Total pages in book: 172
Estimated words: 157460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
I’m with you, baby. He sounded rough, but he didn’t suddenly open his eyes and look wildly around. He lifted a hand to her face, shaping her bone structure, as if reading her by Braille. He lifted his face to hers, brushing a kiss on her lips and then wrapping his arms around her tightly, his head on her shoulder.
Zyah felt his heart pounding, the aftermath of the nightmare. She felt his breath catch, but he didn’t make a sound.
The drawing. Your grandfather’s drawing. I’m going to lie down, and I want you to sit back slowly against the headboard with me. Look at the picture. Just glance at it.
Zyah didn’t want him to let her go. First the White Rabbit had been standing in front of the picture, and then Sorbacov had been directly in front of it, where the White Rabbit had been. She felt his arms slide away from her, although one hand stayed in contact with her as he slowly started to sit up. She moved with him to the headboard, so they both faced the drawing her grandfather had made so lovingly for her grandmother.
The White Rabbit was completely gone, Player’s illusion morphed into his alternate reality. Sorbacov’s blurred image became so faded he wavered and was transparent. Where his face had been, in the center of the picture, eyes stared at the two of them, looking eerie, as if they actually peered out of the drawing itself, or through Sorbacov’s wavering, ghostly body.
Zyah held her breath. Those eyes lifted to look around the room, at her. This was becoming far too real. The eyes wavered, grew transparent, just as Sorbacov had, and then slowly faded away. For a moment, she could have sworn, the frame on the picture rolled in a weird circle and then righted itself.
She gripped Player’s arm, her nails digging into his skin. “That was insane. And very scary. I need a cup of tea. Or maybe a drink.”
“Let’s have a drink of whatever Hannah sent us and get out the notebooks. Each of us can write down what we remember and then compare notes. Czar said we’d figure it out faster that way, and we’re going to have to figure this out.”
“At least the bomb didn’t start ticking.”
“I hadn’t started building it.” Player pushed back his hair. “I hate that you have to go through this with me, Zyah. And I hate feeling Anat could be in danger. That thing staring at us was all too real, and it sure as fuck felt real.”
“It was,” Zyah confirmed in a low voice. She shivered as she reached into the drawer of the end table to remove the notebooks and pens she’d stashed there so they’d both have something to write in. “Something was in this room with us, Player—it wasn’t the first time.”
Was that the terrible dread she’d been feeling throughout the evening? She pressed one hand to her churning stomach. Had Sorbacov really been so evil that he’d found a way to come back from the dead? Was that even possible? She shivered again and moved closer to Player. His body was always hot. Always. Most of the time he felt like a furnace. She needed that heat right at that moment. Something evil had found its way into their home. A trace of its presence lingered behind.
“It’s gone, Zyah. After you write down what you felt and saw, think back to the first time you felt the presence and write down anything you can remember about that night as well. Even what I was dreaming.”
She leaned into him, rubbing her face against his shoulder. “I hate that anything like that creature might share knowledge that is just ours.”
“He doesn’t. He isn’t part of my past.” Player spoke with absolute conviction.
“He’s not the other man who was there that day?” Zyah asked tentatively. Player rarely directly addressed his actual childhood with her, and she hesitated to bring it up unless he did. She’d seen enough that she didn’t think talking about details unless he wanted or needed to was necessary. On the other hand, his past was entirely private, and no intruder should have any part of Player. He’d already had so much taken from him.
“No. That man is dead, Zyah. He would be like Sorbacov, a shadow, no more.” He was writing in the notebook and didn’t look up.
“You’re certain he’s dead?” she asked. “Sorbacov’s friend? You know for a fact that he’s dead?”
“Yes, baby. I know that for a fact.”
She wasn’t going to ask him how he knew it. “This was a shadow,” she persisted. The room was dimly lit. There were shadows everywhere, and she didn’t understand why Player wasn’t as shaky as she was. She went still inside and turned her face up to Player’s, her eyes on his. “Player. Look at me.”