Page 35 of The Executioners Three
Alas, her sleep wasn’t restful. Instead, her dreams were filled with crows and foggy shapes in the woods. With bells pealing and teenagers screaming.
The final dream she had was of the Hangsman from the poem. Made entirely of shadows, he stalked her through a starlit forest. She ran and ran but never gained ground. The world was a blur of black and white, until at last she reached the Village Historique and ran into the old schoolhouse.
There, she had no choice but to stop. She had no choice but to turn and face the Hangsman. Her dream-heart thundered; her mind was white with panic. Each step he stalked closer—a pulsing mass of darkness—the more she also spotted flames flickering within.
He reached her. His hands stretched out. And suddenly the shadows around him sucked inward, like a tornado forming, but in reverse. Then he was not an ancient executioner at all.
Instead, he was Theo Porter, frowning, restless, and offering her something. Freddie looked down. He held a heart made of iron. “On n’est jamais si bien servi que par soi-même,” he said. “This is for you, and only you can break it.”
He was wrong, though. Freddie had no idea how to break it. But she took it all the same, cold and beating and glinting in the darkness.
Then she awoke, sweaty. Confused by the morning sunlight flickering through her blinds. Perhaps most startling of all, though, was that she had “I Want It That Way” stuck on repeat inside her brain.
“My profoundest apologies,” she croaked to the NSYNC shrine in her corner. Then she dragged herself from bed, turned on her CD player, and hit Play. It wasn’t until she heard JC Chasez and Justin Timberlake (backed up by beautiful Lance, of course) that she finally felt safe again.
That dream had felt too real.
When she eventually felt like herself again (it took three full listens of “I Want You Back”), Freddie wandered into the kitchen to turn on the Mr. Coffee—only to find Mom and Steve already sitting at the table. They were both fully dressed, and Mom had even brushed her hair.
“Uh…” Freddie said, rubbing her eyes. “Is this a mirage? Am I still asleep? It’s not even tenA.M. Why are you two awake?” Mom and Steve werenotearly risers on weekends.
“We thought we’d go to the Quick-Bis for breakfast.” Mom smiled with a degree of perkiness that suggested she’d already been up for at least an hour.
Steve matched that smile, and all Freddie could think wasThe mind, it reels.“But you don’t like the Quick-Bis,” she said to her mom.
“I… do…sometimes.”
Freddie wasn’t a fool. She knew when she was about to be manipulated. She also knew when her stepdad was salivating—and that moment was right now.
“Shall we go?” Mom asked, still suspiciously perky.
Grumble, Freddie’s stomach replied. Then Freddie’s vocal cords answered: “Fine. To the Quick-Bis we go.”
This earned a giddy clap from Mom and a soft “Mmmm, biscuits,” from Steve.
“Just let me put on real clothes.” Freddie shambled back to her room. One pair of tan corduroys, her favorite white peasant top, and an olive-green cardigan later, she headed into the bathroom to put in contacts and brush out her hair (just in case she ran into Kyle).
Five minutes after that, Freddie found herself climbing into Steve’s truck, and another fifteen later, they were all sinking into the same booth Freddie had shared with the Prank Squad only two days before.
It was weird.
It wasextraweird watching her mom eat a biscuit. Steve did so with gusto—actually, he ate three biscuits with gusto—but Mom kept grimacing and muttering about arteries.
Of course, after two bites, she shut up and just wolfed the whole thing down. And when Steve suggested ordering another, she nodded sheepishly. “Please?”
As soon as Steve was out of sight, Mom rested her hands on the table. “I have a proposal,” she said, expression Very Serious Indeed.
“Okaaaay.” Freddie braced herself.
“I would like you to be in the Lumberjack Pageant.”
“Mom,no! You promised me I wouldn’t have to do it my senior year.”
“I’m aware.”
“And it’s already bad enough you’re making me do thosecounselingsessions with Dr. Born. How much more torture can you inflict upon me?”
“Okay, okay,but,” Mom said, slipping into her terribleGodfathervoice, “I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.” To prove this point, she withdrew a box from her purse. On it were the wordsNokia 3210.
