Page 4 of Worship

Swallowing is impossible. The lump in my throat refuses to dislodge. Maybe I’ve lost the ability to breathe altogether. The only thought that comes to mind is thathe’sbeen here. He’s been in this house, this room.

Seeing a black envelope on top of the lid, daring to be read, I snatch it from the coffin and stumble back from the bed, hands trembling as I rip open the paper and pull out a piece of card. Written in capital letters in blood-red ink, I almost bowl over and vomit up brunch as I read the words.

WE’RE COMING FOR YOU.

Squeezing the note in my fist, I close my eyes. There’s wetness on my face, tears for a coffin that shouldn’t be here. A reminder of the baby I lost.Mybaby.

Of course, the coffin is only symbolic. The only decent thing Gabriella’s husband ever did for me because I’d been so distraught and begged him. I’d only been seven weeks, and I hadn’t known. I didn’t think it was there, inside of me, but that’s no excuse. I killed my baby.

My knees give way. I’m on the ground before I’m aware of the hard surface under my butt. I crawl backward, putting as much distance from the terrible things I’ve done, envisioning the lid on the coffin opening and something coming out of it to drag me to hell. But there’s no escaping, just like there’s no getting away fromhim.

Didn’t he always tell me he’d come for me? It was only a matter of time.

I let out a cry—a scream. I want my baby back, but not like this, neverlike this.

Cold reality sets in and turns my blood to ice. The man from my nightmares didn’t think twice about ripping our baby from the ground because that’s what he does. And he’s not finished. Not by a long shot.

* * *

I don’t remember arriving backin Stonehill the following morning. Having not slept, I don’t recall being dropped off, going to my room, or a nurse coming to get me for an emergency session with Dr. Rogue.

“What happened?” she asks, hitting the tip of her pen off the notepad, waiting for my answer. “Was it another nightmare?”

I stare past her, at the painting on the wall, not in the mood to talk. Especially not to someone who thinks I’m lying. Once again, the picture has changed into something terrible. The little girl on the swing is now on the floor crying. Her pretty dress is ripped, panties tangled around her ankles. Bleeding and crying and screaming for her mommy. The salty taste of her tears is in my mouth—her suffering, my suffering. Because I once was her. I was that girl.

“Heidi,” she continues, and I want to ram that stupid pen down her throat, especially as her eyes study me, watching me so closely for something.Anythingto use against me. “Your mother said you had an episode?”

I don’t know what I find more annoying. That Gabriella called it an episode after discovering me on the bedroom floor with my dead baby’s coffin on the bed, or that Dr. Rogueinsistson calling this woman my mother.

Mothercalled Lawrence to make it all go away. The coffin was taken back to the graveyard in a private car; the driver paid to keep his mouth shut. Then, after swallowing another pill while Lawrence had his back turned, she went to bed sobbing, leaving him to clean up the rest of the mess.

He was angry. Confused.

I remember him glaring at me with so much hate, I thought he was going to charge over and hit me. I can’t blame him for wanting to. Gabriella’s lies have no boundaries. He doesn’t know because she isn’t telling him everything. Instead, he said, “If you so much as breathe a word of this toanyone,I’ll have you thrown out on the streets to fend for yourself. You hear me?”

He didn’t give me time to answer before he stormed out of the room. Sometime later, I heard angry yells from their bedroom and Gabriella’s dramatic crying and pleading.

I kept the note. It’s scrunched in my hand still, the ink staining my skin red. The only reminder I have that it was real. That it really happened.

Breathing out with frustration, Dr. Fraud shifts in her seat, knowing I won’t talk. She then prescribes me medication that won’t work.

Nothing will. Because my nightmares are real. Just like the monsters are.

Chapter Three

My room in Stonehill is bare. A single metal-framed bed with gray sheets and a brown throw is shoved against the wall. A tiny television and blank journal sit on a cheap wooden desk with a matching chair. The only window I have is small and has no curtains. None of them do after a girl used them to hang herself a few months back.

My muscles are tense and have been since last night. He got into Lawrence’s home. Got past security without being seen or heard. Surely this place would be a walk in the park for him?

Iknowhe’ll find a way to get in. To get to me.

Pulling my knees to my chest, I uncrumple the note he left for me, reading the words a few more times to torture myself some more. I don’t know why I do. It’s not as if the letters are going to change.

He found out about the baby, somehow. A mistake must have been made.

Gabriella had Lawrence take care of it. It isn’t in any record, and the hospital staff who dealt with me were paid off. But this is Blake Santos. He’s always made it his business to know everything about me.

A harsh knock on the door snaps me from my thoughts. I’m used to the noises here—the screams, shouting, and banging of minds losing sanity. But I’m not used to someoneknocking.That’s a privilege girls at Stonehill don’t have, and I immediately think of Blake’s games, knowing he would do something like this for effect.

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