Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Now he’s seen every piece of me. The woman he taught how to enjoy kissing also has a dark side.
He hasn’t said a word, but the silence feels like shattered glass at our feet, the pieces too scattered to ever put back together. I should say something, right? Explain myself. Or maybe lie to him.
But resentment, or maybe stubbornness, keeps my mouth shut.
I wasn’t ready to share this part of myself with him yet.
He knows my secret; well, not all of it. Not the how or the why. Or even the who or the when.
If he learns those details, he’d have the power to rip my life apart.
But I don’t think he’d betray me. One thing I’ve learned is that his loyalty runs deep.
Losing him, though? That would devastate me more than any prison cell ever could.
After years of self-doubt, I thought I’d found the person who saw me—all of me. And didn’t flinch.
Until now.
CHAPTER TWO
Margot
Margot, 8 years old…
Ominous white moonlight glows around the edges of my curtains. A faint thud from downstairs. Why’s fear crackling through my chest?
Momma’s sharp, quick whisper. Daddy’s heavy footsteps. I toss back my purple quilt and sit on the edge of the bed, listening to the sounds below.
Another voice drifts up. I don’t recognize it. It’s muffled.
Chills run over my toes as I tiptoe over the hardwood floors, careful to avoid the creaky spots. I quietly twist the cool metal knob until the lock clicks open. My stomach tightens. I shouldn’t sneak out of my room. Momma’s told me many times not to wander through the house at night. And especially not to go downstairs.
I’m not allowed to visit the dead.
I peer into the hallway, heart jumping with fear and curiosity. Shadows snake along the walls. My feet sink into the carpet as I tiptoe to the wide staircase and peer over the banister. No one’s below. Voices drift up to me—Momma, Daddy, and another man. Familiar but not clear.
Slowly, I creep down each step, careful to press my body close to the wall where the steps won’t make a sound. I’m used to being quiet upstairs. During a service, Momma says I can’t make a sound that might disturb the families below.
A door slams. Metal clangs. Outside an engine hums to life.
Momma’s voice pulls tighter like a balloon about to pop, broken by a soft sob. Daddy’s calm voice soothes. Then silence. I reach the last step and peek around the corner. The hallway leading to the cold room is empty. Light spills over the carpet from an open door.
Burning with curiosity, I hurry toward the open door. Just a quick peek. I can be fast. Momma and Daddy will never catch me.
“How do we keep Margot safe when monsters like him are running around loose?” Momma says.
Fear chills me to a stop. Monsters? Real monsters? Where?
The shadows suddenly seem bigger. Scarier. Can the monsters get into the house?
“Such a nice boy. That poor family,” Daddy says. “Good God, he’s Margot’s age.”
Quiet falls over me. Who? What happened?
Momma’s harsh sobs cut through the stillness. “What are we going to tell her?”
“Margot understands death better than most children,” Daddy says.
Death. It happens to everybody eventually. Nothing to be scared of. Granny tells me that all the time. It still makes me sad every time I think of not seeing her one day.
My family helps other families say goodbye to their loved ones by making them look nice and celebrating their life, Momma explained to me.
I felt good about that until I realized kids don’t like to play at my house. Or play with me. They make fun of me for living with ghosts and zombies. They whisper that my house is haunted. No matter how many times I try to explain that’s not true, they still say it.
Curiosity pulls me closer to the open door. The prep room. I’m not supposed to go in there.
Just a peek. Then I’ll sneak right back upstairs. No one will ever know.
My eyes go to the tall, shiny silver table first. A small body, mostly covered with a white sheet. On the counter next to the door rests a blue duffel bag stuffed so full the zipper won’t close all the way. Small, shiny black shoes sit on top of the bag. The kind of shoes my older brother James would call “dressy” shoes and only wear to church.
“We’ll need to start with a base layer to neutralize the bruising,” my mother says. “He’s so young.” She lets out a harsh sob. “I’ll go soft with the foundation. Those purple tones will be stubborn on his delicate skin,” she finishes on a whisper.
Daddy rounds the table and gently touches Momma’s elbow. “Darling, let’s take a break.”
She’s shaking her head before he finishes speaking. “No. He must have been so afraid. In pain. Terrified. Alone with that monster. I want to stay with him until…”