Page 138 of The Spider & the Storm

The wind whistled outside. I turned back toward the window, unsure of what I expected to see. There was nothing, of course, and I shook my head, silently berating myself for being such an idiot when something passed through the light cast from the hallway. With a start, I stepped back from the doorway, nearly stumbling. Too afraid to open the door, I stared at that faint cone of light, waiting for the shadow to return. But it never did.

Holy fuck. Relax. Breathe. It’s nothing. Just go piss and get back to bed.

I clenched my fists at my sides and squeezed my eyes shut as I tried to calm my rapidly beating heart. Then, with a final release of air from my tight lungs, I opened the door, ready to face whatever might be on the other side.

Nothing was there.

I took one glance over my shoulder at Stormy, half expecting her to be awake and staring at me, amusement written plainly on her face. But to my relief, she was still asleep.

“You should probably warn her that you're sometimes a neurotic lunatic,”I could hear Luke saying. “But don't worry; the right one won't run.”

I let myself smile at that as I pulled the door shut behind me, leaving it ajar, as it had been before. I went to the bathroom, did what I had to do, and left with every intention of returning straight to bed with the hope that I could find enough comfort in her arms to go back to sleep.

But as I left the bathroom, before I could turn back toward my room, a shadowy figure dashed across the living room at the end of the hall. Heart racing, I turned abruptly in that direction. My eyes hadn't played tricks on me this time—there wassomethingin my house. Logic tugged at my panicked brain, reminding me sound hadn't accompanied the shadow. No footsteps or complaining floorboards to speak of. Something moving that fast couldn't have been silent. But I had seen it; I wasn't crazy, and determined to prove that to myself, I hurried the few steps from the bathroom doorway to the living room.

It was empty.

My hands lifted to grip my hair.What the hell is wrong with me?My heart had taken off at a full-on run now, as if it were set on running in the Boston Marathon.I'm just tired. I'm exhausted. It was a long day. I dug up too much shit from the past. I just need to get back to sleep, and I'll feel better in—

Another whipping gust of wind barreled against my little stone house, and although the place had been built like a fortressand could likely withstand Dorothy's tornado, the windows still rattled, and the door groaned against its hinges. I swallowed at the rising wave of nausea, threatening to spill my dinner all over the floor.

Then, from just above the stone fireplace, a framed picture of Luke and me—one of the few pictures I had in my possession—fell from the mantel. Broken glass scattered across the floor. And I swore I could smell the faint stench of cigarettes.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CONNECTICUT, AGE THIRTY-TWO

The dark circles had deepened beneath my brother's eyes over the years since he'd been locked up. Mine weren't much different. But he said nothing to me, nor did I say anything to him. Not about that anyway.

“God, I'd give anything for a fuckin' smoke,” he complained, scrubbing the palms of his hands over his bristly face. “Maybe next time, you can shove some down your pants and sneak them in.”

“Oh, that's a great idea,” I grumbled sardonically. “Do youwantto do more time in solitary?”

The last time my brother had been caught with a cigarette in his dorm's communal bathroom—notsmuggled in by me—he'd been thrown into solitary confinement for a week. I hadn't been aware until I'd shown up that following Sunday to visit with him, only to find out he wasn't able to make it.

He hunkered down in his seat and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “No,” he replied with a pout. “But, man, desperate times. I haven't craved a smoke this bad in … God, it's been years.”

From the tired look in his eyes, I believed him.

I leaned back on the bench, resting my booted foot on the bar bracketed to the wall. With an inhale, my lungs filled with the stale air I had grown more and more accustomed to over the years since my brother had been at Wayward. The sour sweat and heady perfume no longer choked me the way it used to. Actually, being here, in this loud room, full of prisoners andtheir respective loved ones, had started to become a comfort that home no longer was.

Nobody hated me here, but outside these walls? It felt like the entire world was against me. An exaggeration, sure, but tell me if you'd feel any different when you could seldom leave your house without someone screaming obscenities in your direction … or worse.

“You been sleeping?”

I turned from the window to look at my brother. “What do you think?”

“You should talk to someone.”

“Why do I need someone else when I have you?” I lifted the corner of my mouth to offer a teasing smirk, but it was forced, and he knew it.

“Whatever happened to that doctor you used to see? What was her name?”

“Dr. Sibilia.”

Luke pursed his lips and nodded. “Right, yeah, her. Why don't you talk to her?”

I cocked my head. “And what is it you think she'll do for me?”

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