Page 32 of Buried in Blood
And Damien…
He’s still coming.
* * *
Monday 2:00 p.m.
The walk back feels longer than the search ever did.
Brooke’s between us, her arms tucked in tight, like she’s trying to shrink herself smaller than her already-starved frame. Reese walks ahead, scanning the treeline like he’s expecting something to leap out. I trail behind them both, glancing over my shoulder every few steps even though I know what’s waiting is ahead, not behind.
The house looms into view like a coffin with a front porch. The windows are shut. Blinds drawn. But the door—
The front door is wide open.
My stomach twists.
He’s home.
Brooke doesn’t notice. Not yet. She’s focused on her steps. One foot. Then the other. Like a baby deer relearning how to walk. I should be proud of her for surviving this long. For holding on.
But I’m too busy praying she doesn’t die for it. The porch creaks beneath our weight.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
His voice is calm. Which is worse. Brooke stops dead in her tracks. Damien is sitting in the wingback chair just inside the entryway, legs spread, arms draped over the sides like a king on a throne he never earned.
I sense Reese tense beside me. His fists clench at his sides.
“I—” Brooke starts, but her words fall apart on her tongue.
Damien stands slowly.
The silence between us stretches, tight and suffocating.
Then, his eyes meet mine.
He smiles.
Just once.
And says,
“You’re late.”
15
Damien
2:10 p.m. – Monday
“You’re late,” I say again, my voice low and sharp as a blade dragged across skin.
Harmony flinches.
“Go to your room.”
She doesn’t move. I don’t say it again. She finally obeys, her footsteps vanishing down the hallway like a whisper that I didn’t grant permission for.
