Page 1 of Point of Infinity
PROLOGUE
KENZIE
Aloud thump on the door, followed by several knocks and shouting, woke me up. Blinking hard, I sat up straight, still half lost in sleep. The beanbag chair in the corner was where I crashed most nights anyway. I rolled off and pushed up to my knees. A sharp scream echoed off the walls, then my mom’s bare feet slapped against the hardwood floors and traveled down the hallway toward me.
“Kenzie,” she whisper-screamed. My door flew open. “Kenzie.”
She ran to the bed and raked the covers onto the floor.
“I’m over here.” I wiped at my eyes, unable to focus yet.
“Brandy.” A slurred booming voice came through my open window. My mom froze.
“Come here. My little chickadee,” the voice continued. Other men whooped and hollered.
That got her moving again. She yanked me up, tearing the collar of my PJs, and hugged me to her. “Hurry. You need to hide.”
She pulled me out of my room and down the hall. Sweat and the sour smell of fear wafted from her. “You remember your secret hiding space?”
“Mom.” I tried to stop her, but with the death grip she had on my wrist, I had no choice but to follow her. I was six.
When we’d moved into this house, I had discovered a small secret door on the landing. I found it while drawing on the wall and pushed too hard. The panel popped open. Inside was a small, two-foot square room. I practiced hiding in there, often ran and hid to delay the punishment I knew I deserved. My mother often referred to me as a rambunctious child. I still didn’t know what the word actually meant. I forgot about the room about the time I had to crawl to get inside.
She felt around the perimeter of the panel, never quite hitting it right.
“Open it.” She frantically hit the wall. “Now.”
I felt along the right side of the panel. The beige paint had begun to chip. Not that the place was new when we moved in, but it had been freshly painted, and eight years later, it needed another refresh. My fingers fell into the familiar dent, and I pressed.
The door popped open.
My mom shoved me inside.
“You stay here until I come and get you.” She pushed the door closed.
“Wait, Mom, no.” I pushed it open and crawled out. “You hide, too.”
The front door exploded with a loud boom. Mom covered my mouth to muffle the scream. Several heavy footsteps shuffled inside.
“Brandy,” the slurred voice sang.
“No.” My mom pressed a kiss to the side of my head and shoved me down. “If they find you, they will take you, and I can’t lose you.” Her nails dug into my chest as she pushed me back in.
I grabbed her hand. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’ll be fine.” She tried to smile, but I’d seen my mom’s real one before—bright, full of life. This wasn’t it. What stared back at me now was raw, stripped-down fear.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
“No worries, baby.” She kissed me again. “I’ll come and get you when it’s safe.”
She pushed the door closed, casting the tiny room in darkness.
I felt around me. My hand landed on a box of crayons or pencils. I couldn’t tell in the dark. I left a couple of books and my old sketch pad stacked to the side. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I made out the round plastic eyes of my childhood stuffed turtle. I grabbed the plush toy and held it to my chest. Its fur was still soft.
Heavy footsteps stomped on the landing and stopped.
I scooted until my back collided with the wall. The room was much bigger when I was five and didn’t smell as musty. A cool breeze skated across the floor and tickled my toes. I searched in the small space for something to cover up and found a couple of blankets in a box. I brought the blanket to my nose. It smelled of dust and mildew. Mom must have forgotten they were in here. A sneeze escaped, and I covered my mouth. Thankfully, the footsteps moved on farther up the stairs.
