I sit up, my feet landing on the supple carpet below.
The logs in the fireplace have ceased crackling, lending the bedroom a stilled darkness that’s only disturbed by the soft moonlight filtering in through the transom window. Silence permeates the home—no footsteps echoing up and down the stairs, no whispers coming from the second floor, where Saxon and Guy disappeared to, hours ago. If it weren’t for Josie’s rhythmic snoring, I could almost convince myself that I’m completely alone.
It’s stifling.
Gripping the edge of the mattress, I try to ease the unsettled pace of my breathing. I draw circles on the carpet with my toes, counting to ten on a hushed whisper, then starting again when I reach double digits.
My pulse kicks up, the images from my night terror bulldozing their way in, so that it’s not the quiet street I’m staring at but a dead Ian Coney, his brown eyes dull, his lips turning distinctly blue, his—
“Stop it,” I hiss, digging the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, “just stop it.”
I’m not sure who I’m speaking to—myself, for succumbing to the constant plunge of paranoia each time I close my eyes to sleep, or the ghosts of King John . . . and now Professor Coney too.
A hand grazes my spine and I nearly hurl myself from the bed.
Except that I do actually hurl myself, I realize, once I blink and the room resettles around me. The cool glass of the window at my back brings goose bumps to my skin, and the curtain has wrapped like a noose around my right ankle and thigh.
I’m stuck, just like I am in my dreams.
Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Unable to think.
“Isla?” Josie whispers, scrambling to all fours on the bed. “Are you all right?”
Moonlight fractures across her features, highlighting her nose, hollowing out her eyes with deep shadow. I twist my head to the side, clutching the curtain fabric in a fist and yanking it sharply from my leg. It unwinds with an audible snap.
The release does nothing to lessen the cacophony of my erratic heartbeat.
“I need . . .” I wet my dry lips. “I need water, I think.”
She swings her legs over the side of the mattress. “I’ll get you some.”
“No!” I throw out a hand, stopping her in her tracks. “No, I’ll go.”
“Are you sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
How ironically appropriate.
“No ghosts,” I lie. Grateful for the shadows, I force a weak smile and motion for my sister to climb back into bed. “It’s late—early—you’ll need more sleep than this.”
Josie casts me what I can only imagine is a dubious look before slipping beneath the sheets again. She twists one way, then rolls abruptly onto her left side, so that she can watch me quietly. “How long are we to stay here?”
If that’s not the question of the century then I don’t know what is.
“Not long.”
Another lie—I’ve lost count of them all, at this point.
Earlier, I explained the basics of what happened this morning. I acted in self-defense and killed a man, and until we’re sure the Met won’t come for me, we need to keep a low profile. I don’t know what it says about the world we live in that instead of appearing horrified by the truth—or telling me I told you so—my siblings only crowded around the sofa and wrapped their arms around me.
Maybe they saw the bleakness in my expression and knew I needed their support.
Or maybe we’re just so far gone as a society that an Us vs Them mentality is something even teenagers accept as part of the norm.
I’m as sickened by the prospect as I am relieved.
Stomach heavy, I move to the bedroom door, only for Josie’s voice to stop me. “Are you scared?” she asks, sounding so small and so young that my heart aches. “After what happened . . . are you scared that they might find you?”
There’s no mystery as to who she means by they—the police.
In a sea of lies that bubble up like the fountain of truth, I give my sister a sliver of verity. “I’m only scared that they’ll take me away from you and Peter.”
My active imagination surfaces the worst-case scenarios, changing them out like a film I can’t bear to watch.
Josie dead.
Peter lost and alone.
Josie starving and cold.
Peter dead.
“But I’m not going anywhere,” I add, a stilted smile touching my lips, “which means it’s time for you to go to sleep.”
She huffs out a laugh but burrows