Page 7 of Even in the Dark

Eli’s words scrape along the insides of my skull. Probably proof they were right to lock me up in that psych ward for those first couple months after they figured out who I was. Isn’t that one of the signs of a crazy person? Hearing voices in your head? Probably a double whammy when the voice is a serial killer’s.

Whatever. Doesn’t matter. They let me out, right? Must mean I can’t be that far gone in the head.

Shit, I hope I’m not that far gone in the head. Hard enough dealing with everything already right now, I’m gonna need a full deck to get through this.

Don’t need a full deck to know I’m right to stay away from a girl like Scarlett Thiels, though. Hot. Privileged. Green eyes andpale skin. And hair this color I’ve never seen on a girl before. Kind of reddish, but not an orange kind of red. Lighter.

She probably knows she’s hot, too, based on the confidence that practically spews from every word that comes out of her mouth.

Probably manipulative.

And yeah, lying might be one of the few things I’m good at, but I’m not manipulative. Not fake or two-faced or complicated like I’d bet money Scarlett Thiels is. Even her name sounds evil and manipulative. Fancy. Like some rich mafia-boss wife who wears pearls and smokes one of those long thin cigarettes and exhales smoke rings in your face.

Scarlett.Like a fever. Like the color of blood.

Yeah, that girl’s got secrets. And I should know. I’ve got a few of my own. They rattle around inside my brain like chains. Loud and metallic and heavy. Hard to ever forget they’re there. But I’m pretty much used to them by now. They’re familiar, at least. And not much else is familiar these days. So guess I’m okay hanging on to them a while longer. I’m sure as hell not gonna be sharing them with anyone around here. No way I’d let them handle anything that combustible. Hell knows what they’d do with them. Probably find a way to blow them up in my face. These people are all smart as hell. Discussing and dissecting every topic and emotion that crosses their path. Not sure if having money makes you smarter or if smart people are just the ones most likely to end up with money. Either way, they’re exhausting. And intimidating as hell. I spend most of the time I’m around them feeling stupid and alien and wondering when I can go back to my room.

But Phil and Diane are out walking the dog right now, Chloe’s out with friends, and Kenz is in bed, sleeping. It’s the first time I’ve been alone in this place since I got here a week ago. Phil’s been watching me like a hawk every second of every day. It’sfine. Annoying and stifling, but I’m gonna assume he’ll chill out after a couple more days. Still, I’d like to know where all this hovering was when I was a kid. I could’ve used it then. Could’ve saved my ass. My mother’s life.

I grab a bottle of soda from the huge-ass fridge and twist off the cap. The fizz bubbles up and I take a long drink. Soak in the knowledge that I’m finally alone in this massive house. The alone part is good. The massive house part is… weird. Kind of surreal that it’s my house now. Doesn’t feel like the kind of place I would ever step inside. Sure as hell doesn’t feel like a place associated with me in any way.

The quiet weighs heavy, like it does most nights in this place. I always thought quiet was just quiet. But it feels different here from the quiet in the apartment with Eli. So calm and looming and unfamiliar that it puts me on edge.

I wander into the library, running my hand along the back of the leather couch. Never had furniture this nice before. Never even saw anywhere this fancy, except on TV and stuff.

I head down the hall, avoiding the family photos lining the walls. The ones of Phil and Diane and the girls. Everyone smiling. Running on the beach, blowing out candles, riding horses. Cheesy as fuck black and white photos that are just snapshots but still look classy. A whole life I was supposed to be a part of.

Not one photo of me as a kid. Or my mom. Or any of us from back then.Before.

A little way down the hall, I stop outside Phil’s office. Hesitate. Probably shouldn’t go in without asking. Probably shouldn’t go in at all. But maybe he’s got something that can tell me about who I was. A link to my past. Maybe a photo or knick-knack or book that could trigger a memory, even.

I hate admitting how desperate I am to know who I was before all the fucking lies, but it’s on my brain a lot. Practicallyon a loop. Questions I’d never ask anyone out loud in a million years. Becausefuck him.Fuck Eli Sampson and the way he messed with my head. My family. My whole entire life. No way am I letting him win even more by admitting out loud that I care. Letting him control me by admitting I’ve allowed myself to wonder—more than once—if it’s a life I would have wanted. If maybe I would have liked myself better if I were one of the people in those cheesy family photos.

The door creaks as I push it open. Of course. Big fancy houses always have creaky doors. The room’s dim, only a desk lamp left on. I move to the huge wooden desk, opening drawers, rifling through papers. Just work stuff.

There’s gotta be something here. I yank open the bottom drawer. Folders, notebooks, pens. Nothing.

Fuck.

I scan the bookshelves. Law books, manuals, binders… A freaking huge-ass detailed model ship with masts the size of my arm. But on the top shelf, a photo album. I reach for it. Heart racing like it’s gearing up to launch straight out of my chest.

This could be it.

Shit. It’s just Phil and Diane’s wedding album. I slam it shut. Turn to toss it on the floor, then stop myself. This isn’t a job I’m on. A house I’m hitting for an easy couple hundred. I shove it back onto the shelf instead.

“What are you doing?”

I spin around. Chloe’s standing in the doorway, glaring.

“Nothing.” I blurt.

“You’re snooping! I’m telling.” She whips out her phone.

“Don’t—” I start, but she’s already texting furiously. Fucking great.

She’s got blush and eyeshadow on that makes her look like a tween hooker. Her friends came over after the neighbors left to all do their makeup together before going out on what I’m prettysure was a trip to the food court at the mall. Not sure if this is typical twelve-year-old girl behavior or just typical rich girl behavior. Weird either way.

Voices sound from down the hall. The front door opening and closing. Phil and Diane are back. Chloe gives me a smug look and races off, probably to rat me out.

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