Page 31 of Blood Queen

“But what if they kill us?”

Truman thinks on this for a moment. “We’ll creep up. If the coast is clear we keep going.”

I stop moving forward. A guttural moan slips from me. “What if they’re not there but Papa’s body is?”

Truman stares at me and swallows hard then blows out a breath. “We’ll figure it out.”

We keep walking and my thoughts keep swirling. I don’t understand Papa’s letter. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.

He said not to believe everything, but what if he was the one lying?

Truman grabs my hand. I look down to where we’re now connected.

Any other week and I’d be freaking out at the normalcy of this moment. The first time a boy held my hand. I’d wonder what it means and think about how good my hand feels in his, but I can’t see anything but the tears pooling in my eyes or feel more than utter confusion over the last twenty-four hours.

“Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’ll let go,” Truman says watching my face carefully.

“It’s not that,” I say and clasp his hand even tighter. “He left me a letter. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Truman stares at me, brow furrowed. It makes him look confused in a cute way. “Let’s just get to your place and then we can figure out what to do, okay?”

We keep walking. Truman reaches out and picks a wild daisy then hands it to me with a smile. He is so calm and so steady. It makes my heart clench.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at school or work or something?” I ask.

“Nope. I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” he says.

It takes a solid hour to make it to the truck’s parking spot and another twenty-minute walk from there to the house.

Truman asks me at least fifty questions in that time. Mundane things like, how old am I, what’s my favorite color, food, book and on and on. I learn we’re the same age and share the same favorite color: green.

As far as common denominators between us—that’s it. He’s impressed by my intelligence, which confuses me. I don’t know why he assumed I’d be dumb just because I was home schooled. His strange chit-chat distracts me, though and I’m happy to indulge him as long as it takes my mind off what lies ahead.

When we approach the barn, I hesitate. Anguish engulfs me. Truman stands silently next to me. He squeezes my hand gently. My bones feel soft, like overcooked spaghetti noodles.

“I can’t,” I say.

Truman nods and walks. Twenty steps. I count.

He stops, looks around, then turns to face me. “There’s nothing here,” he says.

At his words, I’m bereft.Nothing there?They took Papa’s body. He doesn’t get to be laid to rest. I’ll never be able to visit his grave and mourn. I will never see him again. Who are these people and what the hell have I been thrust into?

I join Truman and scan the area, my hunting instincts kicking in.

They dragged his body. The grass is matted down and there are still red hues streaked through where they pulled him along. I close my eyes and suck in a steadying breath.

“What’s really going on here?” Truman asks.

“I wish I knew,” I say.

I pull my backpack around and pull out the letter from Papa and hand it to Truman. His eyes scan quickly over the words, and he looks back up at me, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“This is some messed up shit. Seriously. Like, what?”

“Yeah,” I say, “I know.” He hands the letter back to me.

“So are you going to Miami?” he asks. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and looks around.

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