And here's Chapter 4. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far-all three of you. Leave a review if you like this one. The next chapter should be up by the end of January.

Enjoy!

Merrill had received more than a few frantic late-night phone calls from his brother in his lifetime, both with good news and bad news. He'd been woken up by the phone ringing the night Graham got engaged; he'd been woken up again to be told he had a nephew and a niece. And of course, over eighteen months ago now, he'd received a call from his brother, with a voice that was dangerously flat, to say that Colleen had been in some kind of car accident.

But he'd never had a call like this, and he'd never driven so fast in his life. He glanced at Isabelle, next to him. She was staring at her cell phone, which she was clutching as though someone might snatch it away. He watched her lips move and knew she was counting things silently. He watched her for a moment, and wished there was something he could say to comfort her, but knew that there was nothing he could think of, not when his own mind was going insane with thoughts of what could be happening at the Hess farm.

The corn crops were swaying ominously, even though the night was still, as the car pulled up outside the farm. Isabelle was half out the door before Merrill could even cut the engine, and he had to swing himself out to keep up with her.

Isabelle was already ringing the doorbell, leaning her whole weight against it. Merrill strained his ears, but there was no screaming emanating from the depths of the building. In fact, the whole house seemed eerily silent, though the windows were blazing with light. Isabelle shot Merrill an anxious glance and leaned on the doorbell again, until the whole house rang with the sound.

The door was yanked open by Morgan, his eyes wide, and Merrill's eyes flickered to his nephew's hands-Morgan was clutching his inhaler with a death grip. "Morgan." Merrill's hands found his nephew's shoulders. "Morgan. What's happened?"

Morgan was gasping for breath and Isabelle' hand began rubbing circles on his back. "Easy, Morgan, easy-"

Morgan nodded, still gasping. "It's-Bo-upstairs-"

Merrill started towards the stairs, with Isabelle and Morgan following behind. He could hear his brother's voice from the hallway and halfway up the steps, he broke into a run.

Morgan had never been quite so glad to see his uncle and aunt, as he was right now. Something about them being here felt right, felt better, even as he knew they probably didn't have any more idea how to help his sister than he did. But Isabelle knew about psychology-maybe she'd have some idea, some way to snap his little sister out of it...

He followed his uncle up the stairs, until they reached his sister's bedroom. His father was kneeling on the carpet, leaning close to his daughter. Bo stood still, staring straight ahead, eyes glassy.

"Bo?" His father's voice was tight and he rubbed his hand over his face, as if clearing his brain. "Bo, sweetheart, say something-"

Morgan heard Isabelle gasp as she entered the room. She stared around, her eyes taking in the mess of glass that covered the floor.

Merrill exhaled, his hand on Isabelle's arm. "Jesus."

Six water glasses lay shattered on the floor, their shards scattered across the carpet. Water pooled out of them, sinking into the floor below, along with Bo's duvet, which had been yanked from her bed, and several drawings which had been ripped down from her door.

But far more worrying than that, was the blood running from Bo's foot, mixing with the water, spreading over the floor like a grotesque flood, along with her strange, dead-eyed stare. It looked as though everything that made Bo herself had been drained out of her, leaving an empty shell behind.

"What happened?" Isabelle, whose voice Morgan would have expected to be high or panicked, was instead deadly calm as she crouched down beside her niece, her hand on the little girl's arm.

Graham didn't take his eyes from his daughter's face. "She started screaming" he said, his voice a little above a whisper. "She's never screamed in her life before. I came upstairs, and her room was like this. She just kept smashing the glasses. She didn't-" He broke off, staring at his daughter, and Morgan was horrified to see his father's eyes were glistening with tears.

"She doesn't look like Bo." Graham's voice caught in his throat. "She doesn't look like herself. And then she just stood there. That's how she's been ever since."

Isabelle didn't move. "Bo?" Her voice was low. "Bo, can you hear me?"

Morgan held his breath. There was silence. Bo's eyes were fixed on some point in the distance, a more frightening version of the way she'd looked when she'd first come across the dead birds, a week earlier.

Merrill placed his hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Are you OK?" His uncle's voice was quiet, and Morgan nodded, more for the sake of keeping the peace than anything else. Such peace as there was.

He couldn't take his eyes off his sister. Usually, she was asking him questions constantly, tugging at his hand, wanting to play a game with him. And he was the one telling her he didn't have time right now, that he wanted to be alone, that he was too old to be playing with his kid sister. And now-now he'd play games forever, listen to her conversations for the rest of his life, just to hear her voice again. Just to know she was OK.

But she didn't say anything.

Isabelle stared at her. "Bo?" When there was no answer, she laid her hand on her niece's shoulder gently. "Bo?"

Bo's head turned slowly to look at her. There was no expression on her face. Isabelle leaned closer, cautiously. "Bo?"

Bo's mouth opened, and Morgan clapped his hands to his ears just in time.

The sound that emerged from Bo's mouth was spine-tingling, raising the hairs on the back of Morgan's neck. It was the most blood-curdling scream that Morgan had ever heard, and it went on and on, the high notes ringing off the walls of the bedroom, echoing throughout the house, far louder than Bo had ever screamed in her life. It didn't stop and Morgan tightened his hold on his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. The sound made him feel as if he was being twisted from the inside out, twisted and squeezed and crushed, and he felt the same way he had the night his mother had died, when he'd wanted to die to stop the pain in his chest.

Isabelle too had her hands clapped over her ears, and was staring at her niece with her eyes stretched wide. Merrill's mouth had fallen open and Graham was staring at his daughter, while his hands hovered over Bo's shoulders, as though longing to take away whatever hurt her this much.

Bo's scream went on and on and on, until finally, her voice went hoarse, and her head fell back, her hair sticking to her forehead, damp with sweat. A strange sound came from low in her throat and her head fell forward, her hair sticking to her face, her arms limp at her sides.

Isabelle's voice was tremulous. "Graham. Graham, I think we need to take her to a hospital-Jesus, Graham-"

At that, Bo's head suddenly lifted. But her eyes were wide and tear-filled-not the strange, dead glance she had worn up until that moment. "D-Daddy?" Her voice shook, as she looked around anxiously for her father.

Graham blinked. "I'm here, sweetheart-"

Bo glanced around. "Daddy, why's my room all messy?"

Morgan glanced straight at his father, and their gazes met. The eye contact lasted less than a second but it was enough to confirm Morgan's belief that his father was now as worried as he was.

Graham stared at her. "You-do you not remember anything, honey?"

Bo shook her head, as her face crumpled. "Daddy, I'm wet-"

"That's the water, honey-"

"No, I-"

But Bo was pointing at her dress, which was soaked and Morgan realised she'd wet herself-though Bo had been toilet-trained since the age of three.

"Dad-" he said quietly, indicating Bo's dress. "Look-"

But Graham was already looking. "God." The word was a breath and he looked up at his daughter's face. Bo was now crying in earnest.

"I'm sorry, Daddy-"

"No, sweetheart, no-" Graham moved towards her and Bo let out a gasp of pain. Graham's gaze drifted to her foot, and Isabelle let out a low moan at the sight of the cut in her niece's skin.

"We need to get that checked out." Graham held out his hands to his daughter. "It's all right, sweetheart. You're safe now. It's OK. You're with us."

Isabelle dared to touch her niece's shoulder and her voice was low. "It's OK. It's OK. You're with us. It's all right, sweetheart, it's OK-"

Graham's arms slid around Bo's waist as he lifted her. "Let's get you cleaned up, sweetheart-" He began to carry her to the bathroom, Isabelle following. "Graham, she might need-" She glanced at Bo urgently. "The cut on her foot-a doctor might need to look at that."

Graham chewed his lip-something Morgan hadn't seen his dad do in over a year. "Let's look at it. See if there's any glass in it. If there is-"

He left the rest of the sentence unspoken, but Morgan clenched his fists as Graham carried his sister towards the bathroom. Isabelle glanced over her shoulder nervously, before following them.

Merrill pushed his hand through his hair, before letting out a shaky breath. "God-"

Morgan stared at his uncle. "I know."

Merrill was already pulling at the duvet. "I guess we should try to get some of this cleared up-" He held his hand out warningly to his nephew. "Don't try to touch the glass-"

Morgan stared at his uncle as he crossed to the doorway. "What do you think's wrong with her?"

Merrill stopped dead with his back to Morgan. He had no idea what expression was on his uncle's face.

Merrill turned back to look at him slowly, and his eyes were more serious than Morgan had ever seen them.

Or at least, since those nights over a year ago. Those nights, that Morgan had tried his best to push out of his memory.

"I don't know, Morgan." Merrill pushed his hands through his hair and Morgan wondered if his uncle had ever hated admitting anything more.

The room was dark, shadows creeping in from the corners, the only light from the nightlight nestled in the corner. Graham sat in a chair, watching his daughter, who lay slumped in the bed, her hair blanketing the pillow beneath her.

Bo was lost in slumber now, her head pillowed on her cheek as usual, curled into a ball beneath the blankets. She was facing the wall, dressed in a clean nightgown, tucked under Graham's blanket, in his bed. He sat at the side, watching her sleep.

When Bo had been a baby, Graham had always joked that he and Colleen would have worried that she was mute, had it not been for her occasional laughter. She cried so little, and was so peaceful, that he'd considered himself lucky. Morgan had been a colicky baby, with frequent fits of crying that lasted, at times, for hours, and Graham had just thought himself and Colleen lucky that Bo appeared quieter.

And as she'd grown older, she'd never thrown tantrums. Oh, she might have the occasional strop, the occasional pushed-out lip, but she'd never screamed, never thrown herself to the floor and howled, like most toddlers. Never done anything like she had, tonight.

Even thinking back to those moments, a few hours ago, sent a shiver down his spine.

There was a movement in the doorway and Graham turned to see his younger brother. Merrill's eyes flickered towards the bed and then back to Graham, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"How long's she been like that?" His voice was a whisper.

Graham sighed. "A while. She nodded off a few hours ago. But she's been peaceful."

Merrill nodded, still pulling at his lip with his teeth. Graham had seen that expression on his brother's face before. He'd seen it when Merrill was eight, and their parents had been screaming at each other through the wall, and Merrill had huddled into Graham's bed with him, his hands pressed over his ears. He'd seen it when his little brother had been slumped outside the principal's office, waiting for Graham to take him home, after being dragged into another fight. He'd seen it when Merrill had been leaning back against Graham's feet staring at the wall, after his first serious girlfriend had broken up with him.

Graham knew this look, and he sighed, getting up to place his hand on his brother's shoulder. "How's Isabelle?"

Isabelle had remained in the room with Bo while she went to sleep, her eyes narrowed as she stared at her niece, watching her intently. But Graham had insisted she go downstairs once Bo was asleep, telling her she'd already done more than enough and she needed to get some rest. At one in the morning, two and a half hours before, Isabelle had finally obliged, and Graham hadn't seen her since.

Merrill shook his head. "She was on the couch when I came up here. Morgan's asleep."

Graham nodded. "Good."

Merrill bit his lip. "What happened to her, Graham?"

Graham didn't pretend not to know what his brother was talking about. "I don't know." He passed a hand over his face, wondering if it was possible to be more worried about his daughter than he already was. "Isabelle thinks she needs to talk to someone."

Merrill, to his surprise, nodded. "Maybe."

Graham sighed. "Maybe I need to talk to a psychologist. Find out why she might be doing this."

Merrill chewed at his lip. "Something's wrong." He ducked his head forward, and Graham could see the tension in his younger brother's shoulders. "Something's wrong with this, Graham."

Graham couldn't do anything but nod.

Merrill hadn't wanted him to leave Bo, but Graham had insisted on walking his brother downstairs-Bo was lost in her dreams. Merrill was still glancing anxiously over his shoulder when they paused in the family room doorway.

"Oh-" Merrill stopped dead as his eyes landed on Isabelle, who lay curled up on the couch. She was clutching a cushion like a comfort blanket, her eyes closed. She had obviously fallen asleep there, and Graham smiled, remembering how when Isabelle was a little girl, she had often nodded off on Colleen's lap, her head on her big sister's shoulder.

Merrill stepped forward, sinking to his knees beside his girlfriend. "Izzy?" He touched her shoulder tentatively. "Izzy?" He stared up at Graham. "I don't want to wake her."

Graham had seen his brother go through a lot of girlfriends-a couple had been more serious than others. But most had been girls who'd been with him for a couple of weeks, maybe a few months at most. Nothing too dramatic had happened-just things seemed to fizzle out with Merrill, and he never seemed to miss them, not badly. The couple of times Graham had seen his brother really upset over any relationship, it had only taken a few weeks before he'd been over it, and Graham had wondered several times if his little brother simply wasn't the type to settle down, simply wasn't the type to fall in love.

But Graham could safely say he'd never seen his younger brother look at anyone the way he looked at Isabelle. He'd never heard the same tenderness in his brother's voice with anyone else, never seen him stare at anyone as though they were the only person in the world.

He remembered the whispered conversation he and Merrill had had that night, over a year ago now, with Isabelle slumped asleep between them. Though, near the end, Graham had had slight doubts about how genuine his sister-in-law's sleep was-there'd been a flicker of her eyelids, a slight tension in her shoulders that made him think she may be hearing more than he'd previously thought. But he'd watched his younger brother's arm fall around Isabelle's shoulders, and he'd watched the look in his eyes as he stared at her, and he'd known, perhaps even before his brother, that this was different to anything else Merrill had ever experienced with anyone.

Merrill stared at her. "I don't want her to wake up" he said again, his hand lingering on his girlfriend's hair.

Graham watched his brother for a long moment, before saying "You can sleep here. If you carry her upstairs-"

He watched as Merrill carefully slid Isabelle into his arms. He barely flinched at the weight as he stood up, Isabelle's head nestled beneath his shoulder. She murmured something into his shirt, and Merrill whispered back to her. "It's OK...it's OK..."

Graham watched as Merrill carried her up the stairs, his hold as tender as if he was carrying a baby. Isabelle's eyes didn't flicker once, her arm looped loosely around Merrill's neck, as he carried her.

In the guest room, Merrill lowered her gently to the bed, removing her shoes quietly, and stroking the hair off her face, before gently pulling the blanket over her.

Isabelle shifted, murmuring something, and Merrill's hand moved to her hair, his lips at her ear. "Shh, sweetheart-" His arm slid around her, holding her to him, and Isabelle stilled immediately, her face relaxing as she slid back into sleep. Graham watched as Merrill stared at her for a long moment, before slowly pressing his lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss.

Graham stood in the doorway, watching the way Merrill's eyelids drooped as he stretched out next to Isabelle, his head sinking onto the pillow. "Get some sleep, Merrill." His voice was soft.

Merrill nodded. "I'm not tired." His voice held no conviction and Graham raised an eyebrow. "Try, anyway."

He turned to his own bedroom, and waited for a few moments before turning back to face the doorway.

He smiled wryly. Merrill was already asleep, his head pillowed on his arm, his eyes shut, his arm draped across Isabelle's shoulders. The two of them looked for a moment like sleeping children, their heads drooped, their chests rising and falling slowly. Graham pulled the door closed softly, eager not to wake them, before he turned away.

Back in his own bedroom, he sank down on the bed beside his daughter, examining her with his eyes as she slept. He bit his lip, a trait he unconsciously shared with his younger brother.

"What's happening to you?" The words were a whisper and it took Graham a moment to realise he'd spoken aloud.

Bo didn't stir, her head slumped on her shoulder. Graham sighed and leaned his head on the pillow next to his daughter, positioning himself to be aware of any night-time wanderings. He closed his eyes, his hand touching his daughter's, waiting to see what the morning would bring.

Isabelle wasn't aware of being awake for several moments. Her eyes remained shut and she let herself drift , relaxing in the familiar feel of Merrill's arm draped over her, the feeling of his pulse, echoing faintly in her ears. She shifted, her ear against his chest, her arms slipping under his.

It was only then that her eyes flickered open, and she glanced around the room, puzzled. She glanced down at herself, blinking at her clothes, before her eyes landed on Merrill next to her.

Merrill's eyes were closed, his hand ghosting her hip, his body heavy with sleep. Isabelle watched as he murmured something before slipping back into his dreams. She smiled-it was rare that Merrill let anyone but her see this side of himself. He looked more vulnerable-almost like a child, asleep, not that she'd ever tell him.

She pressed her lips to his forehead gently before moving further into his arms, where she watched the shadows creep across the ceiling, her mind teeming with images of the night before, of Bo's eyes, lost in space.

She'd never seen her niece look like that before, and it still made her shiver to think about it. She curled closer to Merrill, hoping the little girl had gotten a good night's sleep, had been able to rest-though somehow she doubted a good night's sleep would be the only thing to put Bo to rights.

She bit her lip, knowing the only thing to do would be what she had suggested to Graham last night-take Bo to a psychologist, and have her assessed. What for, Isabelle had no idea-her psychology courses weren't that advanced. She wrapped her arms around Merrill's neck, trying to keep as still as possible. She wondered if it was possible to burst a vein worrying about someone.

She watched Merrill's face idly, as he slept, wondering what he was dreaming. She nestled her head under his chin, and closed her eyes, drifting back into sleep, though with a pucker in her forehead that, had anyone been awake to see, would have betrayed her anxieties all too clearly.

"You OK?" was the first question out of Merrill's mouth when he opened his eyes the next morning. Isabelle was leaning against him, one hand in his hair, and her eyes fixed on him, as if he might evaporate if she didn't watch him hard enough.

She nodded, slowly. "What time did I crash out?"

Merrill shrugged. "You were asleep when I came down from seeing Graham. Carried you up here."

She blinked, her hand now stroking his cheek. "You crashed out, too?"

Merrill nodded, brushing his lips across her hair. "Is Bo OK?" Her voice was a whisper as his mouth moved to hers'.

"She's asleep. Graham stayed up with her. She's in his room." He kissed her again, reassuring himself of her presence, running his hands through her hair.

Isabelle sighed. "You think she needs to talk to someone?" The question hovered in the air between them.

Merrill shrugged, his shoulders rising and dropping quickly. "Maybe. I think Graham said he was keeping her off school today."

Isabelle nodded. "Probably for the best."

Merrill took her in, his eyes raking over the shadows at the tops of her cheeks, the way she blinked bemusedly. "You should take the day off."

Isabelle shook her head, but any attempt at protest was cut off by a yawn. "I've got to work-"

Merrill sighed, his arms sliding around her shoulders. "No, you haven't. You wouldn't focus, anyway. It's up to you."

"Oh, thanks, Merrill."

Merrill blinked. "What?"

Isabelle stared at him. "It's up to you, Isabelle." Gee, thanks for the permission."

"God, I was just-"

"Yeah, well, you know what, you didn't need to."

"What does that even mean?" Merrill stared at her. "Seriously. What does that even mean?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "The way you said it. Like you know, you were doing me a favour."

Merrill stared at her. "Jesus Christ. It was just a suggestion." His own voice was sharp and there was a moment of hot anger as the two of them glared at each other. In the midst of it all, he had the odd thought that even glaring at him like this, her jaw set, Izzy was still utterly beautiful and at the same time as wanting to yell, he had to fight the impulse to yank her to him and kiss her.

After a moment, Isabelle's shoulders went limp, as if a sudden exhaustion had slammed into her. "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry, Merrill-" She was staring up at him as if she'd slapped him, her eyes soft, touching his hands just as tenderly. "Merrill, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry-" She stared at him. "I don't even know why I'm yelling at you-"

Merrill nodded slowly, but he slid his hands out from under her touch. "Fine." For some reason, the word bit in his throat and he couldn't bring himself to look at her. He slid his arm out from under her shoulders.

Isabelle's expression clouded over. "Merrill?"

He slid off the bed, heading for the door. He couldn't look at her and he didn't know why.

Graham stared at his daughter. "You slept through last night."

Bo nodded, taking a sip of orange juice. Her large, solemn eyes were fixed on Graham's face. She didn't look any different from usual. She looked just like Bo-which was what made the events of the previous night so hard to understand.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Isabelle and Merrill were seated on either side of him, both of them having taken the day off work and school respectively. There seemed to be an oddly forced silence between them, however, and Graham couldn't help noticing that they seemed to be avoiding looking at one another. Usually, he'd have been concerned-today, however, he had bigger issues on his mind.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked next.

Bo nodded slowly. "A bit." She stared at her father, eyes disconcertingly peaceful.

Graham chewed his lip before asking the next question. "Do you remember anything about last night?"

Bo frowned, her forehead creasing. "I remember screaming."

Graham nodded, exchanging a quick glance with Merrill and Isabelle. "Do you remember what you were screaming about?"

Bo paused for a moment, and then shook her head. "No. I remember waking up."

"Waking up?"

"This morning." Bo shifted back and forth. She looked just the same as she always did, if a little paler than usual. She rocked back and forth on her chair, her eyes wide, her hands gripping the edge of the seat. Isabelle watched her, eyes sharper than usual.

"OK." Graham relented, shuffling back on his seat, as Bo slid down from her chair. "OK. Go and watch TV."

Usually, Bo balked at a direct order of entertainment, but today, she toddled into the living room without a murmur of complaint. The sound of cartoons blared into the kitchen as Graham turned to stare at Merrill and Isabelle, with a questioning eyebrow raised.

"Well?"

Isabelle struggled for a moment. "I still think she needs to talk to someone."

Graham sighed. "Who?"

Isabelle shrugged. "I could ask at school. Anyone know a good therapist, a good psychologist."

Graham looked at his younger brother. "What about you, Merrill?"

Merrill, who had been watching his niece through the doorway with an uncharacteristically shrewd expression, waited a moment before replying. "Maybe" he said, with a quick glance at Isabelle. But his gaze returned to his oblivious niece's back and Graham couldn't help but think that there was something his brother wasn't saying.

"But?" he asked, unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear the answer.

Merrill swallowed. "It's just weird-" he began hesitantly. "That she doesn't remember anything."

Graham nodded. "I know. That's what makes me think she needs a psychologist."

"It's almost like a night terror" Isabelle mused, her eyes also fixed on her niece. "Except they're happening while she's awake."

Merrill shook his head slowly. "Why's it happening?" he whispered. "What's suddenly set it off?"

Graham only wished he could find an answer. He stared at his daughter, wondering just how long it could take to find a therapist.

Morgan's father had wanted him to stay at home, citing the fact that he had got barely any sleep the previous night, but Morgan had insisted on coming to school. He himself wasn't sure why but there had been something about his sister's face that night, something that seemed to twist his stomach into knots, and it was almost a relief to climb onto the school bus, where things carried on much as normal, and where nobody was concerned about a half-hysterical six-year-old.

But now, standing in the corridor, Morgan half-wished he'd taken up his father's offer of a day off. Middle school, no matter what anyone said, was not the best time of anyone's life. In fact, Morgan was convinced it was some kind of bizarre torture, invented to punish preteens for the crime of their mere existence.

A shove in his shoulder sent him into his locker and Morgan grimaced, his eyes flickering to his wrists automatically. It didn't matter what his father said about just being yourself, it didn't get you anywhere, or at least, not during school. Morgan had found the best way to get by was to just keep one's head down, and try to stay out of the way.

But sometimes, this strategy didn't work.

The hand was already on his shoulder and the voice hissed in his ear, and Morgan found the time to wonder if his tormentor ever took a day off from being the spawn of Satan, or if it was just a full-time job. Morgan had to admire his dedication.

"How are you?" There was a shove into his shoulder again and Morgan flattened his back against the locker, praying his chest wouldn't tighten. He guessed that yanking out an inhaler in front of them would probably get his head well-acquainted with a toilet bowl.

Morgan bit his lip. He was used to saying nothing. Saying nothing was far safer, and what was the point in whining? Stuff happened and you had to deal with it, and there was no point in running to anyone else.

Lucas-Morgan was pretty sure that was his name, though it was hard to get acquainted when someone kept grabbing your collar, it made speaking difficult-was leaning closer to him, his blond hair brushing Morgan's collar. Morgan wondered if Lucas systematically dipped the ends of his hair in a chip pan each morning.

"It's polite-" Lucas shoved him into a locker and Morgan pondered whether or not the other boy kept his hoodie up to prevent the loss of brain cells through his ears. "To answer me." Three boys standing behind him in virtually interchangeable gear laughed. Morgan was convinced their primary function was to nod at whatever Lucas did.

"It's polite" Lucas hissed again, and Morgan twisted his face away, pretty sure his lungs would give out simply from Lucas' second-hand smoke. "To answer me."

Morgan longed to tell Lucas that he wasn't aware politeness applied to legitimate morons, but he didn't get the chance. At that moment, someone muttered "Principal" and Lucas let go of Morgan as though an electric shock had run through them. Morgan took the opportunity to run his fingers over his throat, wondering if any bacteria had been left on his skin.

He was halfway down the corridor, before Lucas could blink-Morgan knew people didn't expect him to be fast, and considered it an advantage. But he turned his head, with the strange sensation that someone was watching him. His eyes immediately flickered to Lucas and his friends with the idea that they might be making another date to grab hold of his throat-if that was their idea of fun-but they were vanishing in the other direction. Morgan wasn't surprised-the last he'd heard, Lucas was one step away from being kicked out of school as it was. He was repeating eighth grade for the third time and had the significant advantage of being taller and heavier than most of his peers. Morgan had the sneaking suspicion that Lucas was the type of kid who is always on their last chance but somehow, the last chance never gives out, unless the kid commits murder.

Either way-Morgan winced as he became aware of a dull ache in his throat-he really wished he'd just stayed at home.

Isabelle watched Merrill as he drove. It was a moment before she spoke.

"Are you still not speaking to me?"

Merrill shrugged, and Isabelle rolled her eyes. "It was one thing I said. And I said sorry."

Merrill couldn't have told Isabelle why he wasn't speaking to her. He wasn't even sure himself that he knew. All he knew was that something about what she'd said, made him feel like kicking something and he didn't want them to end up in a row, not when all this was going on.

So keeping quiet seemed safer than starting an argument.

Isabelle was staring at him. "This isn't you." Her voice was quiet, soft, and her hand reached out to touch his on the wheel. "This isn't you, Merrill."

Merrill turned to stare at her and in that moment, Isabelle's head whipped around. Merrill's eyes followed her gaze. "What?" His voice was sharp as he spoke his first word to her since they'd got up that morning.

"That was Ray Reddy."

At this, Merrill spun around, too. His eyes focused on the rear of a truck disappearing round the corner. Something about the look of the vehicle struck something familiar in his mind, some memory...

"Merrill, Ray's in hospital-how is he-"

His eyes met hers' and he knew they were thinking the same thing. "I don't know-"

"Follow him." Isabelle stared at him. "Merrill, we have to-"

Merrill stared at her. "You're not serious?"

Isabelle stared back. "You think I'm joking?" She lunged for the wheel, and would have grabbed hold had Merrill not grabbed it first.

"All right, jeez-" He rolled his eyes as he swung the car round in a U-turn, his eyes flickering around for any sign of a cop.

"Are you sure this is legal?"

"You're the one who wanted to follow him!"

Isabelle rolled her eyes as Merrill gunned the motor in the opposite direction, his foot slamming onto the accelerator. The car sped up, and Isabelle had the unpleasant sensation that the crops were rushing past them.

"Merrill-" She gripped the edge of her seat with her fingers. "I know this was my idea, but I'm pretty sure this speed is illegal."

Merrill raised an eyebrow. "How many people do we meet on these roads?" He yanked the car round the same corner as Ray, only for both of their faces to fall. The road ahead of them stretched clear, with no car in sight.

"For God's sake-"

"OK, slow down now-" But the car was still zooming forwards, and Merrill rolled his eyes.

"I will, but no-one's going to see-"

A siren screeched behind them.

Isabelle closed her eyes. "Brilliant."

Merrill slumped back against the seat and covered his eyes. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that, after having driven on these roads his whole life, and having been pulled over only twice, today was the day someone would be keeping an eye out.

Merrill didn't bother to open his eyes as the woman appeared at the window. "Hi, Merrill."

It was Isabelle who answered, carefully averting the woman's eyes. "Hey, Caroline."

Caroline leaned against the window frame. "What's the speed limit, Merrill?"

Merrill rolled his eyes. "Thirty."

"And how fast were you goin'?"

Merrill was forcibly reminded of being ten years old and having his fifth grade teacher reprimand him for managing to get his foot wedged into the bottom of the water fountain, as the result of a dare.

"Fifty." He leaned forward to check the speedometer, "Fifty-one, if you want to be technical."

Isabelle sank her face into her hands. Caroline sighed and leaned further into the car. "Merrill, do you think this is goin' to help?"

Merrill slumped back against his seat in answer. Isabelle leaned over him. "Please, Caroline. We had a tough night. Bo isn't well."

"That doesn't excuse speeding." But Caroline's face creased in concern. "What do you mean about Bo?"

Isabelle sighed and launched into a diluted explanation of the night's events. She glanced at Merrill every now and again, perhaps waiting for him to corroborate or contradict any of her claims, but he didn't speak, choosing instead to let her tell the story. When she had finished, there was a short silence.

Caroline sighed. "Well-" She straightened up. "Since it's a tough time-" She fixed Isabelle and Merrill with a stare. "But don't go telling anyone I let you off. And I won't, again. OK?"

Isabelle nodded and Merrill managed to summon up a small smile. "Thanks."

"And by the way-" Caroline placed a hand on the window frame, preventing Merrill from driving away. "What were you speeding for, anyway?"

Merrill swallowed, already debating what Isabelle had seen. But his girlfriend's voice was already echoing in his ears. "We thought we saw-" She swallowed. "Well-Ray Reddy."

Caroline's eyes widened.

"But we couldn't have" Isabelle was quick to point out. "I mean-he's lying in a coma."

Merrill raised an eyebrow.

Caroline nodded. "Of course you couldn't. That's-" She chewed her lip, watching Isabelle thoughtfully. "That's impossible."

Merrill nodded. "See?" He turned to look at Isabelle, who stared at him, her expression unreadable. He turned back to Caroline. "Well-" There seemed very few ways of ending an awkward conversation with a police officer.

"Safe driving." Caroline raised her hand, and Merrill pressed his foot on the accelerator, rolling up his window as he did so. Caroline stood still, watching as they drove, and although neither Merrill nor Isabelle could have seen, her eyebrows were creased with concern-a concern that wasn't limited to speeding offences.

Morgan sank into his usual seat on the school bus, and leaned his head against the window. He really, really wished he'd taken his father's advice and stayed off that day. He bit his lip, staring out through the glass, wondering how his sister had passed her unexpected free time.

"Is this taken?" Morgan froze at the voice. It took him a moment to turn in his seat.

Devon Pritchard was standing above him, his eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his shirt. He was staring at Morgan questioningly, foot tapping impatiently.

Morgan could only wonder why the hell Devon Pritchard was speaking to him. "Erm, no-you can-" He gestured uselessly at the seat, wondering why his voice seemed to have vanished.

Fortunately, Devon seemed to interpret the gist of it. "Thanks." He sank down next to Morgan, yanking out a Walkman. Morgan tried not to stare at him, or at least, not in a way that would be conspicuous.

Devon was staring straight ahead, his head resting on one hand. His eyes flickered to Morgan's and Morgan hastily looked away. He was still trying to grasp what had summoned Devon Pritchard over to the seat next to Morgan Hess. Maybe Pritchard was planning to chuck his books out of the window or something.

"So-" Morgan knew he had to reevaluate his life when it turned out one of the Pritchard family was capable of coherent speech. "How come Lucas was giving you shit earlier?"

Whatever Morgan had expected from Devon Pritchard, it wasn't that. In fact, he'd expected something more along the lines of "How can I help Lucas give you shit every day for the rest of your miserable life?"

"Erm-" Morgan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's er-it's nothing, he was just saying stuff-"

Devon snorted. "Bull. He had you grabbed by your shirt, for fuck's sake."

Morgan turned to stare at Devon, who was sliding his hand into his pocket, yanking at a cigarette packet. The bus driver's eye landed on them in the mirror and Devon rolled his eyes, hiding the packet cleverly with one hand.

Morgan knew Devon was in his science class, but other than that, not much. He'd never even spoken to the boy. After figuring out he was in the same class as Lionel Pritchard's brother, he'd pretty much assumed his days were numbered.

"Look-" He sighed, and flopped back against his seat. "It's complicated. And it's not worth talking about."

Devon rolled his eyes. "Jesus. It's kids like you who make it easy for him."

"What do you mean?" Morgan felt his eyes narrow.

Devon sighed, as if he couldn't believe he was having to explain this to such a moron. "Look. If you just stay quiet, he thinks he's won. He's not going to lay off on you. He's not going to leave you alone. You need to fight back."

"You'd know all about that." The words slid out of Morgan's lips before he could take them back. He winced the moment they were in the air, turning to look at Devon.

Devon wasn't looking at him. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed with some expression Morgan couldn't read. "Yeah" he said quietly. "I guess I would."

Morgan winced. "Sorry. That came out wrong."

"Yeah, I bet it did." Devon made a move to stand up and Morgan's hand darted out to grab the other boy's arm. "No-wait-I'm sorry." He wasn't sure why he was so eager to get Devon to stay, other than the fact this was pretty much the longest conversation he'd had with anyone since his first day of middle school.

Devon glanced down at the hand on his arm, eyebrows raised, and Morgan withdrew his arm immediately, blood rising to his cheeks. "I didn't mean-"

Devon raised one eyebrow. "Careful, Hess, or people might get the wrong idea." But the words were accompanied by a slight smirk and he sank back down in the seat next to Morgan.

Morgan shuffled in his seat. "You wish." He waited, sure Devon was going to slam his fist into his shoulder, but Devon laughed, a low sound under his breath. Morgan exhaled, a shaky sigh of relief.

Devon twisted in his seat to face him. "You're different to what I expected, Hess."

Morgan's lip curled. "So are you, Pritchard."

Devon tipped his head forward. He reached round behind him, his hand fastening on a baseball cap, and there was an indignant squawk as Devon dragged the cap onto his own head. A foot struck the back of his seat.

"Oh, shut up, I'll give it back in a minute" he called to the kid slumped behind him. Morgan was about to protest, when Devon turned to face him. "Where'd you get off?"

Morgan stared at him for a moment, before pointing ahead. "In a bit. Few minutes away."

Devon Pritchard nodded. "I'll walk with you. Wanna ask you something anyway."

Morgan nodded, blinking. "OK. I guess. OK."

Devon nodded. "Cool." There was another squawk from behind them and Devon rolled his eyes. "Look, I said I'd give it back in a minute, OK?"

Several minutes later, Morgan and a now capless Devon were walking up the road, backpacks heavy on their shoulders. Devon turned to squint at Morgan in the fall sunlight. "Where do you live, anyway?"

Morgan pointed up ahead. "Up there, on the farm. What about you?"

"Oh-" Devon indicated with his thumb vaguely in the opposite direction. "Down there." Seeing Morgan's expression, he added hastily "It's OK, I wasn't planning on going home yet, anyway."

Morgan bit his lip. "You've got a brother, right?" He winced, but to be perfectly honest, he had spent most of his life loathing Lionel Pritchard. He hadn't talked to the man more than twice, but he'd heard plenty of stories, most of which Merrill had been only too happy to tell him.

It may have been Morgan's imagination, but Devon's face seemed to cloud over. "Yeah. Lionel. Dickhead."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "You don't like him?"

Devon snorted. "As much as you like having acid thrown on your face."

Morgan frowned, scuffing his feet across the ground. "Right." He supposed that took away creedence from Merrill's theory that all the Pritchards were the same way, inclined to ruin things for everyone else.

Devon smirked. "What, you thought I'd hate you 'cos of him? Just 'cos he hates that Izzy girl?"

Morgan swallowed. "Isabelle."

Devon shrugged. "He mentioned her name once, I think. Izzy-Isabelle. And he doesn't hate her."

Morgan stared at him. "She hates him. He used to give her hell back in school, she said."

Devon snorted. "Yeah, well, course he did, he's a fuckup, and she isn't. That was enough for him to hate her."

Morgan stared at him. "But you don't hate her?"

Devon shrugged. "Don't know her."

Morgan chewed his lip. "Uncle Merrill reckons you've all got it in for us."

Devon shrugged. "That's what everyone else thinks." His tone was suddenly heavier and he busied himself with lighting a cigarette, flicking the lighter several times until the flame burst into the air.

Morgan turned his face away, fumbling with his inhaler. He kept his lips pressed together but Devon turned, his eyebrows knitting together as he caught sight of the device in Morgan's hand. "Oh yeah. You've got that-" He ticked his finger back and forth, apparently unable to think of the word.

"Asthma" Morgan filled in for him, as Devon nodded.

"Yeah. Christ, does this make it worse?" Before Morgan could nod, Devon had stamped the cigarette out before kicking it, well and truly extinguished, to the side of the road. Morgan watched it roll away, his eyes flickering to Devon's. "Thanks."

Devon shrugged. "No big deal." He glanced up, taking in the corn crops waving to their side. "This where you live?"

Morgan nodded. "How come you're talking to me?" The question slipped from his lips without his meaning it to. He glanced at Devon quickly, willing him not to take it the wrong way.

Devon swallowed, waiting a moment before answering. "Because I want to?" It sounded more like a question than it should and Morgan turned to look at him, folding his arms. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that Devon was three inches taller than him. "Why today?"

Devon met his gaze. "Because my brother told me not to speak to you. And I avoid obeying my brother at all costs." His lip curled slightly as he looked at Morgan. "And you're interesting."

Morgan ignored the stab of pleasure he felt at that. "Oh. Right." He couldn't think of anything else to say, but fortunately Devon broke the silence.

"You really need to deal with that Lucas kid."

"Devon, he's three times as big as me" Morgan pointed out-rather patiently, he thought.

Devon rolled his eyes. "He can't go on pushing you around. He was doing it all last year to the new kids."

Morgan frowned. "How do you know?"

Devon looked at him for a second, eyes flickering up and down, as though deciding how much to tell him. "Got held back a grade."

"Oh." Morgan avoided his eyes, the stab of pleasure now turning to a pinprick of guilt. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Not your fault, is it?"

There was a short silence, and Devon sighed. "Look." He glanced away, then back again. "I can help you deal with Lucas."

"OK." Morgan frowned, his eyes focusing on Devon's. He stared at the other boy. "What's wrong?" For Devon was suddenly looking awkward, his eyes darting everywhere but at Morgan's face.

"I-" He bit his lip for a moment, and Morgan wondered if hell had frozen over. A Pritchard kid biting his lip was practically newsworthy. "I just-" Devon Pritchard sighed and looked away. "Doesn't matter."

Morgan frowned. "I won't laugh."

But Devon shook his head. "It was just something someone sai-doesn't matter." He raised a hand in farewell. "See you around, Hess."

Morgan's eyes narrowed but Devon was already heading back down the road. "See you...Pritchard."

Devon raised his hand again, turning away. As Morgan watched, the other boy yanked out a cigarette, lighting it before it had even reached his mouth. He watched as Devon made his way down the road, black jaw-length hair brushing his skin, as he slouched away, a small plume of smoke travelling into the air as he walked.

Morgan turned slowly towards his own gate, his mind racing. He was pretty sure that that was the strangest walking companion he'd ever had. And he couldn't help wondering if Devon would follow through on his promise of seeing him tomorrow.

Graham stared at his daughter, who was sitting quietly at the table. She stared at her empty plate, her fingers drumming quietly back and forth. Drum, drum, drum, drum. Graham wondered where her mind was, if he could follow it there.

Morgan appeared in the doorway, and Graham turned to his son, struggling to hide his relief at having both of his children in the same room again. "How was school?"

Morgan, he noticed, was staring into space, his brow creased, as though struggling to figure something out. After a moment, he answered "Fine." His eyes strayed immediately to his sister, and although he said nothing, Graham read the unspoken question in his son's face.

"Come here" he mouthed, beckoning Morgan to the family room doorway. Morgan followed, dropping his backpack to the floor beside him. Graham knelt down beside his son.

"She's-" He sighed, avoiding Morgan's eyes. "She's been better today. But I'm-" He closed his eyes for a moment. "It might be time for her to talk to someone."

He braced himself for objections, protests, but to his surprise, Morgan simply nodded. "Maybe she does."

Graham stared at his son. He noticed how tall Morgan had got recently, how his son-who until just a few months ago had still seemed a little boy-was now shooting upwards, like a sprouting plant. He moved slightly awkwardly and Graham realised with a vicious jolt that his son was growing-growing up, and he had almost failed to notice.

Morgan stared back. "Dad?" Even his voice seemed different. "What's happening to her?"

Graham stared back, almost loathe to bring the answer to his lips. "I don't know, Morgan" he said, and watching his son, he thought he had never felt more hopeless than he did right then.

"All right, Isabelle, what's wrong?" Isabelle had barely been speaking to her mother for two minutes, when she heard the sigh, as crisp as if they were in the same room.

"It's just-" Isabelle curled up on the bed, moving closer to the headboard. She glanced at the closed bedroom door, but, hearing the blare of the sports channel, guessed that Merrill couldn't hear her.

"Is this something to do with Merrill?" Her mother's voice made Isabelle frown and wonder, once again, how mothers could sometimes be all-knowing.

She sighed. "It's stupid-we had-we had an argument-it was about something stupid-"

"The worst arguments often are." Her mother's voice was softer now. "Are you not speaking?"

Isabelle sighed. "Not really." She swallowed, suddenly embarrassed by the threat of tears in her voice. "I just-it was so stupid-"

"Tell me, Isabelle." Her mother's voice was softer now, and Isabelle swallowed, glancing at the door. She'd never had a whole day where they hadn't spoken, never had a whole day where they'd stayed angry at each other, and it made her bite her lip to think of Merrill sitting outside, angry and perhaps hurt at her overreaction that morning.

"I've just-" She sighed. "It was such a stupid thing, Mom." She launched into an explanation of the events of the morning-which itself followed into an explanation of the events of the previous night, and of some of the recent happenings involving Bo.

Her mother listened in silence, not interrupting, giving Isabelle time to breathe in, whenever she felt a sob rising in her throat. It took several minutes of talking before she'd finished, and her mother let out a long sigh.

"Was anyone planning on telling us that our granddaughter was struggling? No, don't answer-" She cut off Isabelle's explanation. "It's-that's not the issue, I know, it's just-Isabelle-" She sighed. "It sounds as if you and Merrill have been worrying a lot, lately."

Isabelle nodded.

"I can't see you, Isabelle."

"Sorry. Yeah, we have."

"And you're both stressed out. And you've both got a lot of pressure-it's a difficult time for everyone, with Morgan starting middle school and Bo starting first grade, and Ray Reddy-that's probably brought a lot back."

Isabelle nodded again.

Her mother sighed. "And it sounds as though-you and Merrill have just both snapped at each other and it's blown up into something more."

Isabelle swallowed. "Maybe."

There was a short silence. Then, her mother said "Look, you tried making the first move this morning. Maybe if you told him again, he'd be in a better mood to listen?"

Isabelle bit her lip. "What if he isn't?"

Her mother snorted. "If he isn't, then leave him to sulk. He'll come around, soon enough. But at least, then you can say you've tried, and the ball's in his court."

Isabelle nodded. "OK. It's just-" She stroked the edge of the pillow, and chewed thoughtfully at her lip for a moment. "I've never been mad at him for this long before. It sounds so stupid, but-"

"No, it doesn't," Her mother's voice was softer now. "It doesn't sound stupid. He's your boyfriend. And you love him. And he loves you. He's just like most men-he can't bear to admit he's wrong."

"But I was the one who upset him."

"No, love, you just-you just made a mistake. And now it's up to him. And if he chooses to stay in a mood, that's his lookout. OK?"

Isabelle nodded. "I suppose."

"And listen-I'll ask you about Bo, tomorrow. Right now, you just patch things up with Merrill, OK?" Her mother sighed. "You don't sound like yourself right now."

Isabelle sighed. "I'm not."

"I love you, sweetheart. OK? I'm here if you need me."

Isabelle sighed. "Love you too, Mom."

"Good luck, sweetie." There was a click as her mother hung up the phone, and Isabelle stared at the receiver, listening to the dial tone. She sighed, wondering what would happen if her mother's advice came to nothing.

She got up, opening the bedroom door, and replacing the phone on the table. Merrill was still sitting on the sofa, staring at the TV, but his eyes weren't following the players at all, and Isabelle wondered if he was watching as closely as he pretended.

"Who's winning?" she asked, trying her best to feign any interest. She and Merrill usually had a mutual agreement-she did her best to feign interest in sports and he did the same with books. It was a system that usually worked rather well.

Merrill shrugged. His hand moved to the volume control and Isabelle watched as he lowered the sound until the television was almost mute.

She sighed, sinking onto the couch beside him. "Merrill." She waited until he lay back against the couch, his eyes flickering slightly. She reached out, letting her hand touch his. "Merrill, I'm sorry."

His eyes flickered to hers'. "About earlier-I'm really sorry." She bit her lip, wishing he'd say something, look at her properly-something about this silence was terrifyingly unfamiliar and frighteningly unlike Merrill.

"Merrill?" She looked at him. "Look, I just-I hate us not speaking. OK? And right now, we can't-we can't fall out. Not with everything that's going on. I need-we need-" Her voice trailed off, and she turned away, her fingers still linked with his. "And that's all I can do." She dropped her gaze, reminding herself of her mother's words-that now the ball was in his court.

"Izzy." Merrill's voice was low, and she turned to look at him slowly. "Izzy, I-" All the energy seemed to leave his body, as he slumped forwards, his head in his hands. "Izzy, I'm sorry-I don't know why I-"

Isabelle was already moving towards him, letting her arms slide around his shoulders. "I shouldn't have snapped at you-"

"I shouldn't have dragged it out." His fingers traced her jaw, glided over her cheeks. Isabelle shivered, her eyes closing involuntarily.

"I don't get it." Merrill's voice was almost imploring. "Izzy, I don't know why this is happening-I don't know why I keep-" He buried his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his hair, pressing into his skin deep enough to leave indentations. "What's happening to me, Izzy?"

Isabelle shook her head. "Merrill." She pulled him closer and his head rested against her arm. "Merrill, you're trembling-Merrill, tell me, tell me what's wrong, please-"

His head rested on her shoulder and he closed his eyes, teeth nibbling at his lip-she ghosted her lips across his cheek. "Talk to me."

His eyes were wide as they fixed on hers', and Isabelle stared back, transfixed as always by the blue-green depths of his gaze, the way he could unravel her with one smile, one look. "I don't know why I keep-" He bit his lip and Isabelle realised it was taking him everything he had to keep from falling apart. "I don't know why-I don't feel like me, I just feel insane the whole time, like I'm going nuts or something-I don't know what's wrong, I just-"

"You're stressed out, that's all-" Isabelle struggled to reassure him. "We all are."

Merrill shook his head, his eyes still fixed on hers'. "It's more than just stress." He stared at her, his eyes wide, almost pleading. "I feel like I'm going mad, Isabelle."

She had no answer-no answer except to bring him closer to her, to lean forward so that their mouths brushed together once, briefly, their hands interlocked. All she could do was hold him for a moment, let him bury his face in her shoulder, his hands locking in her hair.

It was another moment before he tilted his mouth to hers', once again, his hands exploring her neck, before they broke apart, slowly, both of them blinking. Isabelle could feel that desperation creeping over her again, the same way it had earlier that week in the car. She bit her lip, struggling to hide the sudden rush of sensation she got from touching him, the sudden wave of feeling every inch of his skin was giving her.

"Merrill-" she started to say, but she didn't get any further before his mouth found hers', and he kissed her, his hands sliding into her hair, and any words were drowned out in the feeling of their lips moving together, in the heat of his skin against hers'.

His hands slid down her back, holding her against him, her mind a riot of sensation, of mouths and kisses and frantic touches. His tongue danced across her lips, and her mouth fell open against his, a high-pitched sound coming from her throat as he traced the insides of her mouth. She sighed his name and Merrill pulled back to look at her, his eyes ragged, unfocused.

"Are you OK with this-"

In answer, Isabelle pulled his mouth back to hers', her hips bruising his as he kissed her harder, until her head fell back against the couch, her hands sliding under his shirt.

She knew that everyone was worried about her-that Isabelle and Uncle Merrill and Daddy all whispered about her when they thought she and Morgan couldn't hear. She knew that Daddy wanted her to go to a doctor, someone that Isabelle knew. She knew that Morgan thought he'd seen her outside a few days before. She couldn't remember going outside that night, not properly-though she remembered there being dirt on her feet, the feeling of being cold. But the next thing she knew, she'd been lying in bed, and Daddy had been standing next to her, with Morgan in the doorway.

She knew that things weren't the same way they used to be and she knew that the dead birds were making everyone worried. She wondered if she could make the birds stop and then she wondered what was happening at all.

Bo sat at the table, colouring in her picture. She knew that Daddy would be down in a minute, to tell her it was bedtime, and she wanted to be finished before then. She wasn't going to school tomorrow-Daddy had told her she might be seeing a doctor instead-not a special one, the normal one. Daddy had told her he'd stay with her tonight, just to help her sleep.

But Bo knew Daddy was worried.

She kept colouring, glancing towards the family room out of the corner of her eye. Morgan was in there, watching TV. He didn't look at her too much, but every so often she saw him glance over out of the corner of his eye, when he thought she wasn't looking.

They all thought she didn't know they were worried.

But Bo couldn't tell anyone. She couldn't put it into words. She couldn't say it.

She couldn't remember screaming last night. She couldn't remember it properly. She remembered being in her bedroom. And she remembered something cold and dark inside her and something angry rising up in her throat, something filling up her brain.

And then she'd been standing there, soaking wet, with everybody watching her. Daddy had tried to tell her it wasn't her fault, as he bathed her, and tucked her into bed afterwards, but she knew it was. She'd done something bad and she didn't remember doing it or if she'd do it again.

But another part of her couldn't help it.

"Bo?" It was her daddy's voice. "Bath time." He sounded on edge, worried, and Bo knew why. He didn't want her to scream again.

She didn't think she'd have to, tonight. But then she noticed Morgan too, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"OK, Daddy." She got up from the table, gathering her pictures with her. She'd cut each figure out specially, once she'd drawn it. It had taken a while, but it had been worth it. Now, she had a different drawing for each person.

Daddy. Uncle Merrill. Isabelle. Morgan.

A different drawing for each one.

She kept them tucked under her arm as she went up the stairs. Daddy followed her. "Are you all right, sweetheart?" His voice sounded low, and worried, the way it had after Mommy died. It sounded dark in Bo's ears, and she swallowed, before turning around with a smile.

"I feel OK, Daddy."

"You do?" Daddy sounded better now, relieved. "That's-that's good, baby. You sure?"

Bo nodded, and her hand clenched tighter around her drawings. "I'm fine."

She'd put them in her room, she decided, as her daddy went into the bathroom to run her bath. She'd hide them under her bed. That way, no-one would see them.

That way, no-one could find them.

And no-one could worry about her.

And on that note, there's the end of the chapter. Reviews motivate me to write more so leave me some! :)