of little girls. The purple walls, the pink bedding. Tiny, quick footsteps across the plush carpeting.
The music box on the dresser spontaneously played a sluggish version of “Clair de Lune,” the ballerina spinning slowly, drunkenly.
And then, “Hannah.” And Alice stood in the middle of Ruby’s room, her face contorted. She didn’t even look like herself anymore. Her hair was wild, her hands steady, her face steel. She was slight but powerful, and Hannah found herself truly afraid.
Alice lunged, the hunting knife at shoulder level, aiming for Hannah’s neck. Hannah ducked to the left, and Alice crashed hard into the window, the force of a full-body blow breaking the painted seal. Hannah watched in horror as it cracked outward, the glass splintering, the latch giving way, and the windows swinging wide for the first time in over twenty years.
The knife fell to the courtyard below, clattering against the concrete. Alice’s hand shot out, gripped the window frame, her balance failing.
Hannah could have saved her. Reached toward her, grabbed her hand, pulled her to safety. Alice let out a scream. It reverberated through the mountains.
Hannah reached her arms out, not to save her but to push her.
One second, Alice was screaming. The next, she was gone.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Now
1:13 a.m.
Hannah’s mind was blank. She sat on the floor of Ruby’s room, not looking out the window at the courtyard below. She didn’t know how much time passed before she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned her head.
Huck.
Hannah stared at his face. She knew it as well as her own but felt like she was seeing it for the first time. The long, straight nose. The heavy-lidded eyes. His eyebrows creased with worry. His jaw ticcing.
“I called the police,” he said, indicating the window. “What happened?” A task man as always. Taking care of the business of the moment.
Hannah closed her eyes, sank her cheek back to her knee, and said nothing. Didn’t know how to answer the question. Since when? Since 2002?
“I’m sorry I left,” he continued, squatting down next to her. Rubbing his palm on her back. She leaned into his warmth. “I’ve been calling you for days. I finally couldn’t take it anymore and drove up here right after work.”
“I texted you,” Hannah said, her voice floating.
“I didn’t get any texts,” Huck replied softly.
She believed him; she didn’t have a reason not to. She just wanted him to carry her away from Brackenhill, away from Rockwell. She wanted him to take care of everything for her, like he always had. She wanted the life she’d had before: before she’d known what she’d done to her sister, before she’d known that Fae had killed Ellie. She thought of Alice gasping her last breaths on the concrete below.
“Alice killed Fae,” Hannah said to Huck. “So I killed Alice.”
And there it was. She couldn’t just leave it all behind because she belonged here. Could murder be genetic? She was one of them. A killer, continuing the Brackenhill tradition. In fact, she was the worst offender. She’d killed Julia; then she’d killed Alice.
Self-pity had never been her style, but maybe it was time to wallow a bit. Or at least self-sequester.
“Hannah,” Huck said, uncertain what to make of her admission.
“Hannah,” said a voice from the doorway.
Wyatt.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Now
“Hannah, are you okay?” Wyatt said softly. “I’ve been calling you all day. Your phone is never off for this long. I got worried.”
“At one a.m.?” Huck asked amiably, his head cocked.
“I’m fine,” Hannah said, tired of repeating herself. So tired of everything. She wanted to lie down on the plush carpet and go to sleep. “Alice is out there. I pushed her.”
Wyatt held up a hand. “Hannah, slow down. What happened?”
“She had a knife. She killed Fae. I followed her to the shed. She’s been sleeping in there. I confronted her about Fae, and she tried to kill me. I . . .” Hannah didn’t know how to explain the rest. The chase through the woods. The storm shelter. Julia. She closed her eyes. Skipped over it. “She chased me here. Tried to stab me. I pushed her out the window.”
He knelt next to her, replacing Huck. Touched her shoulder, pulled away a bloody finger.
“You should be seen at the hospital,” Wyatt said quietly.
“Why aren’t you surprised?” Hannah asked him. He stood up.
“We put it together today,” Wyatt admitted. “Actually, Jinny tipped us off. She’s the one who told me that Alice was Ellie’s mother. From there, it was easy. She’s not registered as a nurse. We