Page 50 of The Intruder

Actually, she did. Multiple times. But it wouldn’t help to point that out.

“Cassie gave the girl her bed to sleep in,” she says, “and then she drifted off in the living room. But when she woke up, the girl was standing over her.” A candle in the room flickers, casting an eerie glow on Eleanor’s face. “The girl didn’t want Cassie to tell anyone about her, so she had cut off her arms and legs, and she used them to feed the fire, which had started to die down.”

I feel like I’m about to choke. This is the worst bedtime story ever.

“But the arms and legs made the fire too powerful,” she says, “and it jumped out of the fireplace. The girl made a run for it, but Cassie couldn’t, because she was stuck bleeding on the couch. So she burned to death in her own cabin just as the sun was coming up.” She pauses meaningfully. “And of course, she was never able to tell a soul about the girl staying with her, so I guess she did kind of keep her promise.”

My jaw feels like it’s going to become unhinged. As if I wasn’t already afraid of burning to death.

On the plus side, at least the story didn’t end with me dying of dysentery.

“Did you like the story?” Eleanor asks me.

I can only stare at her. I’ve got to keep a close eye on this one.

“What’s good about that story,” she patiently explains, “is that what’s happening in the story is similar to what’s happening here—right now. And it makes you worried that maybe those things could happen to you. Do you understand?”

Oh, I understand. I definitely understand.

She lets out a loud yawn. “I’m feeling tired now. I think maybe I’ll try to go to sleep again.”

Eleanor pulls the covers up so that they are nearly covering her head. I can’t help but wonder if she was ever really having trouble sleeping to begin with or if she just wanted me to hear her horror story about what would happen to me if I told anyone she was staying with me.

Suffice it to say, that story is not going to make it easier for me to fall asleep tonight.

35

BEFORE

ELLA

I don’t know, Ella. It sounds nuts to me.”

Anton and I have finished our project about the rocks, but we’re still hanging out. It was his idea. He started asking me if I’m free after school, and then we would walk over to this small playground that is midway between both of our houses. It’s usually pretty empty except for a few little kids who are too young for school.

Right now, we are on swings next to each other, kicking at wood chips while I tell Anton what I discovered. The rubber seat of the swing digs into my thighs as I explain to him that Brittany and I have the same dad.

“Why is it nuts?” I ask. “It makes total sense.”

Anton sways back and forth on his swing, tousling his green hair. He doesn’t smell like cigarettes at all anymore, which means he really did quit. I wonder if it was hard for him. “I just think if he were your dad, wouldn’t you know about it?”

“Not if he didn’t want me to. Maybe he’s paying off my mom with child support.”

He scuffs at the ground with the heel of his sneaker. “I don’t know…”

“What’s not to know? It was right there in black and white. John Carter is my dad. Brittany is my half sister.”

“I just don’t think it’s very likely.”

I frown. “Why? You don’t think I’m good enough to be Brittany’s half sister?”

“Are you kidding me?” Anton snorts. “Brittany Carter is a total stuck-up bitch. She’s the worst. Why would you even want to be her half sister?”

“She’s the prettiest girl at school.”

“No way.” He digs his sneakers into the dirt on the ground as he backs up with his swing. “Brittany is average. She just thinks she’s the prettiest girl in the school.”

“Who’s prettier than she is?”