Page 60 of Devil's Thirst

I nod, but I know in my heart that’s not how it works. I will always do whatever I can for my Lina Bean.

“And the second thing I know is I’d rather a video of me circle the world over than men like him have the freedom to keep hurting people. If that needs to come out, let it. I did nothing wrong.”

God, she’s so freaking strong. I am in constant awe of my big sister. “Okay,” I say softly.

“Good, now let’s wipe our eyes and order mimosas. We deserve them.”

I laugh and use my mutilated napkin to dab at my eyes. “You aren’t going to ask me his name?”

“Nope. That human cesspit is nothing to me. He’s not worth the energy it takes to voice his name.”

I don’t know how she does it. My sister is the toughest, most badass woman I’ve ever known. I don’t want to think where I’d be without her.

She signals the server back to our table and orders us each a mimosa. “Now that we got that out of the way, it’s time for girls’ lunch. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“It’s only Wednesday,” I tease, relieved that she’s lightened the mood.

“When you have a toddler, that’s a long-ass time.”

We have a truly delightful lunch together. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Perhaps it was our initial conversation. Either way, when the meal is over, I find myself in a particularly sentimental mood. Rather than going to the theater early for extra warm-up time, I detour to a neighborhood I usually avoid.

The skies are appropriately overcast when I approach the outside of my childhood home. Someone new lives there now with no knowledge of the horrible dysfunction and tragedy that took place within those walls.

I used to wish the place would burn to the ground.

As I take it in now with fresh eyes, I’m glad it’s still around. Despite the austere facade, there are signs of joy within. A second-story window has a garden of children’s peel-and-stick flowers adorning the window, and the front door wreath cheerfully announces the arrival of summer with a rainbow of ribbons and tulle. I suspected that evil had tainted the very foundation of this building, but my eyes tell me otherwise. And if love can give this place a second chance, then I’d say love can wipe clean any slate.

I’m not sure what’s happening to me. I should be anxious as hell with everything going on, yet I’m smiling like a loon at a house I used to hate.

It’s been three days since I told Sante Talbot’s name, and so far, the sky hasn’t fallen. I haven’t felt my stalker’s watchful eyes on me nor received any new cryptic warning messages. I’m not naive enough to think that a storm isn’t brewing just beyond the horizon. I know something’s coming, but I also feel an unfamiliar wellspring of hope that we can weather whatever the storm brings. I’ve been to hell and back in my life but never let it steal my joy. This bump in the road will be no different.

My smile stays firmly planted on my lips as I head to the theater.

Hope can be such a crucial tool in surviving life. It can also be a double-edged sword. I’m reminded of that when my hopeful thoughts of the future distract me from my usual vigilance, and I’m yanked violently into an alley and out of sight. A man holds me from behind, his gloved hand clamped tightly over my mouth and nose. We’re hidden behind a dumpster that probably stinks, but I can’t smell or scream or breathe past his suffocating hold on me.

Panic engulfs me, eyes bulging wide as I struggle to break free.

“You think he doesn’t know when you open your mouth?” the man hisses by my ear. He’s holding me from behind, so I can’t see him, but I can tell he’s incredibly strong. “Boss had me leave you a note ’cause he’s generous like that, but you didn’t listen. You seem to think this is some fucking game.”

My struggle weakens as I grow dizzy and lightheaded. His hand lowers from my nostrils enough that I can suck in a lungful of air. The relief is overwhelming, triggering a wave of emotions that burn in my eyes and throat.

“You paying attention,bitch?” His hand squeezes my jaw painfully. “We have a problem again, and there won’t be any more warnings.”

Just when I think I can’t get any more terrified, the arm holding me against him drops until he’s cupping my sex in the most demeaning, aggressive sort of violation. “Maybe I’ll take some of this, too, before I silence you. I hear you’re into that sort of thing.” His voice is laced with giddy anticipation.

I wrench myself away from him with a surge of adrenaline that has my heart racing catastrophically fast.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” I growl at him savagely. I should run, but I want to see this man who’s been haunting me. I want to know the face that lurks in the shadows.

He’s vile in the most mundane, mediocre way I can imagine. An average man with an all too typical sense of entitlement and superiority. I want to jump at him and claw at his eyes, but I force myself to do the safe thing. I run.

He doesn’t follow me. I know because I look back every few seconds. It’s a miracle I don’t run into anything because I don’t stop. I keep running even after I’ve rounded a corner and am on a sidewalk filled with other people.

My body burns through every last bit of the adrenaline before I finally slow and realize where I’ve taken myself. I’m a block away from Gloria’s apartment. Of course, I would run to the one person who was my greatest source of comfort in childhood. She was more of a mother to me than my own flesh and blood, and now that she’s within reach, I feel desperate to see her. So desperate that I do something I’ve never done before. Something unimaginable, considering there are only four days left until opening night.

I text my director that I’m sick, and I skip practice.

I can hardly believe what I’m doing, but at the same time, I’m beyond caring. I’ve slipped into self-preservation mode and am dangerously close to shutting down. A person can only take so much, and I’ve nearly reached my limit.

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