Page 5 of Never Die for a Sinner
I watch her leave; my gaze trained on the center of her back. When the door closes behind her, I actually scoff out loud, laughing under my breath when the cigarette falls to the ground where I’d bit it in half.
Ava may think she’s helping me, but she doesn’t realize there’s more than one monster in this world she needs to be afraid of.
Soon, she’ll figure it out, and I can only hope that when she does, her hate feels as sweet as her kindness.
AVA
Have you ever wondered what it must be like to be a ghost?
To have to watch the world move around you, knowing you’re stuck in the same, stagnant place. Never moving. Never changing.
An extension of the background, translucent and silent.
Sometimes I feel like a ghost, hiding out in the shadows of the Cross Estate while others live their lives around me. Cleaning and cleaning and then cleaning things that have already been cleaned because that’s my life.
My life has been a constant stream of trial and error, and up until this point, I wasn’t sure I’d even make it this far.
I guess I still don’t know.
I’m the housekeeper, and I see everything.
Like Bella Cross’s silent tears when she thinks no one is around because her father betrayed her in the worst way imaginable.
Or the way Christian Cross’s hands tighten whenever he seesthatroom in the back of the house.
. . . the way Levi Cross is a ticking time bomb, ready to implode on himself and everyone around him at any moment.
I see it all, though I’m not sure anyone sees me.
“It’s just a room, Ava.”
I’m sure if any one of the Cross family saw me whispering to myself like a lunatic while staring at the door at the end of the hall, they’d throw me out in a heartbeat.
The door looms down the long corridor. The same corridor I travel to go to bed every night, as my room is only three doors down.
I swallow over the lump in my throat, tightening my grip on the cleaning cart in front of me.
It’s just a room. No harm ever came from cleaning a room.
I’m supposed to clean this room every Monday, but I’ve been avoiding it since the funeral. Every time I think about entering, my stomach ties up in knots, and nausea pools in my stomach.
It’s been three weeks, though, and it’s time. If I don’t clean it now, I never will.
Twisting my master key in the lock, I push the door open, the scent of stale air burning in my nostrils.
Everything is exactly as it was left. The curtains are drawn, shutting out most of the light outside the second-story windows.The air is stuffy, reeking of dust and age, while my mind makes me believe it’s decay.
Like they left his body here for me to find.
Obviously, they did not. He’s dead and buried. William Cross is gone. So are his beady black eyes that used to follow me around the room while he spewed all manner of vile, cruel things at me.
I blow out a breath through my teeth, ignoring the unease slipping through my veins, and push my cart into the room.
I plan to strip the bed—something I’d rather not do, but it needs to be done.
I turn on the music in my headphones, letting the sound of Stevie Nicks wash away all the discomfort in my mind and focus on the task at hand.
People die. Whether it’s too early or too late, no one lives forever. It’s the people left behind to clean up the mess who are the real victims.
