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Pain. So much pain.
Red. Red. Red.
Black.
Hands on her shoulders.
“Shh. Thank God. Stay down. Don’t move. Make him think you’re dead.”
I am dead.
I am dead.
I am dead.
Blackness, again.
Chapter Forty
Little by little, she starts coming back to herself.
She is not dead.
She is alive.
Iam alive.
And I must live.
It doesn’t matter if I have my eyes open or closed, I can sense the smile on the face of the man in the corner.
He is a shadow, and he is talking—talking, talking, incessantly—telling me all the things I always wanted to understand, and much I don’t want to know. His voice will not stop. It never has. I can’t listen, but I must. I am his confessor, his priest, his savior. His inamorata. I must dole out benediction; he is desperate for it.
“Where am I?” I manage.
“Oh, now you want to talk to me?”
The voice halts. That constant, incessant patter that I’ve lived with for so long is coming fromoutsidemy head.
Outside. Which means ... it’s real.
Like I could be dead and still talking to you?
This voice is internal, but the other is external, I’m sure of it. But they are the same. It has lived inside of me for so long hearing it aloud is baffling. Surely I am hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time. Considering I am in darkness, it’s even more likely.
“Yes. Please. Where am I?”
“In Brockville.”
Brockville. I remember, barely. The voice was castigating me. I ducked off onto a small trail to clear my head. But before ... I cast my mind back. I was chatting with a man. He had a sweet smile and kind eyes. He offered to make me dinner.
“Noah? Is that you?”
“Wow, little brother made quite an impression on you. Not bad for a man holding a trout.”
Noah is not this man. Not this monster.
Fighting with my own brain is frustrating. Someone followed me into the woods. I ran, crashing through the brush, but he was faster. Stronger. He caught me. He dragged me. I fought, I screamed; he laughed.
