A/N: Thank yous to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist.

xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx

He'd done it for his child and himself, not for me – taking my life, chaining me to his side. I knew it was the truth, and so did he. He'd done me no real favors, delivered no mercies…

No, he'd merely prolonged my sufferings instead.

oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo

Floating through nothingness, I swore I heard someone apologize to me, telling me he was sorry they had failed me… I tried to voice my acceptance, not knowing why he offered his regrets at all, but my body was uncooperative, dragging me further away, everything becoming darker and quieter…

A rhythmic, shrill, and continuous beeping noise in the background roused me from my dream-laced sleep.

As my eyes fluttered open, sunlight cascaded into them and I blinked several times, trying to remove the sleep that blurred my sight. My efforts were unsuccessful, so I reached my hand up to rub it away, pausing as I discovered that I was inadvertently tugging at something. What was I attached to? I pulled lightly again, trying to get my hand to my face, but whatever it was wouldn't reach that far. I struggled to make out what it was despite my inability to see – it kinda looked like a caterpillar, but that seemed unlikely. As consciousness began to settle in, I remembered that I did actually have two hands, and I swiped away the film from my eyes with the back of hand number two. Even before my vision cleared, I recognized that my eyes weren't the only thing cloudy – my head felt pretty… foggy too.

Disoriented… that was the word I'd been grasping for. I felt disoriented.

I glanced about the room, scanning my gaze from one corner all the way to the other. It was sterile-looking and painted in that off-white color that usually made people think of hospitals. He didn't… I thought as my eyes widening as I finished my panoramic intake, resting finally on the heart monitor machine to my right, and the IV bag stand beside it. The tubing led to the needle sticking out of my hand, and I waved it in front of me. Many many hands, like an array of still photos, flashed before me.

Shit.

I took a lay of the land.

Raggedy Andy – yep, I was never going to call him Eric again, not after this glaring betrayal – had brought me to a hospital, despite my protestations that he do anything but, and now I was practically high as a kite. The only thing about the situation that made me feel halfway okay, like the floor wasn't going to cave in on my life, was that Eric didn't know anything about me – not really. I hadn't even given him my last name when we met.

I breathed a quick sigh relief; he may have brought me to the hospital, but he wouldn't have been able to tell them who I was – especially since all of my money and IDs had been stolen by the woman who'd stabbed me.

Oh yeah… I'd been stabbed.

I lifted the blanket draped over me and set it aside, feeling the cool air assault my skin almost instantly. Shivering, I pulled up the hospital gown I was dressed in to inspect my wounds. I ignored the expected bruises in varying shades of color and the fading, scabbed scars to peel back the bandage. I ghosted my fingers along my newest acquisitions – two lacerations sewn up with what I hoped were dissolving stitches. Because I had no intentions of staying put any longer than I had to – and by had to, I meant however long it took to unhook myself and find acceptable clothing to walk the streets in. An open-backed hospital gown wouldn't do if I wanted to get more than twelve feet outside the building without people assuming I was an escaped mental patient. That wasn't the kind of attention I hoped to draw, not that I wanted any at all. In fact, I wanted to erase this whole trip from my mind like it had never happened.

I needed to get back to Dallas, beat my dad home from his work trip.

I felt a pervasive guilt as I planned to flee from a place that surely had come with a bill I had the means to pay – once I got a hold of new bank cards. I hated to think that hard-working people had diligently sought to save my life, and I was about to leave them high and dry, without a name or insurance information – certainly without stopping by some sort of desk to pay. Not that I could, again all of my credit cards and cash had been stolen, but I wasn't even considering making the effort – because I couldn't. Anonymity was the only thing assuring that my saved life would stay that way. My father had been more than clear what would happen if anyone ever found out about the violence in our home, or engaged the authorities, on purpose or by accident. He'd even punctuated his threats, scattered over the years, by reminding me that my life was his to take – because I belonged to him, and he had free range to treat his possessions however he wanted.

However he wanted.

I pulled my gown down, popped off the suction cups on my chest, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The IV pulled again at my hand, and I ripped it out, watching the liquid dribble slowly onto the floor. I didn't know what it was, but I imagined once I'd been without it for a while the haze in my mind would dissipate. My bare feet kissed the cold tile, and I fought back the urge to climb back under the warm blanket, tearing it from the bed instead to wrap around me. It was easier than trying to secure the back of the gown while I hunted for suitable clothing options. Mine were likely covered in blood, stained red, so those wouldn't do, even if I managed to find them. Scrubs – I needed to find a pair of scrubs, which I figured would be an easy task to accomplish, since it was a hospital and all.

But my bladder screaming its need for a reprieve had me staggering into the bathroom instead of searching for appropriate garments.

I found myself not only thankful for the ensuite bathroom but also for the private room, having heard that many facilities jammed people together, trying to capitalize on space. I shut the door and shrugged the blanket to the floor as I took care of my needs. The bathroom was a full, not a half, and I was shocked to see a floral tea dress hanging from the shower curtain rod, as if it was meant for me to find. Who had done this? In my quick musings, I'd imagined Eric had practically dumped me outside the ER before whisking away into the night, and no one else even knew I was here. I didn't trust my memories – that he had warmed to me and wished I wouldn't die – so I had to assume we were still at odds with each other. He probably hated me just as much as he had initially, maybe more.

I guessed I should've been happy I was alive at all.

But I still didn't understand the dress. So I assumed maybe it had been left by whoever had the room before me. The garment wasn't my style per se – it was a little gauche in my opinion – but it wasn't scrubs, so I figured it was the best of all alternatives. I flushed the toilet, and dropped my paper-thin hospital covering to the ground, grabbing the dress and pulling it over my head. It was a perfect fit, and I found I was grateful for the shelf bra since I didn't know where the hell my actual bra had gone off to. It even had pockets – full of cash! – I realized as I slipped my hands inside. Maybe I had a guardian angel, because someone out there was definitely looking out for me. Or maybe I'd just become an opportunistic thief.

Either way, I needed money to get home, and money was there.

It was what it was.

As I peered at myself in the mirror, I was surprised. My skin had a luminescent glow to it, and my usually sunken eyes looked bright without any makeup at all. Apparently almost dying looked good on me, but my disbelief had me checking not once or twice, but three times at a close distance in the mirror to be sure my eyes weren't mystically failing me. I traveled my gaze down to my décolletage, annoyed that the dress made my bosom look ample and buxom. Being wholly incognito was a lost cause it seemed. I was on display, but at least my butt wasn't hanging out – and I definitely didn't look like a patient.

Small mercies.

But, shoes. I needed shoes.

My bare feet demanded casings as I exited the bathroom and walked back into the room. My feet dragged along the cold floor, the drugs in my system still affecting me. As I approached the bed, although I hadn't seen them before, I spied a pair of sandals neatly aligned with the edge of bed. They, again, weren't mine, but at closer inspection they weremy size. So I slipped my feet into them, one by one, to find they were more comfortable than they looked, plush to an extent. I felt less than sure that their appearance in my room was accidental, second-guessing the dress and money as well. But I was unable to reconcile their existence with what I knew of my rescuer. Ezra's child found me obnoxious and unpalatable at best – abhorrent at worst – so whoever had been so meticulously helpful wasn't likely him.

But if it wasn't him, then who the hell was it?

I didn't know, and I couldn't bother myself to expend the time or energy to care. Future Me could mull that one over. I'd already been lucky enough that no one had noticed I'd disconnected myself from the monitors meant to alert the staff to any deteriorating conditions, so I wasn't looking to push my luck any further.

After rifling through drawers, I located some gauze scissors, cutting the ID bracelet off my wrist. I inspected it, pleased with the results – 'J. Doe.' Of course, I completely neglected to check the chart hanging off the end of the bed; in hindsight, I should've done that too. I tossed the ID bracelet into the trash after scribbling down the patient number on a torn scrap of paper I tucked into my pocket. I didn't want to carry any evidence on me that I'd been here, but I also wanted a means to pay anonymously in the future. I had some cash now, but I was going to need it to pay for cab fare to the airport, and possibly a change fee since my original flight was scheduled for Friday. Thank goodness I hadn't kept everything important in that fanny pack, like my plane ticket or my passport.

Then I'd definitely be up a creek without a paddle.

I noted that a shirt, cornflower blue, had also been shoved into the trashcan. Raggedy Andy's shirt. I grabbed it, ignoring the blood stains – my blood – and balled it up until it fit into my hand. I don't know why I wanted to keep it, but I took it with me all the same. It seemed counterintuitive to my desire to shove this whole incident under the rug, but at that moment, I blamed it on the mind-fog. Plus, its smell – his musk – was comforting.

I did a once-around the room to see if there was anything else of mine that I'd forgotten to grab.

There wasn't, but I practically flew to the bathroom to grab the blanket from the floor, folding it hastily. It wasn't a jacket, but I realized I might need something to stave off the slight chill in the air, and anything was better than nothing. I tucked the bloodied shirt under its folds before I deftly opened the door to check for personnel – visually and telepathically. Finding none, I carefully snuck around corners and down hallways until I found an unmanned, unarmed exit.

I fist-pumped my victory as I tore away from the hospital, and into the streets of New Orleans, hobbling along at a surprising clip. I'd gone completely unnoticed, been practically invisible – another skill my father had taught me, even though he hadn't done it on purpose.

I walk-ran down the street, my right hand pressed against my stomach, my sandals clicking against the concrete until I reached my hotel. Thankfully, the streets looked much more familiar in the light of day, and I found the building with relative ease. I hustled together my few belongings after grabbing a new keycard from the desk, and then signed the bill for the room. I was thankful they didn't need my credit card again, since it had been stolen, and I apologized that I was leaving a day earlier than my original booking. The concierge called me a taxi, and I waited, bag in hand, on the curb in front of the building.

Fifteen minutes later, my cab arrived, and I tucked myself and my stuff into the back seat, wincing from the slight pain in my abdomen as I did so. I let the driver know I'd pay him twice the fare if he cut the time it usually took to get to the airport in half.

I was desperate to leave New Orleans far far behind me.

He earned every cent I paid him, and less than three hours after I woke up, I was on a plane headed back to Dallas. Of course, as it turned out, I was no idea what kind of trouble was waiting for me on the other side of the state line. Had I known that, I certainly would not have rushed home.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

'When's takeoff?'… "I hope Jimmy's gonna pick me up like he promised."… 'I wonder if it's supposed to itch like that?'

I tried to listen to my music – as loudly as possible – while my plane back to Dallas was taxied on the runway, awaiting departure. I was desperate to focus my attentions on something other than the thoughts whooshing through my head or the ache radiating from my injuries. It was becoming crystal clear to me that my wounds hadn't just been superficial; I had probably had surgery. Was it even safe to fly after that? I didn't know, but I felt like it was too late to turn back now.

Even though I really wanted to; the cacophony was nearly deafening.

'Ugh, do my pits always smell like this?' … "In, one two three four five; out, one two three four five." … 'Wonder where they keep the booze.'

The IV I'd so eagerly pulled out had definitely contained some potent as hell pain medication – something I was in desperate need of. Once my numbed haze had started wearing off – about halfway to the airport – the dull stabbing sensation in my gut had started settling in. That small throbbing had been ratcheting up with each imprudent move I made. But I'd forced myself to soldier on, to don a bright, albeit tight, smile to mask any physical indications that I was anything less than in tiptop shape.

In short, I looked about a thousand times better than I felt.

'I must remember to call Fintan later.' … "Mile high club, here I fucking cum. Haha." … 'Dear Lord, please keep us safe.'

In truth, on a pain scale, the ache in my abdomen only barely eclipsed some of the smacks and jabs I'd experienced at the hands of my father. But somehow everything was still markedly different. Possibly because, much to my chagrin, my telepathic shields were all atwitter – like something had smashed up against them, weakened them. Sure, they'd failed before, but never for this long, and never like this. They were up, then down without warning – and I had no control over them at all. The inner voices of my fellow passengers had been flooding in and out of my mind at random intervals since boarding the aircraft. I could no longer tell what was being said out loud and what was not. It was my own personal, private hell.

This was not my day it seemed.

"... I shudder to think what would have happened if Breandan found her first."

His tone has sounded so alarmed, the hair prickled up on my arms and I had goosebumps. It scared me, and I reacted in kind.

"What? Who?"

I said, pulling my nearly-screaming earbuds out to address the stranger to my left whose strange utterance had captured my attention.

"I did not say anything."

He raised his eyebrow, expressively.

"You will find much easier to block out all the noise if you sleep, or take pain medication. But I'm sorry to say I can only help with the former."

The salt and pepper-haired man said in a gravelly, but tender voice, peering into my cerulean blues with his own dark but gentle eyes. He had a travel pillow held out to me that I imagined he'd pulled from his own carry-on. This flight didn't offer amenities like that.

'Wish someone'd just give me a fuckin' pillow.'

"Ummm… thank you…"

I stuttered out in response, as I accepted it.

His unsolicited advice surprised me, and seemed to carry a double meaning I was none too eager to dissect, or discuss. Much later, his words' meaning would be undeniable, easily interpreted. But in this moment, they merely confused me and threw me off-kilter.

"You are welcome…" He responded, with a wink. "No trouble at all…"

'… little fairy…'

He thought in his head as he finished out loud, "I have cases to pour over anyways. No rest for wicked it seems."

I smiled but said nothing in response, turning away to watch the plane take off.

I once again shrugged off the strange term of endearment that I'd now heard twice – the first time from Eric. Future Me could worry about whether or not it meant something more. There were too many other voices swimming in my head to even dream of being able to hear my own.

'Pulling away…' "Shame she drank the blood…" 'Fucking finally…' "Milk, eggs, bacon…" 'Shit! Forgot a mag…'

As the cabin began to decompress, a slight chill came over me. So I reached down and pulled my blanket around me, draping it over my shoulders, hugging Eric's shirt against my chest. Thankfully, my own dried blood had done nothing to override the musky scent of the sea; the smell was comforting, centering. Not a minute later, I tucked the pillow against the side of window, and slipped my earbuds back in, flipping my music player back on. Once the dulcet tones of Sarah Brightman's Time to Say Goodbye overwhelmed my senses, my eyes drooped closed almost instantly.

I fell asleep not long after that.

'I'm not gonna make my next flight at this rate.'

One of the flight attendants thought as she lightly tapped me on the shoulder to rouse me. I rubbed my eyes and removed my earbuds, stifling the urge to stretch and possibly pull at my stitches as I shook off my sleep. I quick-folded my blanket, ensuring I'd tucked Eric's shirt inside, and disengaged the seatbelt. Rising from my seat to peer about the cabin, I noted I was going to be the last person to deplane.

"Mr. Cataliades… your seatmate," the flight attendant offered as my brow furrowed in confusion, "asked me to wait until everyone else was gone to wake you."

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

I appreciated gesture more than he would ever know – getting bumped trying to fight my way up cluttered aisle would've probably been painful. Plus, skin to skin contact sometimes made it harder to block people's thoughts – and I was already having enough trouble as it was.

"He also said to let you know you can keep the pillow."

"Thank you. But I don't need it. Is there any way you can get it back to him?"

I held the pillow out to her gingerly, treating it with care, and she accepted it with a broad smile.

"Sure!" She said cheerfully, "He flies with this route a lot…"

'Such a great guy.'

Not too long later, I was riding in the backseat of a taxi, my bag in the trunk, as we barreled down highway 75 towards my home.

Before I left the airport, I'd made a quick stop at one of the many convenience locations in DFW. I'd purchased a small bottle of pain reliever, swallowing two times the recommended dosage. The reward had been worth the risk to my liver just to get my shields stable and mostly back into place – which they now were. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had conquered the world. Sure, I'd gotten hurt – and I was still hurting – but no one knew. And with my dad still gone for at least another day, which meant I could close up any loose ends – pay the hospital bills, etc. – without having to worry about being eavesdropped on, getting caught. I expected my mother to question why I'd come home early, but I intended to pass it off as homesickness.

It was only a little white lie – I had missed my sister Ginny.

My music playlist turned over, playing Time to Say Goodbye once again, as the cab turned onto my street. I smiled as I bobbed my head along to Sarah Brightman's ethereal voice, even as the taxi pulled up into my driveway. I paid, and slipped out of the cab, dancing up the driveway with luggage in tow. The tune ended almost the very second I placed my hand on the backdoor.

The song had been quite portentous, as it turned out. Something I didn't realize until it was far too late.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

By the time I got home, sunset was maybe only a couple hours or less away.

It was funny to me how I'd started noticing that sort of thing ever since I became friends with Ezra. I wondered if he'd want to go running since I'd come back to Dallas early. I made a mental note to call him once the sun fully descended.

Being a vampire, I couldn't imagine he'd wake up any earlier.

I stepped inside the back door and shrugged off my sandals onto the tile floor, so that I could quietly tip-toe upstairs. Once I reached my room, I slipped inside and made quick work to undo what had been my too eventful trip to New Orleans. Before anything else, I divested myself of the floral tea dress I'd found in to the hospital, and tugged on some terry cloth shorts and a black tank top. Then I flopped my suitcase onto the bed, to undo my hurried packing job.

As I hastily put up my travel things, I heard a soft knock at my bedroom door.

"Addy?" I heard my mother call out sweetly, "Is that you?"

I threw my remaining travel clothes into the hamper, and tucked the dress I'd found at the hospital and Eric's bloodied shirt under my mattress. I'd figure out what I was going to do with them later. I popped the purchased pill bottle into my pocket – no harm in having my pain relief close at hand.

I walked over to the door, and gingerly opened it halfway, popping my head through the small space.

"It's me. I decided to come home a day early. Homesickness," I offered by way of an excuse as she quirked a brow, "Is there something you needed?"

"Can I come in? I'd like to talk to you," She said, placing her manicured hand on the edge of the door, but not pushing at it.

I stepped away from the door, opening it fully, and gestured with the sweep of my arm for her to come in. She ambled into the room behind me as I walked towards the bed, leaving the door open. As I turned around to face my mother, to engage her in conversation, she poked me roughly in the gut, and I shrieked loudly as pain bombarded through me and threatened to drop me to my knees.

But even on shaky legs, I managed to stand tall as she quickly pulled her hand away. I could feel wetness dripping down my stomach. I knew without checking that her unexpected assault had broken some, if not all of my newly formed scabs and stitches. I resisted the urge to wrap my arm around my waist, to press against my wound to staunch the pain – it hadn't worked in New Orleans, and I doubted it would work now.

I hadn't even processed my mother's shocking actions before she hissed out at me, with fear in her tone and tears spilling from her eyes.

"When the doctor called and said your so-called brothers," She finger-quoted, "dropped you off at the hospital in New Orleans, I was so sure, so sure they'd made a mistake. But it's true then? You let yourself get stabbed in New Orleans!?"

My eyes widened in shock and panic traveled through the expanse of my body, and her words settled within me – although, at the time, her 'brothers' comment failed to land. I felt dumbstruck, and caught off-guard, cemented to the position I had taken, cowering under my normally placid mother. I didn't know what to do; I didn't know what to say.

So that was my response – a whole lotta nothing.

"C'mon Addy, can't you do anything right?! Anything at all?! You know your father's sanity is hanging by a thread most times! Thank GOD he's out of town, and wasn't here to get the call from the fucking hospital!"

Her volume crescendoed from a normal volume to an all-out roar, capturing the attention of my little sister, who trepidatiously padded into my room. Her brown eyes glistened as they consumed the scene set before her. Our mother stood towering over me, and I was shaking – partially from my aggravated wound, but mostly out of fear.

I tried not to look as pathetic as I felt – to be strong for my younger sister – but I imagined that I failed miserably.

"Mom, what's going on?"

Ginny whispered softly, trembling lightly.

I regretted the tears I saw slip down her cheeks. As always, I wanted to scoop her into my arms and protect her, but I couldn't – not without making matters worse. My mother had never yelled at me before, not in seventeen years – despite everything my father had put her through. I imagined she had a lot to get off her chest, and I was okay letting her direct her anger at me. In fact, I felt like I needed to play the villain and suffer my mother's pent-up wrath, so that everything could go back to normal. So that we could get to the other side of my mistake – not that I truly believed I had done anything at all to deserve her ire.

What I was willing to accept blame for wasn't always my fault.

"Go to your room," My mother growled at my sister, her tear-filled eyes flitting with darkness, "I'm dealing with your insolent, disobedient sister," She turned back to me, "You had one job! ONE JOB!"

"I didn't mean to…"

I mumbled, tears pricking at the edges of my blue eyes. If she had even heard my small protestation, she ignored it, and continued her spontaneous tirade. My mother didn't even wait for Ginny to leave, as if she had already forgotten about her altogether.

"You've got a good thing here, Addy! We all do! Why're you trying to mess it up you're going to ruin this for all of us?!"

Her rant broke my will to be submissive, and bear her anger. A good thing?! She thought getting hit, and belittled was a good thing?!

"How can you say that?! He abuses us, acts like he owns us – like we're just his possessions!"

I screeched back, inexplicably finding my strength.

My mother stumbled a few steps back from me, surprised that I had shouted at her. As far as she knew, I'd never yelled at anyone before. The good little Harding girls were supposed to be seen, and not heard.

But not a second later, it appeared it was my turn to be knocked back, off-kilter.

"You are… just a possession, I mean."

Her timbre was drained of emotion, cold and shallow.

"What?"

I squeaked out, suddenly feeling tiny and insignificant.

"We bought you."

She wiped away her previous tears with the cuff of her blouse, sweeping her fingers under her eyes to remove any stray trails of mascara. Pulling a compact from her pocket, she confirmed that she'd been successful, dabbing the smallest bit of powder about her t-zone to reset her face. Sufficiently 'pulled together,' she continued to explain.

"You're just something we own, something we needed to go along with the white picket fence and the shiny sedans. Two point five and all. Not Ginny though. Second times the charm, I guess …"

"What're you saying?"

My voice trembled as tears spilled down my face. Ginny made a move towards me, but I ushered her away, waving my hand at her from my side. 'But Addy…' She thought at me, and I shook my head, my meaning clear – Go, I'll be okay. She light-toed it out of the room, my mother none the wiser.

Small mercies.

"Oh, Addy, don't pretend you didn't know," She sneered at me, tapping the temple of her head as if she expected me to fill in the blanks for her, but while I had an inkling at what she was saying, I needed to hear it – for her to say it plainly. "You were fucking adopted, you idiot! We didn't even get to name you! Soo-key; what kind of dumb, backwater hick name is that anyways!?"

And there it was. The truth.

I gaped my surprise.

"Oh close your mouth, for Christ's sake! You knew! How could you not? You're a fucking mind-reader!"

I hadn't known – not really; her utterance blindsided me.

My glass house shattered, but I didn't have time to freak out, or even fully absorb my mother's – Paige's, I guess – words. Because not one second later, "PAIGE! WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?" echoed through the house as my father – Henry – home inexplicably early from his business trip, stormed across the first floor's hardwoods and stomped up the stairs.

Paige shoved me behind her, as he bounded into my room, and I crouched down to hide behind her. She had just admitted that I wasn't her biological child – maybe she had only claimed to love me – but she still acted like a mother hen towards me all the same.

"Henry…" she sputtered out, trying to regain her composure and steel her triggered nerves. She smoothed at her dress, and donned a bright, tight smile, "You're home early!"

"Can it, Paige! Where is the little bitch!?"

He bit out, and I could see despite my obfuscated view that his hands were fisted at his sides.

Somehow, he had to have heard about the hospital; there was no doubt in my mind that it was the cause of his latest unhinging. I didn't need to see his eyes to know his thoughts were clouded black, that his monster had been unleashed. I dropped my shields, and his murderous thoughts assaulted me. He didn't just intend to teach me a lesson I'd never forget, he wanted to choke the life out of me until I turned blue. He pictured it with an attention to detail that terrified me.

It wasn't an empty threat; if I didn't get the hell outta here, he was going to kill me.

My flight response kicked in, and I tore through the vanity room door on the side of my room. I launched myself towards the stairs. I had to run, run as far away as I could from the house. My mind felt hazy from the throbbing pain in my belly, but I found the strength to remain focused – on my safety, on my sister's.

"GINNY, LOCK YOUR DOOR!"

I screamed as I reached the stairs, smiling as I heard the slam and the tell-tale click that told me her position was fortified. I'd come back for her to take her away from this hell, with Ezra at my side, just as soon as night fell – like I should've done years ago, I chided myself. I'd never even told my friend about the horrors I'd faced, but I would eat crow tonight. A vampire could beat a human monster, I was sure of it. Mistakes and lies, those were all I had up until now. But I would get away, I would make things right – once and for all.

WHAM!

I felt Henry rabbit-punch me – side-chop me in the back of my neck – which caused me to topple halfway down the stairs. One of my shoulders got knocked out of socket, my left ankle twisted like a Twizzler, and one of my stitches definitely busted open, but it didn't slow me down. My vision danced with bright stars as I dragged myself to my feet at the bottom of the stairs. The influx of adrenaline beat back the agony that, in all truth, should've reduced me to my knees. I limped at the fastest clip I could muster, reaching the middle of the kitchen before I was grabbed roughly by the waist from behind.

Shit.

Henry wrenched me around and slammed me into the wall, caging me in between his arms.

"You and your little fucking lies! Your fucking doctor called CPS! They think I'VE been abusing you! After all I've done for you, YOU SPIT IN MY FACE! Is that what you wanted, you little bitch?! To embarrass me and your mother like you always do?! NEVER AGAIN! YOU'LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN!"

He pulled me forwards to slam me back again, and my head bounced off the textured wallpaper like it was a red rubber ball. In less than a second, his hand was clutched tightly around my neck. He pressed my body back against the wall and lifted me from the floor. I clawed at his hand, my skin burning from his touch, and I tried him with kick my legs. But my adrenaline high had gone, so my efforts died almost as quickly as they started. I squeezed my eyes shut as I gasped for air like a fish flopping around on a dock.

Out of nowhere, I saw Paige jump on Henry's back. She hit him over and over as hard she could, but he pushed her back a couple of steps, and knocked her on her butt. She pressed herself back to her feet and went at him again. But this time, he batted her away like a fly, shoving her hard into the kitchen's island counter. Paige – my mother – elicited an ear-piercing howl before crumbling to the floor. Ginny popped up out of nowhere to help her, and me.

Nooooo… I cried out in my head.

I tried to summon everything within me to fight again, to pull every ounce of strength I had into one metaphysical spot. Because maybe just maybe, if I could beat him off, I could save us all. I felt a surge of power, and then Henry's grip eased, and fell – his eyes wide as saucers. When he released me, I didn't collapse to the floor as I would've expected. Instead it was like I was suspended in jello or something, floating off of the ground. I saw Henry cowering, curled into a ball at my feet.

I imagined I was hallucinating. So I paid the whole scene much less than mind than I probably should have, let myself act purely on instinct.

As I succumbed to the feelings welling up within me, I realized my entire body was being engulfed by a white hot light, my skin tingling and itching from the heat. I was lit up like a Christmas tree... like Tinkerbell, in that Peter Pan-ish movie I'd seen starring Robin Williams – like a fairy. The revelation hit me like a ton of bricks to the head – hard and without time to dodge the blow.

Ohhhh…!

Many things I had heard made more sense, even if I couldn't fully comprehend their meaning in that exact moment.

The light culminated, and then exploded out of me in a ring of fire, encompassing the space. I heard the chilling cries of my family around me, screaming in my ears, as I fell to the ground, exhausted and spent. I blinked several times, feeling a cool wetness dribbling down my cheek, and struggling to see past the billowing smoke cloud obscuring my vision. I laid there for several minutes, trying to still my rapidly beating heart. Every nerve I had was on edge, like I had been electrocuted.

I guess, in a way, I had been.

"Mom?"

I whisper-yelled, hoping I'd actually managed to kill Henry. I refused to feel bad about it; he'd deserved that, and worse.

I thrust my uninjured arm beneath me to raise myself from the floor, using the wall behind me for balance. I stumbled a bit on my mangled ankle and fell right back onto my butt, yelping instinctively as it hit the floor. The pain in my stomach spiked, and I hugged my injured arm against the spot, shooting searing pain through me once more. I bit my lip, hard, trying to summon the strength to push the agony back – or really just trying to distract myself.

It didn't work.

"Paige!"

I hissed through gritted teeth at a more elevated volume than my previous utterance, coughing from the smoke had finally begun to dissipate.

My heart leapt in my throat as I consumed the gruesome scene before me.

Bodies.

Bodies lay around me.

Stilled, rigid, eyes and mouths opened wide…

… little billows of smoke rising from their chests.

Dead bodies.

Acidic bile crept up my throat and I retched over and over until I had nothing left in me to expel. My throat burned something fierce, and while I physically felt it, metaphysically I was numb. I could barely process the scene laid out before me, let alone try to emotionally digest it.

Henry… Paige… Ginny…

All of them.

Dead.

Tears spilled from my eyes in hordes, and instantly I became a blubbering mess, unable to catch my breath. I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering 'no, no, no, no, no' over and over, at a crescendoing volume.

Ginny… My sister.

Ginny… My best friend.

Ginny… My heart.

I'd failed her. I'd killed her. Them.

All of them.

Including Ginny.

Guilt vice-gripped my mind, and on a pin, my thoughts turned suicidal. I wanted to be dead, and anywhere but here. Anywhere. I squeezed my eyes shut, digging my nails into my arms as I hugged myself close. The pain didn't register, none of it – from my arms or my bleeding abdomen.

Numbness had set it.

POP.

The noise startled me, and I fell over – noting something wet and sharp below me. As I peeled my eyes open, I realized somehow I'd been transported to the edge of White Rock Lake. While the rippling waves bespeckling the man-made lake usually comforted me, now they seemed to be taunting me instead. They reminded me with each curl and spit that I had taken something precious, as beautiful as nature itself, out of this world – Ginny.

Intentionally, unintentionally – those were just words.

It had happened all the same.

I sat up swiftly – ignoring the sharp pain the action drew from my shoulder and stomach. Something jostled in my pocket from my rapid movement. I thrust my hand inside, and it emerged with a rattling case – my pain pills. The pills I had taken to abate… my… pain. In seconds, I had tossed the childproof cap aside and downed the whole bottle, cupping at the swamp-like lake water to wash the chalky tablets down. I choked on the dirty liquid, and coughed, reflexively pulling up on my haunches.

But the pills stayed down all the same.

I laid down in the dewy grass next to the embankment, obviated by shrubs and trees. I thrust my legs out before me, and crossed my arms over my chest. I closed my eyes as twilight descended, breathing deeply over and over, and tried to will myself into oblivion, even though I had no doubts that my overdose would kill me in time. I wanted to slip away with some modicum of peace, drift into a wakeless, dreamless sleep – even if I was sure I deserved to suffer like hell instead. Perhaps that's what awaited me on the other side. But I wasn't nervous; I was ready to meet my maker, atone and pay for my sins.

Yes, I thought, Sarah Brightman had been right – it was time to say goodbye.