Chapter 1
Down Again
–Chimaira
I feel dirty.But no matter how many times I wipe my hands over my jean shorts as I approach the darkened backyard, the grit remains on my sweaty skin.
Footsteps follow and dead grass crunches in the distance.
Lights burn bright over the patio, and shattered glass shimmers all across it with partially-dried brown liquid splashed beneath. I pause to bend down and grab Mom’s decorative garden stone; when I turn it over, a spot of crimson shines under the warm light.
I reach up to touch the ache on my temple, lightly grazing my fingertips over the tender spot before examining my fingers.
Crunch,crunch,crunch.
Don’t look.
If I look, I might do something Ireallyshouldn’t.
Peering through the windows, the house is dark like it was when I first arrived. Mom and Dad are out; the night is still young.
I hurry to grab a broom from the outdoor utility closet and sweep up the glass shards, then hastily uncoil the garden hose and spray the brown liquid off the porch. I take the decorative rock, spritz it clean, and set it in its rightful place in the center of the patio table. Pink-tinted water drips down my arm.
Something squeaks and flutters above me in the trees.
My gaze snaps to the figure shifting in the branches. A barred owl watches with black eyes that glitter from the porch lights, and its feathers quiver as it settles on a tree limb.
La lechuza is a barn owl, so I should be safe—but any type of owl and their hooting sets me on edge after everything that has happened. I don’t trust it enough to turn my back as I come down from the patio. When I carefully move to turn off and hang the hose where it belongs on the side of the house, the owl hoots, so loud that it feels like it’s screaming at me.
The hair on my neck stands straight up. My first instinct is to freeze and act like a statue, but my terrorized nerves demand movement. So I force my feet to go, swiftly ascending the patio stairs and floating through the backdoor in a complete daze.
Unthinking, I don’t stop until I’m standing at the front door and staring at the glass. It’s dead quiet until the sound of a car door slamming rings out like a gunshot and makes me jump. Red taillights glow in the glass, tires peel out, and the rumble of an engine recedes down the driveway.
I double check the doors are locked. Twice.
It’s not until cold water hits my skin that I’m shocked into my flesh and reanimate my body once again.
Open palmed, I pat my cheeks hard. Sprinkles of water fly into my eyes.
Wake up.Wake up!
What’s the point of being alive if I’m not here?
Get yourself together.
I take a deep, cleansing breath with eyes wide open and focused on the white panel of the shower. The water has finally warmed; steam swirls all around, reminding me I’m surrounded by light. I’m safe here.
I should be, right?
The lump in my throat grows a few sizes larger as I force myself to wash up.
After putting on fresh, clean clothes, I head to the other side of the house, rounding the corner and pausing at the doorway of New Year’s Ball Headquarters. It’s dark in the office, but Dad left the RGB strip lights on that glow in a cool blue hue. Stacks of contracts and plans are scattered over his desk and mine, and he left his beloved black acoustic Martin on his desk with strings haphazardly sticking straight up into the air, like his ADHD kicked in and he forgot he was in the middle of changing strings.
New Year’s Ball is three months away. The hurricane is right around the corner—finalizing details, double checking all our T’s are crossed and I’s dotted—so I have time to make some adjustments. I’ve pulled off crazier things in a shorter amount of time for NYB, so this year’s surprise will be a piece of cake.
I just need to keep my head down and the problematic pain in my ass away for three months.
My phone is in my purse by the front door. When I check it for notifications, Zak’s name pops up with a missed call. I make my way to my room and pause at the mirror to make sure my head injury isn’t visible before tapping the video icon under Zak’s name.