Page 4 of Her Darkest Possession
I take a sharp left, then right, moving on instinct through streets I know better than my own face in the mirror.
Finally, I see it. The barbershop. The same place where all this started. Where I first met Anatoly.
My feet slow as I approach, the gun heavy and useless in my sweaty hand. Through the window, I can see the familiar vinyl floors and the mismatched stations.
Hell, I can practically smell the lingering chemical scent of hair products inside.
I finally risk a glance behind me and see... nothing. No sign of Grisha's bulky frame or his limping pursuit. The street stretches empty behind me, just ordinary people going about their day, completely unaware of the nightmare I'm living.
For a moment, I lean against the brick wall, catching my breath. We made it. For now.
I push open the door to the barbershop, the familiar bell jingling overhead. The scent of aftershave and hair products hits me, so achingly normal it almost makes me cry.
Marcus looks up from where he's sweeping hair clippings, his razor-lined comb pausing mid-air. His eyes widen in disbelief.
"Indie? Where the hell have you been?" His deep voice booms across the small shop. "Two months without a word! I thought you were dead or something!"
The few customers waiting turn to stare. I can only imagine what I look like—disheveled, wild-eyed, and trembling.
With a gun in my hand.
"Marcus," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Help."
He sets down his comb and approaches me slowly, like I'm a frightened animal that might bolt. His expression shifts from annoyed to concerned as he takes in my appearance.
"Indie..." he says, his gruff exterior softening. "You're bleeding."
I follow his gaze downward and feel my heart stop. A small pool of red is forming on the floor by my right side, soaking through my jeans. When did this happen? Did a bullet graze me after all?
The adrenaline that's been keeping me upright suddenly drains from my body. The gun I'd forgotten I was still holding clatters to the floor.
"Please," I whisper, the room beginning to spin around me. "Please, not my…"
My knees buckle beneath me. Marcus lunges forward, catching me before I hit the ground.
"Indie!" he shouts, his voice sounding farther and farther away.
Darkness closes in around the edges of my vision, but all I can think about is the tiny life inside me. Anatoly's child. My child.
My baby!
2
ANATOLY
Your whore’spregnant
The gun in my mother's hand is still pointed at her own temple. But her words have stolen the breath from my chest.
Pregnant?
There's a part of me that refuses to believe her, that wants to order her to pull the trigger. But there's another part of my mind that's already racing with possibilities as it recounts the past few weeks with Indigo.
Of nights filled with languid limbs and sweat-soaked sheets. Of hoarse screams and trembling whimpers.
It's not impossible.
But how couldsheknow this before I did?
