Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Such a stormy night, after all.
The perfect night to bury secrets.
“I was so angry at Ash,” Bea whispered. “But I remember holding him to me, rocking him. Then . . . I was in the living room, and I saw you.”
“Grace says she stabbed him.” It might even be the truth, Bea only stumbling onto the scene in the aftermath.
The bandage on her hand flashed white in the light as she stared at it.
She dropped it after a while, said, “I know what to say to the police.” A glance at me. “Grace . . .”
“For Nix,” I said softly. “She’s made her choice.”
“I never wanted him hurt. Or Kaea.”
I didn’t follow that thread, didn’t ask her who she had wanted hurt.
“Is that—” She pressed her face to the glass with startling suddenness, staring in the direction of an iconic fast food restaurant sign that glowed against the night.
I laughed. “You want a burger? A cop got me one, said it’s the only place around here open twenty-four hours.”
Eyes lighting up, she rose on her toes like a child. “You don’t mind?”
“For you? Never.”
First, however, I walked her back to her room. She yawned as she got under the blanket and lay down. “I’ll nap so we can talk again after you come back.”
Her eyes were already closing as I went to shut her door behind me. A faint smile curved her lips, my Bee-bee so dazzling and bright that she had the power to hold the world in the palm of her hand.
Shutting the door, I reached up to straighten the nameplate one of the staff had slid into the slot: Beatrice Clara Shepherd.
I ran my finger over her middle name. Had I known that? Yes. I frowned. But it had been way back in high school. She’d never used it, and I’d never once remembered while reading Clara’s hidden diary.
Tonight, the sight made me smile.
* * *
—
The outside air was cold and crisp with a slight bite to it. It surged into my lungs, snapped life into my cells. And made me think of a long-ago night when I’d drunk a bottle of champagne with Bea deep in the heart of a city park. She’d known my fear of the dark, had brought along candle-shaped lamps that we’d put all around.
We’d gone through her nude photos together in the faux candlelight, choosing the best ones for the final file. But I had all of them, every outtake, every blurred image where she’d moved too fast or begun to laugh while in motion.
Because I loved her best.
I shifted, began to walk. And though I could’ve stayed in the brightly lit environs of the pathway that led eventually from the hospital complex to the modest outdoor mall that held the fast food restaurant, I turned toward the sidewalk wrapped in darkness. It was inside me now, that darkness, a sinuous knowing of what I was capable.
Luna, please. Please, please. I’m so sorry. Please. Please Luna.
I was the whisper from under the bed, the monster hidden within the folds of the night.
Would you bury a body for me?
I’d do far worse for you, Bea.
My vision telescoping to a pinprick, I walked into oblivion.