Page 115 of Killing Me Softly

Maybe he was.

But maybe, just maybe, he had saved her life.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist. This time, her dragging him. “Come on,psycho, we have cupcakes to decorate.”

They set up at the kitchen table, tubs of frosting and sprinkles spread between them. Their mother’s piano teaching drifting softly through the house, each note seeping into the walls like an echo. Jessica dunked a spoon into the frosting and smeared it across Kenny’s nose, her laughter ringing through the kitchen like a melody he’d memorised by heart. Kennyhuffed, tossing a handful of sprinkles at her in revenge, watching as they scattered across the table and into her hair. Sheshrieked, swatting at him, eyes bright with mischief, and for a second—for just a second—it feltreal.

Feltright.

“So,” she said, dipping a finger into the frosting and licking it off absentmindedly, “what boys are you into?”

Kenny didn’t even have to think. The answer came as naturally as breathing. “Blonds. Feral, feisty blonds.”

Jessica lookedat him. Then burst out laughing.

Pure, delighted, unapologetic laughter, shaking her head as if she should haveknown.

Except—

She hadn’t.

Because Jessica had never decorated those cupcakes.

Kenny had never told her he liked boys.

Kennyhadn’tsaved her.

Not in reality. Not in the life he’d actually lived.

Because Jessica had never come home.

And this?

This wasn’t reality.

It was a dream. Acorrection. A desperate rewrite of history where hehadsaid yes. Where hehadwalked with her. And dragged her away from that man in the woods and brought her home. Where she could havelived. But it was a fabrication. Conjured up by a dying brain, bleeding out in the middle ofa warehouse, grasping for a second chance that never really existed.

Jessica smiled at him, soft and knowing, and she curled her fingers around his wrist. “Stay with me?”

The warmth of her touchburned, not with pain, but withlonging.

She angled her head toward the sitting room where their mother played the piano,‘Clair de Lune’filling the air.

“With meandMum? It’s been nice having her here, too. Dad’s upstairs, taking a nap. You know how he is.” She smiled. Warm.Inviting. “We could eat these cupcakes?” She took a bite into one. “Talk about boys.”

The pull was so strong, so undeniablyright, that for a moment he wondered how he could ever say no. Why would he everwantto leave? This was where he belonged. With his sister.

He was whole again here.

Jessica tilted her neck. “Unless you have a reason to go?”

The question echoed. Hung in the air like dust motes in sunlight. The world beyond this one felt distant, like a dream. But something tugged at the edge of his mind. A fray in the fabric. The music shifted. Notes changing. Morphing into something older. Deeper. Intimate.

Something his heart recognised before his ears did.

Dream a Little Dream Of Me.

The light in the room dimmed, shadows stretching, deepening. At the piano, his mother was gone. Someone else sat in her place. Slender fingers on the keys. A bowed head of familiar platinum hair.

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