Page 1 of Undertow

THEN: THE BEGINNING OF THE END

(Two years, five months earlier)

You’ve done this before.

Balanced on the edge.

Pulled air from the vacuum of your black hole.

You do it every damn day.

So why is my blood pumping with the violence of a truth my brain has yet to acknowledge?

Haunting words still ring through my head as I stare at the blank screen of my phone. Footsteps clap behind me, and I turn to see the old man leaning against the open door frame. His gray skin and hollow cheeks are trying their best to produce a smile.

Same one that rescued a drowning boy. A ray of light, burnt into the current.

Dragging me, willing me.

To be.

Except neither of us wanted me to be?—

This.

“Everything okay?” Gramps asks.

He’s struggling to stay upright, and I rush to steady him.

“Fine,” I lie. “What are you doing out of your chair?”

“It sounded like you were upset.”

I shrug, another lie, and guide him back to the recliner. “You don’t need to be worrying about me, old man. You stay here and watch your shows.”

After helping him back to his chair, I drop the remote in his hand and force in a deep breath. His shoulder feels like brittle twigs when I squeeze.

He’s decaying right in front of you. Dry kindling will become ashes on your mantel if you don’t do something.

I don’t have a choice. We can’t run again.

“You’re a good kid,” he says, reaching up and resting a gnarled hand on mine. “Always remember that. You got dealt a bad hand, but you’re still a good kid in spite of it all.”

“Only because I was raised by a good old man.”

He pats my hand before dropping his arm and settling into the chair, content with this as his end.

But I’m not. Content. Or a good kid.

How can I be after today’s phone call? Another stark reminder that no matter how far I run, how hard I fight, how heavy I bleed, I will never be free.

I am a child of Hell, and the demons will always find me and drag me home.

1

PANIC ATTACKS

I never asked to be a criminal mastermind.

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