Page 70 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“Jade,” Dillon warns, but it’s too late. My body is working on its own accord. Dropping the puppy to his feet, I take off running.

“Jade!” Dillon’s voice booms. Everything seems to drag into slow motion around me as I sprint toward the small house ten yards to the left.

“Jade! Stop her! Someone grab her!”

I dart past the hands reaching out for me and ignore the humming of activity behind me.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Reaching the door, I skid to a halt and just stand there, gasping for air. My ribs protest the run, but the pain is irrelevant. I grab for the door handle and it gives under my weight.

No.

Pushing it open, I hear footfalls behind me.

“Everyone back off, back off,” Dillon warns as his heat blasts over me from behind.

“Please, let me go in, Jade.”

“I need to know they’re okay. They have to be,” I tell him, but I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s distorted, deep and broken.

“I can do that,” he says with a crack in his voice. “Let me do that for you.” His hands come down on my shoulders, but I shrug him off and step inside. The scent of lilies that always hits you in the face when you first walk into my parents’ home doesn’t fill my senses. Instead, a stomach churning scent hits me and makes me retch.

“Jade,” Dillon mutters again, his voice pained.

Every movie tells you a dead body stinks of the worst cesspool you can imagine, but the truth is, it’s a distinct, weird smell—chemicals and decomposed fruit. It’s not pleasant; it’s harsh and potent and the very thought of what it is you’re inhaling into your nose cavity is sickening.

My feet tread small steps into the living space.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

My dad’s chair comes into view. It’s positioned to face the TV—the way it always has been. The television flickers with the news channel, but there’s no sound and something is written in blood red on the screen.

MONSTERS ARE HERE!

“Daddy,” I weep, tears building and falling from my eyes as I step closer.

My heart thunders over the sound of Dillon trying to get me to stop from going any farther, but it’s like my mind has to see—has to know this is real.

My hand shakes as I reach and touch the fabric of the chair. I spin and the weight hinders it.

“Jade, baby, please.”

Stepping around the chair, my entire world crashes down around me. I collapse to the floor with a fragmented wail. “No! Oh God, no!”

He’s so blue. I reach for his hand, but snatch it back when the cold ice of death’s sting ignites up my fingertips. “He took his eyes,” I choke. There are two bloody holes where his hazel eyes should be and a crimson river from the wound on his neck.

“Where’s Mom?” I hiss into the putrid air. Clambering to my feet, I begin to search frantically.

“M-Mom…Mom…Mommy?”

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