Page 109 of Head Under Water

“I’d make her feel what it’s like to lose everything.”

The room tilts, but we remain standing still. I’m the only one who can feel it.

“I didn’t know,” I swear to him. “Not until today. My mom loved your mom. Your mom was…she was everything to me⁠—”

“She ruined her life!” he bellows, maroon blotches painting his skin. “That’s not love.” He grabs hold of the lamp on my nightstand and hurls it at me. It slams into the door, and I duck just in time. Glass shatters in every direction, nicking the skin on my cheek, my shoulder, my arm.

He rushes forward before I can do anything, pieces cracking under his shoes. His hand goes to my throat, squeezing. “And when I realized who you were…the coincidence of it all…” He laughs under his breath. “It’s kind of poetic, don’t you think? All that time together back then, and we had no idea how important we’d be to each other someday.” His lips twitch, eyes go dark. “So, here’s the thing, Opal. Here’s where you’re going to help me. It’s, uh, not really a volunteer position, though I know you’re fond of those. I’m going to take every person she’s ever cared about, one by one, until she knows what it feels like. And you? All you have to do is die.” His fingers tighten again, but they don’t fully close around my throat. He wants me to respond. He’s barely left an airway to draw in a breath.

His words flash in my head. One by one. Margie.

“You pushed her,” I utter, forcing breath from my lips. I grasp his hands, trying to pry his fingers loose.

I’m still struggling to make sense of the man I’ve known for so long turning into this monster, even as his hands crush the breath from my lungs. I don’t want it to be true.

A flicker of satisfaction reaches his eyes. “Her best friend. And soon her daughter. Then Will and his brother. One by one.”

Rage flares through my fear. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. “Margie was innocent,” I bellow.

He slams my head into the door. “So was my mother.” Pain bursts in my vision. “Now you get my frustration.” My hands lose grip, my vision speckling.

He releases me and steps back, and for a moment I think it’s out of horror over what he’s done, but no. It’s more like he’s examining his work. Like he’s proud of himself.

I stumble sideways, pulse pounding in my temples. Broken glass slices the soles of my feet. I run into my nightstand without meaning to, sending books and cords crashing to the floor.

“Please don’t do this,” I cry, searching for something. Anything. I grab my phone from my bed, trying to call for help, but he slaps it away from me. He raises his hand and slams it across my cheek so hard I fall back onto the bed.

“Oh, you’re going to beg, huh? Margie didn’t beg. That old bitch fought back. Guess none of that fire passed on to you.”

He grabs my wrist and drags me forward onto the floor, so I’m on my hands and knees in front of him, shivering as icy drops of water drip from my hair and trail down my bare body.

“You’re insane,” I snarl, thinking of Margie. She didn’t deserve this. I have to survive so everyone will know the truth. I have to fight back. “And you’re alone. And none of this fixes that.”

He slaps me again. Stars explode in my head.

I have to get out of this room. I have to find something to use against him.

When he looks away for the briefest moment, I stand and dart to the side, ignoring the pain in my feet as I cross the broken glass again. He reaches for me, but I’m too quick this time. I pull the door open.

I’m out. Closer to the exit.

His fingers lock around my wrist just as I cross the threshold. He whips my arm around, slamming me against the wall in the kitchen. The island is just in front of me, but I can’t reach it.

Looking farther across the room, I weigh my options. Knives. Pans. If I can just get to them.

His hands come to my throat again, squeezing harder than before. There’s no room for air this time. “I may be alone, Opal. But you’ll be dead soon. So I think I win.”

My hand skates over the wall in a desperate search. I hit a frame, and it falls, cracking against my skull. New spots blur my eyes. I reach for another one. He’s so laser-focused, his gaze drilling into mine as the edges of my vision turn to smoke, that he hardly notices.

My hand connects with a wooden frame.

It’s my only hope.

I swing it forward with all my might. The corner connects with the soft flesh of his face. It slashes his cheek. Red blood weeps from the gash.

He rears back, his hand over the wound, but before I can move, he throws himself forward with a roar and tackles me.

We slam into the floor.