She a brunette?
“This is getting old. You ever been out on County Road 103?”
Where’s that?
The guy knew nothing about Isleen, Queen, or even the road the trailer was on. Xander shoved back from the table and headed for the door. “Good luck in prison. The brunettes are going to love you.”
*
The awful whiteness surrounded Isleen—oppressive and claustrophobic. She turned in a circle looking for an escape. Nothing but infinite white. Panic frosted the edges of her mind, but she wasn’t going to let it take hold. This time she was going to be logical instead of scared out of her wits.
White like this wasn’t a place. No, the world and everything in it didn’t just turn white. Something else was going on. A thought flared across her brain. Dissociation. The white and those moments where she was stuck inside her body—maybe she was dissociating. Could she be severing the connection between her mind and her body? It was possible. Gran had tried to teach her how to do that, how to find a safe place inside her head while Queen did terrible things to Isleen’s body. But Isleen had never found such a place. Until now, it seemed.
The brightness shimmered, dappled, turned muddy and then dark and darker, until the environment was completely colored in shades of pewter and onyx. Her eyes adjusted slowly, the images in front of them gaining distinction by degree.
It was nighttime and she stood at Gran’s bedside. Gran’s gaze was fixed out the window on the lawn and shadowy woods beyond. Where was Alex? Where was the nurse? Someone should be with her. Gran looked so alone, so absolutely alone, that Isleen’s heart cracked.
“Gran, I’m here.” Only the words didn’t come out—just bounced around inside her head. “Gran.” She tried again. No sound.
Doom crawled over her skin like the hairy feet of a thousand roaches. She’d lost control of her body and was stuck inside her mind, looking out the window of her eyes, helpless to speak, to blink, to move.
She heard the quiet tread of footsteps on the wooden floor, but couldn’t turn her head to see their source.
Sinister energy wavered in the air; she could practically taste evil on her tongue. Something terrible was about to happen. To Gran.
Isleen’s heart tightened into a hard lump, bracing for a blow, then banged around her chest, beating, pounding, searching for escape—a way to save Gran.
No, no, no. The words pounded through her blood. She wanted to fight, tried to fight, but couldn’t move. Her body was no longer under her command, and all her words and thoughts and feelings were less than useless.
A man moved to stand on the opposite side of the bed and completely ignored Isleen. He moved with the assuredness of someone on a mission, his steps never faltering, never cautious. His hair shined bright—almost the color of pearl. His features were oddly pleasant and almost familiar. He didn’t possess the look of a villain. He looked like someone’s mild-mannered father. And then she noticed the chunky gold cross hanging askew around his neck and the square of white in his collar. A church collar—a priest’s collar. Relief released her from fear’s grasp.
If she’d been in control of her body, she would’ve sagged to the floor in a wet puddle of relief.
With complete affection and tenderness, the priest clasped Gran’s hand in both of his. He flinched and tensed as if touching her hurt him in some way, but he didn’t let go of Gran. “I have faith the Lord will be merciful.” His voice was a breath, barely even a sound. “I have hope the Lord will forgive.” His eyes shimmered, and tears slipped down his cheeks.
Gran’s face transformed with recognition. “Rex.” Excitement lit her voice on the first letter of his name, then dimmed by the last letter.
Gran knew him? Isleen shouldn’t be surprised. Gran had an entire life here that Isleen had known nothing about until yesterday.
“Your trials didn’t work. The evil never left us, no matter how much we endured.” Gran’s words were a horror to Isleen’s ears and brought memories of her conversation with Gran to mind. I destroyed us by trying to save us. And I did this to you. It’s all my fault. I’d take it all back.
No-no-no-no-no-no…Gran had to be confused again. She couldn’t know what she was saying.
The priest swallowed. “I prayed for release for both of you. But it never happened.”
So the priest was going along with Gran’s nonsensical thoughts?
Gran’s gaze clung to him. “It’s my turn to die, isn’t it?”
An icy knife slipped down Isleen’s spine, then into her guts, and twisted.
The priest nodded, his face so horribly full of compassion that none of this made sense. Was Isleen hearing things wrong, not understanding?