Page 13 of Heartless

“Winnie,” he repeats. “Aren’t you going to run away? You know what I am and what I did better than anyone else here.”

I glance back at the door, hearing the voices in the hallway grow softer, then look back at Cassian. “No.” Being here with him is preferable to being caught, I think, and I decidedly sit down hard on the floor, wincing as I curl my legs up under me. “I don’t want them to find me.”

“So you’d rather be stuck in here with me?” His brow raises, and a look of interest crosses his face. “You must be in a lot of trouble if I’m your preferred choice.”

“I’m not in trouble,” I snap, before I can help it. But then I hesitate, not sure if that’s quite true. “I'm not…exactly in trouble,” I amend. “But I want to go home. I’m trying to find the front desk so I can find my mom and beg her to take me home. She thinks I need to be here, but I don’t.”

Something like guilt makes his blue eyes darken, and he settles back against the wall. “That PTSD from watching my sister get stabbed finally catch up with you?”

I shake my head slowly, though hearing him bring up that night so casually is…strange. It makes me nervous, for one. But it’s also sort of relieving. Everyone in my life tiptoes around the subject and never talks about it plainly.

Everyone but him, I guess.

“No. Mom put me in therapy, but I’ve done pretty well with that.” I drag my knees up to my chest and rock on the floor, shivering again. “Have you been here since then?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ in the word, eyes still on mine. “So why are you here, if it’s not because of me? This is a psych ward, you know. Not just a hospital or a clinic.”

“Yeah, I figured that out.” Absently, I run my fingers over the splint on my arm, and that draws Cassian’s attention to it. “My dad,” I say finally, not sure why I’m explaining things to a murderer when I’ve never even told my friends. “My dad he…he’s not so great.” I swallow, not sure how to go on.

“Did he do that?” Cassian nods at my arm. “And your face?” I know he’s referring to the black eye and busted lip that I have, and I anxiously lick over the newly closed cut with a wince.

“He did.” But I don’t elaborate. “I’m not here because of that, though. He’s been doing it for a while. Since before you…got here.” Something strange crosses his face, but I don’t let him say anything. Instead, I take a breath, the words of what I’d done tonight sitting heavily in my throat.

“It’s because I killed him.” I hold his eyes as I say it. “I killed my dad.”

His face falls in surprise, before he collects himself a second later and looks out the window. “How did you do it?” he asks, as if this is the most normal conversation in the world.

“I’m not like you.” My words are rushed, and I need him to know I didn’t kill my dad in cold blood the same way he’d killed his sister. But Cassian doesn’t reply right away, only raises a brow in my direction as he rolls his shoulders.

“You don’t know what I’m like, Winnie,” he tells me, a warning in his voice.

“I…” The words are on my lips, begging to be said. I haven’t let them free; haven’t uttered them out into the world. Because then it’s real. Then I really did this terrible thing that stained my sneakers red with blood. “I shot him with his gun,” I whisper, wondering if I’m quiet enough then the world won’t know and it’ll just be our little secret.

Cassian leans forward, though he’s not close enough to touch me. “Good.” His eyes are bright, and for the first time, I see him smile. “Good job, Winnie. I’m proud of you.”

But before I can ask him why, or what he means by that, the doors bang open and an orderly’s shrill voice makes me wince and scramble to my feet. I don’t get to say anything else to my ex-babysitter’s brother as I’m dragged out of the room despite my protests and my yells for my mom.

The last thing I remember is meeting his eyes over the nurse’s shoulder, his ghostly blue gaze sharp and his jaw set as he watches me go like he doesn’t want me to leave.

Even though that can’t be true at all.

Chapter

Seven

“Wake up!” Reagan’s voice and the way she shakes my shoulder have me awake in seconds, and I jerk away from her in surprise with a startled gasp. “Sorry!” She holds her hands up in surrender, fingers splayed. “I’m sorry, I just?—”

Then I hear it. Police sirens wail in the distance, getting louder and drowning out her next words. “What’s going on?” I murmur, sitting up on the sofa and looking around. “Did you call the cops?” That’s the only thing I can think of, and fear makes the last of my sleepiness vanish from my brain. “Is Scott okay?” I demand, jolting to my feet. “Why are the police coming?”

“Scott’s fine,” Reagan assures me quickly. “They’re not coming here. Look.” She pulls the curtain opening, revealing heavy, charcoal colored clouds that threaten rain. Across the street and down a few houses ,there are already two cop cars in the short driveway.

“What the heck?” I murmur, pressing my nose to the cold glass to try to get a better look. The two cars I’d heard approaching zip onto the scene as well, until there’s a cluster ofcars ruining the yard landscaping. Seconds later, an ambulance pulls up as well, joining the cavalcade. “Did something happen this morning?” Paramedics rush into the house as the new officers stand in a small circle in the yard. This far away, there’s no way for me to have any idea what they’re saying.

“I don’t know. I woke up a few minutes ago when the first round of cops showed up.” She stands beside me at the window, biting her lip as she watches the same spectacle as me. “Do you think someone’s hurt?”

Before I can answer her murmured question, I hear the sound of toenails on the hardwood floors, and I turn to see Roscoe trot into the room, Scott appearing behind him. “What’s going on?” my nephew asks with a yawn, his eyes still heavy with sleep and his hair the epitome of bedhead chic.

Reagan and I look at each other, both of us equally lost for words as the other. She’s the one who thinks to slam the curtains shut, and we both turn to look at Scott. “Okay, so”—I realize I should probably text Lou about what’s going on pretty fast—“something is happening down the street. There are cops out front and an ambulance. I umm…” I glance back towards the window, biting my lip. “I might go see if they’ll tell me anything.” Though I doubt they will, I feel restless. Like I need to dosomething.

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