Page 62 of The Last Morgan
He scooped her up easily, swinging her high into the air.
Lucy giggled and shrieked with delight, wrapping her arms around his thick neck.
She felt safe and loved.
In another flash, she saw her mother sitting by the garden, weaving flower crowns. Behind her the background was snow filled, a terrain she was unfamiliar with,
"Wear this, Lucy. It will keep the faeries away," her mother joked, placing it gently on her head.
Lucy laughed and danced through the garden, the daises brushing against her ankles. The chill of the snow drawing her gaze to the mountains. What always provoked the memory was the people standing in the distance. She never truly understood that aspect of the dream.
The dream shifted.
The light dimmed.
The air grew heavier.
Her father’s voice again — lower, urgent.
In a hidden room, she saw him press a necklace — the necklace — into her mother’s hands.
"Keep this close to you, Nora. Always."
"I promise," her mother whispered.
Lucy frowned, feeling a strange pulling in her chest. Like this moment meant something — something she couldn't understand.
The house shuddered.
The dream cracked.
Suddenly, the walls began to peel back, the golden sunlight melting into a sickly green.
The smiling faces of her family stretched, their mouths too wide, their eyes too black.
The sweet garden twisted into thorns, bleeding against the wind.
Lucy turned and ran.
The halls — once wide and safe — narrowed into choking tunnels.
She heard it then.
The first gunshot.
It echoed, impossibly loud.
Her father's voice — not playful now, but desperate.
"Lucy, hide!"
Her brothers — Lucas and Leo — grabbing her arms, shoving her toward the hidden cupboard.
"Stay here. No matter what, Lucy."
Their faces were pale and terrified.
The door slammed shut.
