Page 2 of Heartless

It’sCassianwho just killed his own sister in front of me, in the house that she’s been babysitting me in for years.

“Cassian?” I whisper, my eyes never leaving his face. Some part of me is screaming to run, but I don’t. I can’t. “What did you do?”

We both know what he did. I can see the blood. I can see Carissa’s wide open, glazed-over stare even from here.

“You didn’t run,” Cassian murmurs in his always soft voice. He drops the mask and reaches out, bloody hand moving slowly. As he tucks my hair back, a small frown appears on his face. “I thought you were asleep.”

“What did you do?” I ask again in a soft whisper, eyes still wide and on his. I can feel the wetness on my cheek from wherehe touched me, but I’m too terrified to even think about what it is.

“You should run,” is all he says, hand falling to his side again. “You should run, or I’ll hurt you.” He glances back over his shoulder at the mess of blood and death behind them, then back at me. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

“No,” I reply, not quite realizing what I’m saying. “You’ve never hurt me. You’re nice to me.” My brain flashes back to last summer, when Cassian made a boy from school leave me alone when I’d been out playing with their dog and Carissa was inside doing something other than watching me. In my mind, I see it as clearly as I see Cassian covered in blood.

How he’d shoved the other boy off of me, a snarl on his lips.

How he’d told him to leave me alone, or he’d break his fingers.

How he really did it.

Something changes in Cassian’s face, though I have no idea what it is. He has a strange look on his features, something I’ve never seen before, and he lets out a soft sigh, eyes drifting down to the floor between us as if he’s ashamed.

“Run, Winnie,” he murmurs, his grip tightening on the knife again. He kneels down to pick up the mask and tugs it back on over his head. “Run away and find help, or I’ll kill you like I did her.” I don’t move, though.

Not until he takes a step forward, with the knife raised to my throat.

Not until he nicks the skin of my neck, just enough to sting and pull me out of my trance.

Not until I really think he’s going to do it.

I scream and stumble back, nearly falling down the stairs before slamming the front door open and running into the street. Without shoes or a coat, I scream and wail, begging for help and for someone to go find Carissa.

As if she’s not already dead.

But at eight years old, miracles are still real, and death isn’t.

At least, until now.

Chapter

Two

“Look out!” Martha’s voice makes me look up in surprise from the window decals I’m fighting, just in time to see the menacing faces of a string of pumpkin lights flying down at me. I barely have time to do more than register it, and I let go of the decal in my hands half a second before the first light smacks me in the face.

But it’s certainly not the last. They tumble down onto me, the hollow plastic stinging my cheekbones and with one lucky hit, the tip of my nose. I yelp at that one, eyes welling up at the quick, sharp pain of it. Luckily, I guess, the wire the lights are connected to catches on my shoulders and drapes over me like a feather boa instead of hitting the ground. Though I’m too busy groaning and rubbing my nose to do more than stand there while the lights flicker on and off.

“You should keep those on, Winnie,” one of the diner’s regulars says with a chuckle, looking up from her paper and waffles. “They make you look real festive. You could be the diner’s newest decoration.” She laughs at her own joke as I sigh, mouth twisting in a small frown as I untangle myself from my Halloween light bindings.

“So festive,” I agree under my breath, bundling the lights up in one hand and strolling over to the step ladder the diner’s owner, Martha, is still standing on, her hands over her mouth.

“I am so sorry,” she breathes, her brown eyes searching mine. “I lost my grip on them and that middle hook isn’t secured to the wall—you’re okay, right? You aren’t hurt?” She can clearly see my watering eyes as I hand the lights up to her, though I force a smile on my lips so she won’t think I’m going to do something extreme like quit.

Not that I would. This job is my favorite way to get out of the house and have an excuse not to babysit every day for my sister. As lovely as her son Scott is, I’m more of a once a week aunt than an everyday aunt. Besides, one day I’ll move out. Eventually.

When I know where to go. All I know for certain is I’m itching to get out of this suburb of Akron, Ohio, that’s just far enough outside the city to be considered its own town. We even have two whole gas stations.

And a Wal-Mart.

“I’m fine,” I promise, smiling. I know my face, though, and I’m sure instead of relieved I just look a little less sad.

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