Page 79 of Muted

He doesn’t pull his head away from where his cheek is laying against me when he says, “I work with her.”

“What happened?” she asks, clearly concerned.

He shrugs his shoulders, my body moving with his as he answers. “No idea. We’ll figure it out, though. Thanks for letting me in.”

The rumbling of his voice through his chest was the last I hear as I pass out against him. My sleep isn’t deep, so I hear pieces of murmured conversation, but I don’t register what they say. Chester eventually lifts me and tucks me into my bed after sliding my shoes off my feet.

I think I dream the soft kiss against the corner of my mouth as he whispers promises to be here for me if I need him. Maybe if I forced myself to stay awake, I wouldn’t have fallen into the nightmare where my monster is patiently waiting for me.

Nightmare 4

The wind whips the stinging rain against my cheeks. I look around and realize my ass is planted on the grass in my backyard of my childhood home.

How the hell did I get here?

Thoughts of three-year-old me fade away. I try to keep them with me, but the tendrils of her escape me. I want her back. Wiping away a tear from my cheek, I look at the wetness covering my hand and wonder why I’m so upset. Why am I crying?

“Uncle Ronnie?” I call out, standing up as I brush the blades of grass from the back of my thighs. “Aunt Elaine?”

I walk over to the backdoor and tug, only to find it locked. Using both hands, I cup my eyes against the glass pane and look inside. The whole house is dark, and nothing is out of place. Are they in bed?

Pounding my fist on the door, I call out again, louder this time. “Aunt Elaine! Uncle Ronnie! I can’t open the door!” My heart is pounding with the beat of the rain as it slams into my back. I keep calling out to them and hunch my back against the cold weather.

“They’re not home, Susanna.”

Whipping around, I press my back against the door, coming face to face with HIM. My grandfather.

The drops of rain are dripping from the strands of his hair as he dips his head to peer at me. He’s completely put together, not a crease in his suit as he stands before me, arms rest at his side, as he stares at me.

“Where is she?” I ask him, not sure who I’m asking about, but knowing the question is important. There’s a void in my chest where someone is missing, and my gut is telling me he knows the answer to the question.

Shrugging like he doesn’t have a care in the world, he snaps his eyes back to me. “Does it matter? Where’s my son?”

I shake my head, confused by his question. “I don’t know where your son is. I don’t know him.”

I blink, then suck in a breath when I open my eyes and find his face an inch from mine. “You WOULDN’T know him, would you? The drugged-out whore killed him.” His snarl makes me shiver, but I can’t look away.

“I don’t know her, either,” I confess. Pleading with my eyes for some sort of understanding that whatever is hurting him, it has nothing to do with me.

“But you do. You’re her. You have her vile blood coursing through your veins, and I refuse to let it be mixed with mine. You’re a disease that needs to be eradicated.”

Shaking my head, I press my body harder against the flimsy door, slamming my palm against it, hoping that my aunt or uncle will hear me. “Leave me be.”

My monster shoots his hand out to grip me around my neck, jerking me forward. Our noses are pressed together as he hisses, “Not until you’ve been erased.”

Pulling me away from the door by my throat, my hands scramble for anything to grab hold of, but the rain has made everything slick. He continues to tug me forward until we make it to the paved driveway.

My eyes flick to the side and I see Uncle Ronnie’s beat up Chevrolet parked sideways in front of the garage door. Jerking out of his hold, I spin toward the house and scream for them to come help me.

My grandfather fists his hand in my loose strands, jerking my head so far back that I stumble to catch my footing. “They’re. Not. THERE.”

He whips me around until I’m facing him once more, gripping my throat, spraying spittle as he seethes, “I’m going to fucking hurt you. I want to hurt you as bad as she hurt me.” Lifting me up by my neck, I scramble as my feet leave the ground and I claw at his hand as it digs further into the side of my neck.

I try to choke out words, to beg him to let me go. To explain that I’m not her. I didn’t hurt anyone, but he only tightens his hold with a sneer.

His free hand connects with my face, pain exploding through my head like a bolt of lightning hit me. I try to cry out, but Mrs. Ashe’s voice blares through my head. “SILENCE.”

I don’t want to stay quiet. I want to scream and rage against him, but another fist slams into my stomach and his hand halts the vomit racing up my esophagus. I’m not sure how I’m still able to breathe through his assault, but I am.

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