. Probing, like he wanted to take her apart, examine her thoughts and feelings and then put her back together again. She wished that were possible. Put her back together, excluding the anxiety and grief that took turns dictating her emotions.
“They eventually get out of their cocoons. They don’t have a voice, but they’re beautiful. And they get to fly. I used to think that meant I’d eventually get wings, too.” A juvenile hope, one that had withered when Kelsey was kidnapped. Her sister was the only one who had taken part in the fantasy. They’d spend hours spinning in the yard, arms out, pretending they’d already taken flight.
“Have you heard from Stanford yet? Focusing on your future will be a tool in coping with your grief.”
“Yeah. They’re offering a full ride.” She’d found the envelope on the fridge yesterday. Had opened it alone in her room. Her flicker of initial excitement had been instantly squelched. Her world had been upended. Again. College plans seemed a low priority at the moment.
“Janie!” Dr. Drake’s delight was evident. “That’s awesome!”
“Right.” Her voice was flat. He didn’t seem to get that she had more important things on her mind right now. Like the fact that her family was in shreds, and this time she wasn’t quite sure if they’d get patched back together.
He proved more intuitive than she’d given him credit for by adding, “But there’s plenty of time to make college decisions. Let’s focus on the now. Did you take the meds this morning?”
She sighed silently. Always the same thing with this guy. “I told you I would.”
“And since I know you so well, I realize that isn’t really an answer.”
“Yes. I took the meds. Yes, I promise to take them regularly for at least a month.” She was already regretting that vow. But she could renegotiate it later. “You’ll be glad to know I haven’t started screaming once at the thought of leaving the house.”
“Have you left the house?”
“No.” But not because she physically couldn’t. At least, she didn’t think so. Where would she go? Alyvia had gotten permission to come straight here after school yesterday and later today. Cole had sent her a couple of texts, which she hadn’t answered. Maybe she wasn’t as ready to deal with the outside world as Dr. Drake hoped, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get there on her own.
Besides, there was her mom to consider. She’d barely been out of bed since Sunday. Barbara had come by a few times, but Janie had sent her away. Claire was in no condition for visitors, even from a close friend. Twice Janie had found her in Kelsey’s room, sitting on the floor, Kelsey’s blue sweater held to her face to soak up her silent tears. Both times Janie had helped her to her feet, led her back to her bedroom, watching helplessly as her mother sobbed. Marta, who’d started coming every day since the news broke, had swooped in on both occasions, closing her out of her parents’ bedroom and tending to Claire.
Her dad wandered around like a lost soul. She’d found him at one point scrubbing the kitchen floor, rubbing the same spot over and over for long minutes until she’d tiptoed away. Another time when she hadn’t been able to find him, she’d looked in the garage. He’d had the door open, the cars moved out, and was sweeping with a single-minded purpose stamped on his face. He hadn’t been wearing a coat, and it was freezing, but Janie had closed the door and let him be. All of them had to search for peace where they could find it.