Page 79

Wait . . . I can?

I pause, digging deep, wondering where that came from. “Tress . . . I think—”

“Shut up!” She whirls, throwing the trowel at me. “Shut the fuck up!”

I can’t dodge it; can hardly move my head or keep my legs under me. Luckily, Tress is way too emotional to have good aim. The trowel bounces off the wall a foot from my head, ricocheting back at her to hit the lone light bulb. There’s a flash of light, a pop, a yelp from Tress.

And then . . . it’s utterly black.

Chapter 70

Tress

There’s a blue halo in my vision, a burn on my eyes from looking at the bulb when it blew. I can’t see anything, but I’m down on my hands and knees, feeling for my phone. I had it in my pocket, but it fell out, clattering to the floor when I jumped as the light exploded.

Shit, shit, shit.

My hand slides through my blood, already growing tacky in the coolness of the basement. I bump against the chair, and it screeches across the stone floor, unnaturally loud in the silence. Utter silence.

“Felicity?” I ask.

She doesn’t say anything, and I’m scrambling now. I need that phone. Need the light. Need to . . . Shit, what do I even need to do? Fix everything? Go back in time and undo it all? My fingers brush against the phone and I grab it, relieved when it lights up, despite the crack across the screen. The streaming feed comes on, the viewer number still healthy.

“Can’t get enough, can you?” I ask.

And from the darkness, comes my mother’s voice, echoing me.

“Can’t get enough, can you?”

Chapter 71

Felicity

Fifth Grade / The Night Of

“Can’t get enough, can you?” Annabelle says, her mouth tight as she flips Lee’s phone shut, putting it back in the cup holder.

“Do we have to do this right now?”

Lee turns in the driver’s seat. I know he’s looking back at me, can feel the weight of his gaze. But I’ve got my eyes squeezed tight, have made my body very small. It’s what I do at home—pretend I’m not there.

“No—do you have to do this right now?” Annabelle says, her voice low and growling. “When your daughter has a friend over?”

“Jesus . . .”

I crack an eyelid. Lee’s hands are tight on the steering wheel. His jaw muscles flicker.

“Just, seriously get a grip. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m the ridiculous one?” Annabelle asks. She fights like Mom; repeating what Dad said but making it sound stupid.

“Annabelle—”

“Yes.” She cuts him off. “That’s my name. That’s who I am. Annabelle Montor. Your. Wife.”

I don’t know if she’s not bothering to control her volume, or if my seizure is close. Her voice breaks higher, to a level I can’t pretend to ignore. I jam my fingers in my ears, squeeze my eyes tighter. Pinwheels of color explode across black.

“First you were Annabelle Usher,” Lee says. His words are quiet, and dark. Heavy pebbles that I can tell have been thrown before. I feel her rage, radiating to fill the car.