Page 67 of Behind the Shadows
The mumbled conversation faded in and out as they discussed someone’s fate. My fate.
“He can serve a purpose.”
Pastor? I scrambled to piece the conversation together. Why were they all together in one room? Who was the leader of the group?
“I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to introduce this idea, and it seems as though your son will be the key, Lily.”
I knew who that was, but …
“I want to bring someone else to join us.”
“Are you sure that’s smart? We’ve already gained five additional members. There’s such a thing as too many,” Pastor Pendleton said with an edge to his words.
“What purpose would this person serve?” Mother asked, her tone curious.
I strained to hear what he said, but I couldn’t make out the words. Maybe the drugs were messing with my mind too much.
“The person I want to bring into the group has a rare specialty. Before I bring him in, I need to discuss some matters with him. I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, lay low and watch that one.” His pudgy finger pointed in my direction.
Why was I a threat? I was tied up and drugged. It didn’t make sense.
The screech of the chair dragging across the floor made me wince, and I looked to the leader of the group. Our gazes connected, and a wicked grin eased across his blurry face. I squinted, trying to make out his features, but the fucking drugs clouded my vision. My heart raced and sweat trickled down the sides of my forehead.
“Your eyes are fascinating.” He strolled over to me and knelt, assessing me as if I were a caged animal under scientific study.
“I think you’ll do quite well, Kip.”
I licked my dry lips, trembling from his proximity, his power, the true evil that radiated off him. This wasn’t the same as the evil that Mother carved out of me.
“What’s your name?” I managed to ask.
He chuckled as he stood. “In due time.”
A strange and unsettling noise abruptly drew my attention, coinciding with the sudden cessation of the buzzing in my head. The area around me wavered, flickering in and out of focus like a poorly tuned television.
I saw myself from the outside: fingers tight around Holland’s throat, her feet scraping the floor, her lips turning blue. She wasn’t fighting me, not really. She’d only stared at me, mouth open and appalled, and then, with a clarity that pierced the fog, I remembered where I was.
Holland’s eyes, usually so bright and clear, were now wide with terror, her pupils dilated as she pulled at my hands, which were wrapped around her neck. A wave of horror washed over me as I realized what I’d done, and I jerked back, releasing my grip. She gasped for air while tears cascaded down her cheeks.
“Fuck, what did I do?”This is how you killed the other girl, remember?
Holland coughed, gasped for air, and turned away from me.
I jumped to my feet and scooped her into my arms, carrying her to the bathroom. “Little ghost, are you okay? I’m sorry.” My voice shook as I struggled to stay in reality. “Something is pulling me back. I’m not sure I can stay present,” I choked out, struggling to reach the bathroom. I grabbed the shower door and flung it open, quickly turning on the cold water like the times when I’d almost overdosed on heroin. I sank to the floor with her in my arms. She curled into me, sobbing.
“Little ghost …” I rocked her back and forth, the cold spray soaking our clothes, but helping me not slip away again. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
She reached up and trailed her fingertips across my jawline. As we huddled together, she trembled, her lips grazing the shell of my ear.
“It’s okay,” she said, though her throat showed a faint bruising outline of my desperation, darkening with each beat of her pulse. “You’re back. You're here.”
“I'm not,” I rasped. “I’m not—I keep leaving.”
The world twisted again, like a camera shutter refusing to close, and all I could see was the memory: my grip on her pale neck, the whites of her eyes, but it wasn’t Holland.
She shifted in my arms. “You're here. You're holding on. You didn’t let go, Kip.”
The world wanted to drag me back under, to where I was a weapon and nothing more, but Holland’s tiny, cold hands on my face kept me tethered. I pressed my brow to hers, fighting the urge to run, to be somewhere else, someone else.
