She hated when she’d gotten too old to lay in bed with him. When she was thirteen, he began turning her away. “You’re too old for this,” he said. “It’s just not right. Go sleep in your own bed. Go, now. Before Mother finds out you’ve been in here.”
But the rejection had been unbearable—and only led her to new appeals. Eventually she had the brilliant idea of trying to emulate the pictures in the dirty magazines: pictures he’d been so obsessed with; pictures he’d spent hours looking at and then ripping up. Only now did she realize her mistake. The girls in his magazines that she copied were girls he loathed. His fixation for them had nothing to do with adoration or love. It had to do with hate . . . which was probably a big part of why he’d begun to hate her, too. She made him uncomfortable. Miserable even.
What she had done had been so incredibly wrong.
So incredibly stupid.
For the next two hours she lay curled up in the filthy bed. She would lie there until the morning, until she was able to figure out what to do next.
The steady purr of a motor stirred Allie from her sleep. Her eyes popped open beneath the covers, and she remembered where she was and knew what was about to happen.
The Department of Children and Family Services was there to take her in again, and this time they’d find her a new foster home. Probably one that was truly terrible like her caseworker had warned. Her first instinct was to run, but she didn’t because there was absolutely no place to go.
The screen door to the front of the small house squeaked open. Then there were footsteps and a familiar voice.
“Allie? You in here?”
It was Miss Bitty.
Allie’s pulse quickened. She sat up and wiped her eyes.
“Allie? It’s me, girlie. Are you here?”
Don’t trust her, something warned inside her head. But Allie ignored it. She climbed out of the bed and moved into the dark hallway. Bitty shined a flashlight on the wall to help light her path. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”
Home?
She didn’t even think before talking next. “What if I don’t want to go back there?”
“I happen to think you do,” the woman said, her voice gentle. “Don’t try so hard to be tough. Please. Accept my help.”
Allie paused. “If I go back with you, are you going to call them to come and get me?” she asked.
“What? Call whom?”
“My caseworker. DCFS.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re angry at me.”
“Why would you think that? I’m not angry.”
Allie stared at the woman. “But I’ve been trouble for you. Why wouldn’t you be angry?”
“It was a short drive, girlie,” Bitty said. “Besides, I get it. It’s just going to take some time. Now c’mon. Let’s get you home, cleaned up, and into your bed.”
What? How could she possibly not be angry?
“I still don’t know why you’re going out of your way to help me,” Allie said, her voice coming out much more squeaky than she’d hoped. “What are you getting out of it?”
“I think everyone deserves some help when they’re down. Don’t you? And if it makes you more comfortable, I have no problem making you work for it.” The woman put the flashlight up to her old face so Allie could see her wink.
What do I have to lose? Allie asked herself. Nothing.
But Allie shook her head. “No, I want you to be honest with me,” she said, sounding more confident than she felt. “None of the bullshit. Why are you helping me?”
The woman was silent for a long moment. Finally, she sighed. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well, if you must know, I’ve done something bad. Something really, truly awful and I’m trying to make up for it the only way I know how.”
Allie processed the old woman’s words. She sounded so honest and heartfelt it was hard not to believe her. Maybe the woman had done something truly bad. If she had, that was okay. There was no way she’d done anything worse than Allie had. She’d practically killed her brother. If it wasn’t for her being so hateful to him, he’d possibly still be alive.
Bitty suddenly seemed more real to her. Maybe she really was going to help her. Maybe she could really give her a new life. Maybe it would be okay to believe her . . . at least for now.
“Now c’mon, you,” the old woman said. “Let’s stop talking and get you home.” She reached out to take Allie’s hand.
And, for the first time, Allie let her.
CHAPTER 17
HE’D GOTTEN ATTACHED. He’d only visited Hope a handful of times—but already he thought about her all the time.
No matter where he was.
No matter whom he was with.
With Hope, he suddenly felt like he wouldn’t have to kill to relieve himself of the itch. With Hope he felt that stalking might finally be enough to get him by.
He should’ve known Hope was going somewhere when she didn’t post a new waitressing schedule on the refrigerator. He should’ve stopped her.
But she was out of town now and he was a mess. Since she’d been gone, he hadn’t been able to sleep or eat. He couldn’t even think straight. The itch had returned, just beneath his skin. Just beneath his scalp and between the fragile skin of his fingers and toes.
Everything seemed darker.
More hopeless.
Little things were beginning to set him off. Practically everything SHE said to him grated on his nerves. He was pretty sure he was even starting to hate HER. But it wouldn’t be the first time. He had hated HER before.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to calm down. He replayed a well-worn memory. The memory of his first hunt . . .